Take, O Lord, Even This Cold Morning

Dear Diary,

This morning felt almost friendly compared to the last few days. It warmed up to 30 degrees, which still sounds cold on paper, but it made such a difference. Everything outside was frozen solid—the ground hard as a board, the water pails crusted over, and the fence rails rimmed with ice—but at least the air was breathable. I didn’t feel like my lungs were cracking when I took a deep breath. Mini stood beside me with her ears up, sniffing the cold like she was checking to see if winter was finally behaving itself.

After a bit, Robert picked us up as usual and right on time. Mini came too, of course, sitting nice and steady like she knows church rides are important business. The truck was still chilly inside, but it warmed as we went along, and it felt good just knowing we were headed to Mass. Sister Mary Claire was quiet, holding the meditation, and I hadn’t read it yet—I just watched the frosty fields go by and wondered what Jesus might ask of me today.

At church, Father LeRoy’s homily followed the meditation so closely it felt like he was answering the thoughts I didn’t even know how to say yet. He talked about how the prayer “Take, O Lord” isn’t only about giving Jesus the nice parts—our prayers, our good intentions, or the things we’re proud of—but also the cold, stiff parts of our days. He said we can offer Him our tiredness, our impatience, the chores we do when we don’t feel like it, and even the parts of ourselves that still feel frozen. Father said Jesus doesn’t ask us to warm ourselves up first; He asks us to hand everything over, trusting that He knows what to do with it. Sitting there, I thought about the frozen ground outside and how spring will soften it without the earth doing anything at all.

Tonight, as the house settled and the cold pressed against the windows again, I tried to remember that. I don’t have to fix everything before I give it to Jesus. I can just give it.

Evening Prayer

Sweet Jesus,

Take, O Lord, all that I am today—my small efforts, my cold hands, my wandering thoughts, and even the parts of my heart that feel stiff and slow. Teach me to trust You with everything, not just the easy things. Warm what is frozen in me, and help me rest in knowing that You will make something good of it all. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Staying Close to Jesus

Dear Diary,

Robert picked us up as usual and right on time. Sister Mary Claire and I hurried out with Mini, and she hopped in like she’d been waiting for this ride all morning, sitting up nice and proper with her ears alert.

At Mass, Father LeRoy explained that today’s meditation was from Jesus’ words at the Last Supper, when He tells us to abide in His love, and that His joy can be in us, and our joy can be full. Father said “abide” means stay close, like staying near the light when it’s dark, or staying near someone you trust when you feel small. He told us Jesus isn’t offering a quick happy feeling—He’s offering His own deep joy, the kind that comes from living inside His love.

Father LeRoy said the way we stay in that love is by keeping Jesus’ commandments, not like chores we dread, but like loving paths that keep our hearts joined to His. And he said this fits so perfectly with the Eucharist, because Jesus didn’t only talk about love—He stayed with us. He remains in the tabernacle, and He comes to us in Holy Communion, so we can truly remain with Him. Father said every time we come to Mass, we are answering Jesus’ invitation: “Stay with Me. Remain in My love.”

I tried to listen extra carefully, because I don’t want Jesus to offer me His love and joy and have me act like it’s not a big deal. On the ride home, Sister Mary Claire spoke softly about how obeying Jesus isn’t meant to feel like fear—it’s meant to feel like love. Little things, like being patient when chores take longer than I want, or being gentle when somebody is tired, are ways to stay close to Jesus all day.

Tonight, when it got quiet, I remembered Father saying that joy grows when we remain—when we keep coming back to Jesus instead of drifting off. So tomorrow I’m going to try to do my duties with a willing heart, and when I start to feel crabby or hurried, I’ll whisper, “Jesus, help me abide in Your love.”

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for inviting me to abide in Your love. Please help me stay close to You all day, not just at Church. Teach me to keep Your commandments with love, and to find my joy in You. Help me be kind and patient, even in small hidden ways. Jesus, let Your joy be in me, and make my joy full. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Good Ground at Littlemore

Dear Diary,

Robert picked us up as usual and right on time, and we rode to church together—Sister Mary Claire and me all bundled up, with Mini sitting straight and proud like she knew exactly where we were going.

At Mass, Father LeRoy talked about today’s meditation—the parable of the sower. He said Jesus isn’t just talking about seeds and soil, but about our hearts. Some hearts are like the hard path, where good things can’t sink in because we’re too rushed or closed off. Some are like rocky ground, where we start out strong but give up when things get hard. Others are like the thorny ground, where worries and little selfish things crowd out what God is trying to grow.

