Sunday's Holy Gospel Reading

 
A Reading from
the holy Gospel according to Luke12:13-21

Someone in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, tell my brother to share the inheritance with me.” He replied to him, “Friend, who appointed me as your judge and arbitrator?” Then he said to the crowd, “Take care to guard against all greed, for though one may be rich, one’s life does not consist of possessions.”

Then he told them a parable. “There was a rich man whose land produced a bountiful harvest. He asked himself, ‘What shall I do, for I do not have space to store my harvest?’ And he said, ‘This is what I shall do: I shall tear down my barns and build larger ones. There I shall store all my grain and other goods and I shall say to myself, “Now as for you, you have so many good things stored up for many years, rest, eat, drink, be merry!”’ But God said to him, ‘You fool, this night your life will be demanded of you; and the things you have prepared, to whom will they belong?’ Thus will it be for all who store up treasure for themselves but are not rich in what matters to God.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

Painting by God

 

August 2, 1956

Dear Diary,

This morning the prairie looked like a painting God made just for us. The tent flap was open wide and the breeze brought in the warm scent of wildflowers and the cool sweetness of dew-damp grass. Sister Mary Claire and I stepped outside with Mini—who gave one long stretch and her usual little sniff-snort—and the three of us walked out into the tall native grasses that sway like gentle waves. Goldenrod, little bluestem, and Queen Anne’s lace tickled the backs of my knees as I walked in my overalls, and even Mini’s ears bobbed above the flowers now and then like a prairie fox.

Sister pointed to a spray of wild plum blossoms tangled in the edge of the grassland and said, “You see, Kathy, this is what the prairie once looked like all across Iowa.” I reached out and touched one of the blossoms, soft and pale and trembling in the breeze. There was a sacredness to it—like touching something that remembers the past and hopes for the future, both at once.

We sat a while in the warm sun just beyond our little tent. We called it Camp Littlemore, and the sign over the canvas makes it official. But it’s the prairie around it that feels like the real chapel. That’s when Sister opened her book and read us today’s Gospel. It was the story of John the Baptist’s death.

I always feel a chill when I hear it.

Sister said sometimes when you speak the truth, people won’t like it. John was brave, and he told Herod what was wrong—and even though Herod knew it, he was afraid of looking weak in front of his guests. So he did something terrible.

It made me think of how the world sometimes tries to put on shows and forget about what’s right. That birthday party Herod threw probably had music and laughter and rich foods. But underneath it all was fear, and pride, and the power of one cruel whisper from someone who didn’t love truth.

I thought how different that is from this place—this quiet camp on the prairie, where even the smallest flower leans toward the sun, and the breeze sings only what God gives it.

I think John the Baptist would’ve liked it here.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus,
Help me to speak the truth,
not for pride but for love.
Let my words be kind,
my heart be brave,
and my thoughts stay close to You.
Like the prairie grasses You planted,
may I grow tall in Your light
and bend gently to Your will.

All for You, Jesus.

Love,

Kathy

Saturday's Holy Gospel Reading

A Reading from
the holy Gospel according to Matthew 14:1-12

Herod the tetrarch heard of the reputation of Jesus and said to his servants, “This man is John the Baptist. He has been raised from the dead; that is why mighty powers are at work in him.”

Now Herod had arrested John, bound him, and put him in prison on account of Herodias, the wife of his brother Philip, for John had said to him, “It is not lawful for you to have her.” Although he wanted to kill him, he feared the people, for they regarded him as a prophet. But at a birthday celebration for Herod, the daughter of Herodias performed a dance before the guests and delighted Herod so much that he swore to give her whatever she might ask for. Prompted by her mother, she said, “Give me here on a platter the head of John the Baptist.” The king was distressed, but because of his oaths and the guests who were present, he ordered that it be given, and he had John beheaded in the prison. His head was brought in on a platter and given to the girl, who took it to her mother. His disciples came and took away the corpse and buried him; and they went and told Jesus.

The Gospel of the Lord.

Friday – Our First Night on the Bluff

Dear Diary

The morning began with toast, strawberry jam, and the Gospel reading. Sister read from Matthew 13:54–58 while the sun spilled across the table and Mini sat politely under my chair, waiting for a crumb or two.

Jesus had returned to His hometown, but instead of being welcomed, the people were skeptical. “Isn’t He the carpenter’s son?” they asked. “Don’t we know His whole family?” Because they thought they already knew Him, they couldn’t believe in the mighty things He said and did.