Then Father said something that really stayed with me. He said the good soil isn’t perfect soil—it’s just soil that keeps letting itself be worked on. It gets plowed, turned over, sometimes even hurt a little, but it stays open. He said God does the sowing, but we have to say yes to being good ground by listening, praying, and trying again even when we mess up.

I thought about that all day. I don’t want Jesus’ words to just land on me and bounce off. I want them to sink in and stay. I asked Him to help me be patient when I don’t understand things right away, and to keep my heart soft instead of stubborn.

When evening came, the house felt calm, and I thought again of the sower walking steadily across the field, scattering seeds without holding back. Jesus gives His love like that—freely, even when He knows some of it won’t grow. That made me love Him more.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for sowing Your words in my heart today. Please help me be good ground—open, patient, and willing to grow, even when it’s hard. Pull out the weeds in me and help Your love take root. Stay close to me tonight and help me belong to You always. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

“Tended Like the Old Oak”

Dear Diary,

This morning felt cold but hopeful, the kind of cold where you can tell the day is trying to warm up. I stayed inside where it was cozy and watched the window glass turn a little cloudy from the chill. Mini kept sitting up and lying back down again, like she knew it was a church morning and didn’t want to miss a thing.

Then we heard Robert’s horn.

We bundled up quick, and Sister Mary Claire made sure my scarf was tucked in tight. Mini trotted right along with us, all business. Robert picked us up as usual and right on time in his pickup, and off we went down the road to church with the heater working hard and Mini looking proud to be coming along.

The church looked especially quiet this morning, like it was waiting for us.

During Mass, Father’s homily stayed with me the whole time. He spoke about Jesus being the true Vine and us being the branches, and how the branch has to stay joined to the vine if it wants to live and bear fruit. Father explained that when God “prunes” us, it can feel like little cuts—corrections, disappointments, sacrifices, or having to do something we don’t feel like doing—but it isn’t mean. It’s love. It’s careful love, meant to help us grow cleaner and stronger and more fruitful.

I thought about how sometimes I don’t like being corrected, or when something feels hard or unfair. But Father said those moments can actually be signs that God is paying close attention to our souls, like a gardener who doesn’t forget even one branch. That made me feel calmer inside, like even the hard things have a purpose.

After Mass, Robert took us home. The roads looked pale and wintry, and the fields went by like big quiet blankets. Sister Mary Claire and Robert talked about Father’s homily on the way back. Sister said that staying close to Jesus doesn’t mean doing big, noticeable things—it means being faithful in the small ones, especially when no one is watching. Robert said it’s like farming: you don’t see growth all at once, but it’s happening all the time, and you have to keep tending what you’ve been given.

I listened and looked out the window and decided I want to stay close to Jesus today in my own little way—by doing my chores carefully, by being patient, and by accepting the “pruning” without fussing. Mini sighed and leaned into my coat like she was saying, Yes, that’s the plan.

Evening Prayer:

Sweet Jesus, keep me close to You tonight. Help me to stay joined to You like a branch to the vine, even when things feel hard or confusing. Teach me to accept Your pruning with trust and love, and help me grow good fruit for You in the little duties of my day. Please bless Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and dear Mini, and keep us safe in Your care.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy

The Recipe Box Lesson

Dear Diary,

This morning it was 22 degrees, and the cold felt sharp the minute we stepped outside. Sister Mary Claire and I hurried through chores and then came back in to warm up. While the kettle was starting to sing, I opened Aunt Zora’s recipe box again. I love that box—how it smells like old paper and cinnamon and the kind of cooking that means someone cared.

Tucked between the index cards was a little recipe card, but it wasn’t for food at all. It was one of those “Daily Thoughts” cards, and it even had a St. Thérèse scapular with a felt backing taped on it, like Aunt Zora wanted to be able to hold it close and remember it with her hands as well as her mind. The words on the card said:

“I wish so much to love Jesus to love Him as He has never yet been loved.”

I read it twice, because it sounded so big—like a mountain. But then I thought maybe St. Thérèse wasn’t asking for big, showy things. Maybe she was asking for love that is real, and steady, and small enough to live inside an ordinary day.