Sister said softly, “Sometimes when folks think they know everything, they stop really seeing. Even someone holy can be overlooked when the heart is closed.”

I thought about that while we prepared for our first night on the bluff. The tent had already been staked in from yesterday, waiting for us at the top of the rise. We carried our things up in the afternoon, with Mini trotting ahead like she was leading the expedition. The bluff rises nearly a hundred feet above Indian Creek, and from up there you can see everything—the waving prairie, the valley beyond, and the slow drift of the clouds.

As the evening settled in, the wind quieted and the stars began to appear just past the open tent flap. Sister and I lay side by side, listening to the hush of the grass all around us. Mini did her usual little bedtime shuffle and curled up right between us.

And just before we drifted off at midnight, Sister leaned close and whispered,

“Happy birthday, sweet girl.”

Mini didn’t stir. But I know she heard.

Dear Jesus,

Thank You for this first night on the bluff,

For the quiet beauty too long unnoticed.

Help me to keep my heart wide open—

To You, to Sister, to every soul I meet.

Let me never grow tired of looking deeper.

And thank You for stars, and stories, and prairie songs.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Camp Tent on The Bluff

July 31, 1956

Dear Diary

We set up the big canvas tent today—Sister said it was “just the spot” to catch the summer breeze. It’s up on the high bluff at the crook of Indian Creek, the one shaped long ago by the last glacier that passed through about 10,000 years back. Now it’s all smoothed out, and covered with native prairie grasses that have been waving in the wind for centuries. The tall bluestem, wild rye, and golden-tipped grasses sway like they remember the buffalo days. From up here, you can see for miles down the Indian Creek valley. Sister says it might be the prettiest spot in Iowa, and I believe her.

Sister Mary Claire thought it’d be the perfect place for reading, writing, and praying—especially on warm days like this. We brought our things up early: my All for Jesus book, a jug of cold spring water, our rosaries, and Mini, of course, who was already off exploring every patch of grass with her nose to the ground.

This morning’s Gospel was from Matthew 13:47–53, and Sister read it aloud while we sat in the doorway of the tent with the breeze lifting the canvas. Jesus said that the Kingdom of Heaven is like a big net thrown into the sea that gathers up all kinds of fish. When the net is full, the good fish are kept and the bad ones are thrown away.

Sister looked out across the valley and said, “Jesus is teaching us that we’re all caught up in His net of love—but it matters how we live while we’re in it. At the end of time, He’ll sort us out, and the good will be gathered into His Kingdom.”

I asked about the scribes He talked about—the ones who bring out the old and the new. Sister said, “That’s like us. We learn from both the old—the prophets, the commandments—and the new, which is Jesus Himself. And we use what we learn to live with love.”

It made me think about Sister’s way of teaching. She keeps stories from long ago tucked in her heart, right beside fresh ones from this very morning. I hope I can do that too. I want to be someone who brings out what’s good and gives it away.

We stayed up there most of the day. I tried to sketch the valley and the curve of the creek far below, but it’s hard to capture that much beauty. Mini laid flat in the shade and only moved when she heard the crinkle of cheese wrappers. Sister brought out bread and fruit from the cooler, and we had a little picnic right there with the prairie grass dancing all around us.

Now the sun is stretching long shadows over the bluff, and the air has turned a little cooler. Sister is humming while she folds the extra blanket, and Mini’s already half-asleep. I’ll say my prayer before I close my eyes.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus,

Thank You for this bluff, this breeze, and the soft prairie grass.
Help me live like one of the good fish in Your net,
And carry both the old and new treasures in my heart.
Bless Sister, Mini, and the quiet hours we shared with You today.
And when the day ends, gather me gently into Your Kingdom.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Friday's Holy Gospel Reading

 
A Reading from
the Holy Gospel according to Matthew13:54-58

Jesus came to his native place and taught the people in their synagogue. They were astonished and said, “Where did this man get such wisdom and mighty deeds? Is he not the carpenter’s son? Is not his mother named Mary and his brothers James, Joseph, Simon, and Judas? Are not his sisters all with us? Where did this man get all this?” And they took offense at him. But Jesus said to them, “A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and in his own house.” And he did not work many mighty deeds there because of their lack of faith.

The Gospel of the Lord.

The Treasure

Dear Diary,

This afternoon, Sister Mary Claire and I spent the sweetest time at the cave with Mini and Shaggycoat. The summer air was warm, and the Indian Creek made its quiet music as we sat near the grotto. Mini and Shaggycoat are becoming fast friends — she followed him all around with her ears perked up and her little nose twitching. He didn’t seem to mind one bit.

Sister read today’s Gospel while I worked on copying a prayer into my notebook:

“The Kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field, which a person finds and hides again, and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field… like a merchant searching for fine pearls… who sells all he has to buy one of great price.” (Matthew 13:44–46)

We both got quiet for a while after that. Sister said the Kingdom of Heaven isn’t always shining or far away. Sometimes it’s like this — a quiet place where your heart feels full. I nodded and thought maybe this little cave, and the time we spend here with Mini and prayers and peaceful hearts, is a treasure too.

Dear Jesus,

Help me notice the treasures You hide in ordinary days.
Help me give my heart gladly to the ones that lead me closer to You.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Sitting on The Rock

July 29, 1956

Dear Diary

Sister Mary Claire and I sat together on the big rock by Indian Creek this morning. The water was slipping past with that soft sound it makes when it moves around the stones. Mini curled up near our feet, perfectly still like she always is when Sister starts reading.

Sister brought her Roman Missal and read the Gospel out loud to me. It was from Saint John, Chapter 11. The part about Martha and Mary and their brother Lazarus. Jesus was coming to them after Lazarus had died:

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you.”

Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise.”

Martha said, “I know he will rise, in the resurrection on the last day.”

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and anyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

She said, “Yes, Lord. I have come to believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.”

Sister paused after that and looked at me. She asked, “And do you believe this, little one?” I nodded and said, “Yes, Sister. I really do.”

We didn’t talk much after that. Just sat there and listened to the water move, and it felt like the whole world was holding its breath—believing right along with us.

Love,

Kathy

Mustard Seeds and Mulberry Trees

July 28 

Dear Diary,

This morning’s walk to St. Mary’s felt like a soft whisper—the sky a pale blue and the breeze warm against my cheeks. Sister Mary Claire walked quietly beside me, and Mini stayed just ahead, her ears standing tall and alert, ready to greet any new friend who might appear. She didn’t find one, but her tail-less little wiggle said she was hopeful.

At Holy Mass, Father LeRoy read the Gospel about the mustard seed and the yeast. Sister called them the “quiet parables.” She said Jesus liked to speak in parables so the people would listen deeply—not just with their ears but with their hearts.

Jesus said the Kingdom of Heaven is like a mustard seed that grows into a great tree where birds come and rest. To be honest, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a mustard tree before—but I do know what our old mulberry tree looks like near the chicken run. It’s tall and wide with big branches and always seems to have birds fluttering through it. So when I pictured the Gospel, I used my own tree instead. Maybe Jesus doesn’t mind if we imagine with what we know best.

And the yeast—it was already in the dough, Sister said. Hidden and working. I thought about all the little things I do each day that no one notices: feeding the chickens before breakfast, saying my morning prayers without skipping any lines, or just being near someone who’s feeling quiet. It might not seem like anything special, but maybe, just maybe, love is already rising in those moments.

After lunch, I went out with my sketchpad and sat near the coop. The chickens were bustling about as usual, pecking and clucking, while the mulberry leaves danced a little in the wind. I tried to sketch it all—just a few lines really. The tree, the coop, a few birds in the branches, and the chickens down below. I wrote “Mustard Seeds and Mulberry trees” at the top. It made me smile.

Dear Jesus,
Let my little acts of love—
quiet and hidden—
grow into something You can use,
like branches to rest in,
or dough that feeds someone’s heart.

Love,

Kathy 🐓🌳

The Sunday Sermon - On Prayer

Morning Offering

 
Sunday, July 27, 1956

Dear Diary

This morning began with the sound of tires crunching gravel at the Big Rock. Robert had come in his pickup to take us to Mass. Mini heard it before we did and raced ahead, her whole body wiggling with excitement. By the time we caught up, she was already in full airplane mode—her ears flattened and sticking straight out like little wings, as if she were ready for takeoff. Sister Mary Claire says that’s when Mini’s not just excited, but also trying to be very good, even though she’s not quite sure what’s coming next.

We all climbed into the cab—Robert tipped his hat as Sister slid in, and I followed with my freshly braided pigtails. Mini curled up between us, still in airplane mode, but she settled once Sister whispered, “You’re coming to church, little one.”

The breeze through the open windows felt like a blessing all its own, and I quietly said this prayer from Florine’s old handwritten prayer book:

🌿 Dear God, my loving God,
I place my trust in You.
From the first light of morning,
You are my Lord and my strength.