Robert picked us up right on time, and in no time at all we were listening to Father LeRoy’s homily which followed today’s meditation, and it fit so perfectly with that little card that it felt like Jesus was pointing at it. Father said loving Jesus isn’t mostly loud words or grand gestures. He said the truest love is often hidden—like a good ingredient in a recipe that makes everything better even if nobody sees it. He called it the “Little Way,” and he said it means choosing love in the small place you’re standing in: in your chores, in your patience, in your speech, in the way you treat the people God has put right beside you.

Right then, Sister Mary Claire noticed my hands were cold and tugged my mitten down snug. I thought, St. Thérèse would call that a “little way” kind of love—quiet and real. And something in me settled, because I understood it better: loving Jesus as He hasn’t been loved yet can start with being gentle and careful in the moment I’m living—not the moment I wish I was living.

All day I kept thinking of that little scapular on its felt backing—soft, simple, and close. It made me want my love to be like that too: not fancy, not noisy, but warm and true. When I had a chance to be impatient, I tried to swallow it down. When I had a chance to be kind, I tried not to wait. Even Mini seemed to be practicing the “little way,” following close and watching everything with her serious helper face.

Tonight I’m putting Aunt Zora’s card back where it belongs, but I’m keeping the words in my heart. I want to love Jesus on purpose—in little ways that only He might notice, and that’s enough.

Evening Prayer:

Sweet Jesus, teach me St. Thérèse’s little way. Help me to love You quietly and truly, and to be gentle with the people You place right near me. Keep me faithful in small things, and help me begin again quickly when I fail. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Keeping His Commandment

 

Dear Diary,

This morning was so cold it felt like the air could crack as it was minus 6 degrees. I opened the door just a little to peek out, and the wind rushed in like it wanted to live with us. Mini took one brave step, then chose the rug like a sensible girl. Sister Mary Claire smiled and said Mini was “as wise as a little saint.”

Today the plan was to attend evening Mass, because by then it would at least be above zero. We kept the day careful and quiet—quick chores, and steady stove. When Robert picked us up, it felt like a true kindness on a day like this. Mini came too, sitting so proper and alert, like she understood where we were going.

When we got to church, it felt like stepping into a safe, warm pocket of the world. Father LeRoy’s homily followed today's meditation and I understood it better than I expected. He said people can get mixed up and think loving God is mostly long prayers or sweet feelings—and then they get discouraged when they’re busy, or when prayer feels dry. But Jesus Himself tells us the truest proof of love is to keep His commandments—to do God’s will faithfully, even in plain duties, even without consolations. That kind of obedience is love that doesn’t depend on feelings.

I brought my prayer book too, and I said the Holy Communion prayers before and after. Before, I asked for help to make a good Communion and tried to be very still inside. After Communion, I thanked Jesus for coming so close, and I asked Him to help me show my love in the simple ways He asks of me—being prompt, not complaining, and offering little sacrifices gladly.

And when Mass was finished, and I stepped out of the church door into the cold evening air, I didn’t want to leave Jesus behind—not even for a minute. So I whispered the sweetest line from my prayer book, as if it could be my little hand holding His:

“Sweet Jesus, I am going away for a time, but I trust not without You.” 

Sources:

The Circling Year

Holy Communion Prayers

Little Visits to Jesus

Jesus Is the Way

Dear Diary,

Today was +6 degrees, the kind of cold that makes your eyelashes feel like they’re thinking about turning to ice. Robert was right on time, and Mini did her usual welcome—spinning and hopping like Robert had just come home from battle and we were all a marching band just for him.

At Mass, Father LeRoy gave such a good homily and folded the meditation right into it. He talked about how the disciples heard Jesus, but still didn’t always understand where He was going—because the Cross is hard to understand when you’re only thinking with your “comfortable” mind. Then Father said the most important thing is that Jesus doesn’t just show the way—He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and we don’t get to the Father without following Him.

On the ride home, I kept thinking about how easy it is to know the right thing and still forget it the minute something pokes my pride or makes me tired. I don’t want to drift off the straight path by doing my duties halfway or skipping prayer when I feel “fine.” So today I’m choosing one simple thing: to follow Jesus in humility, especially in the tiny moments when nobody claps and nobody notices.

Tonight, I’m going to bed asking Jesus to keep my heart clear and honest—no pretending, no excuses—just following Him, one step at a time.

Evening Prayer:

O Jesus, my Way, my Truth, and my Life, take my hand and don’t let me wander. Help me love the small duties, do them with a happy heart, and keep my eyes on Heaven. Bless Sister Mary Claire, bless Robert for his kindness, and bless little Mini too. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Sources:

The Circling Year

Holy Communion Prayers

Little Visits to Jesus