Please guide my thoughts,
my words, and all I do today.
Keep me from anything wrong,
and stay close to me, always. 🌿

Sister says the prayer book was written by hand in 1849 by someone who must have loved little Florine very much and wanted her to grow up close to God. The pages are soft now, but the words still seem to whisper with love and faith, like a quiet voice meant just for morning hearts.

Mass at St. Mary’s was beautiful. The Gospel reading from St. Luke was all about prayer—how Jesus taught the disciples the Our Father, and how He told them to be like a persistent friend knocking at midnight. Father LeRoy explained that God wants us to knock. He said that even the best fathers on earth know how to give good gifts to their children—but God, our Heavenly Father, gives the Holy Spirit to those who ask. Not just fish and eggs and bread—but Himself.

He looked right at us and said, “You don’t need to wonder if He hears you. Just knock. Just ask.”

The ride home was peaceful. Sister closed her eyes and rested against the door. Robert whistled a little, and Mini climbed into my lap, off duty and eyes closed.

I think tonight I’ll say the Our Father slowly, one line at a time, like I’m knocking at the door and waiting patiently for it to open.

Sweet Jesus, may I never be afraid to knock.
Sweet Mary, may I trust in your help.
Holy Joseph, may I always know your quiet strength.

Love,
Kathy

Good Seed

Saturday, July 26

Dear Diary

This morning, Sister Mary Claire asked if I’d like to walk to the cave with her, and I said yes before she even finished asking. The sun was still low and soft, and the path was dappled in shade from the cottonwoods and the tall prairie grasses brushing against our knees. Mini didn’t come—she was too cozy under the bed, only poking out her nose when we left.

As we walked the winding trail along Indian Creek, Sister began talking about today’s Gospel reading—the parable of the wheat and the weeds. She said it quietly at first, almost like she was telling it to the trees or the birds. I listened as she told how the farmer sowed good seed, but then an enemy came in the night and sowed weeds all through the field. When the servants wanted to pull them out, the master told them no, to wait until harvest, or else they might ruin the wheat too.

“That’s how the Lord sees our hearts,” Sister said gently, “He knows the weeds are there, but He waits, letting everything grow together. At harvest time, He will sort it all out in His mercy and justice.” She said it isn’t our job to rip up the weeds too soon—not in others, and not even in ourselves. That made me think.

By then we had reached the big rock by the creek—the one smooth enough to sit on, with the perfect view of the rippling water. The sun was higher now, turning the water into ribbons of light. And just as we settled in, who should paddle out from the reeds but Shaggycoat! His little head popped up first, then his sleek brown body swam out in slow circles as if he was glad to see us. I waved, and Sister smiled. She said, “He must know this is a place where good seeds are growing.”

We stayed there for almost an hour. Sister didn’t say much after that. She just let me think while I watched the creek and leaned my head on her shoulder. I wondered if there were weeds in me I didn’t even know about, and I prayed that Jesus would help me to be patient with myself—just like the farmer in the parable. He doesn’t panic. He waits. And when harvest comes, He will gather the good into His barn.

Evening Prayer

Jesus, thank You for the walk today and for showing me that You are not afraid of my weeds. Help me to grow the good seeds You’ve planted in me. Let my heart be like that peaceful field You spoke of, and help me to trust that You’ll take care of everything in Your time.




Amen.

Love, Kathy

Necessary Daily Prayers

 

Friday Morning with Butter & Light

 
Dear Diary,

This morning Sister Mary Claire sliced the last of her soft, homemade white wonder bread, and we toasted it up golden. She set it on a little plate with curls of soft butter and opened the jar of strawberry jam we put up together last spring. The sun came in so kindly through the kitchen window, making everything feel just right.

Omelette gave us another double-yolk egg—so big and warm in my hand when I brought it in! Sister cracked it gently into the skillet, and we each got half. I left the yolk on my plate for Mini, and oh did she know it! Her eyes got all wide, and when I turned just a little, slurp, it was gone. She cleaned my plate like a proper helper and then curled up under the table, satisfied.

While we ate, Sister read us today’s Gospel. It was about how the mother of the sons of Zebedee asked Jesus if her boys could sit beside Him in heaven. At first, I thought that sounded mighty bold of her, but Sister explained that sometimes even mamas misunderstand what Jesus is really asking of us. Jesus didn’t get angry though—He just told them the truth, that they didn’t understand the cost of that kind of glory.

Sister said the important part is when Jesus tells them that greatness isn’t about being first or powerful—it’s about being a servant. That the greatest ones are those who serve others quietly, like He did.

I thought about that while I washed the breakfast dishes. Maybe my “chalice” for today was helping tidy the kitchen or letting Mini have my yolk or thanking Omelette with a handful of scratch feed. It doesn’t sound like much, but maybe it counts in the quiet way Jesus meant.

Tonight, the window’s cracked open wide to catch the southern breeze. It smells like cut hay and something sweet blooming. Mini’s already under the bed, breathing soft and slow, and Sister’s folding her apron before prayers.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus,

Thank You for this day of jam and sunlight and warm-hearted chores.
Teach me to be little, but full of love.
Let me carry my cup without spilling,
and find the joy of serving in secret.
I love You always. Kathy

Amen.

Florine

Dear Diary,

This morning’s Gospel reading stayed with me all day. Sister Mary Claire read it aloud while I helped finish folding the kitchen linens. Jesus said He spoke in parables because some people looked but didn’t really see, and listened but didn’t hear. Their hearts were too closed. I felt a little sad thinking about that—how Jesus was right there with them, and they didn’t even notice.

Sister said that parables are like little treasures, hidden in plain sight, and only those who really want to understand will find them. I told her I want to be someone like that. Someone who listens with her heart.

Later on, we sat together in the cave while Mini snoozed under my desk, curled up like a fluffy red loaf. The stream was trickling quietly, and a breeze made the curtain at the entrance flutter like a prayer flag. Sister brought out a small old prayer book—Florine’s. She keeps it wrapped in linen and opens it as gently as a pressed flower. The pages are all handwritten in soft German script. Some of the lines are so faint you can only read them in the light near the cave entrance.

She told me again what little we know of Florine. Just a little German girl, born before 1850. We don’t know her story—but someone must have loved her deeply to give her such a book. Maybe she knelt by her bedside like I do, whispering prayers from those pages to Jesus and Mary.

Sister read aloud one of the lines written at the front of the book:

“Radiant sunbeam, blessed morning light, gentle soul of life…”

We were both quiet after that. It felt like the kind of quiet where Heaven is near.

I thought maybe Florine didn’t always understand every prayer, just like I don’t always understand every parable—but maybe she kept praying anyway. And maybe that’s what matters most.

Before we left the cave, I tucked the prayer book back in its linen wrapping and placed it gently near my recipe-card box. Then I whispered a little prayer of my own:

“Dear Jesus, let my heart be wide open like a morning window,
so I may hear You in the hush of a story
and see You in the softest light of day.
And thank You for Florine, who surely rests with You in Heaven—
maybe she helped her little prayer book find its way to me.”

Love,

Kathy 🕊️

The Soil of My Heart

Wednesday, July 23

Dear Diary,

The sky is pink and lavender tonight, with streaks of orange brushing the tops of the trees. The crickets are starting their chorus, and Mini is stretched out at the end of the bed, paws twitching in her sleep like she’s chasing something in a dream. It’s one of those quiet evenings that makes you think back on the whole day with a thankful heart.

We went to early Mass this morning, and Robert offered to drive us home afterward. Sister Mary Claire invited him to stay for breakfast, and he said yes with a smile. It felt special—like the kind of morning that starts off wrapped in grace.

She made scrambled eggs and toast, and while we ate, she asked if we could talk about the Gospel. Robert looked surprised at first but happy, too. So we listened as Sister Mary Claire read it aloud:

“A sower went out to sow…”

I pictured Jesus sitting in a little boat just off the shore, His voice carrying over the water to the big crowd gathered to hear Him. The part about the seeds really stayed with me. Some landed on the path, some on rocky ground, some among thorns—but only the seeds that fell on rich soil grew strong and bore fruit.

Robert said he sometimes feels like his heart is the rocky kind—ready at first but then full of distractions. I told him I understood. I do, because I’ve felt that way too. Sister Mary Claire said the important thing is to let God keep working the soil of our hearts, even if it takes time. She said grace is like rain—it softens us little by little.

All afternoon I kept thinking about what kind of soil I am. I want to be the kind that listens and grows and shares something good. Maybe not a hundredfold yet, but something.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for Your Word today and for helping me listen. Please clear away the stones and thorns in my heart, and make me good soil. Let something grow in me that brings You joy. Bless Sister Mary Claire, and Robert, and little Mini too. May we all hear You clearly and follow You closely.

Love,

Kathy

My Morning Light

Dear Diary

Tuesday, Feast of St. Mary Magdalene

This morning at Mass, we heard the Gospel about Mary Magdalene finding the tomb empty. She was the first one there—before the sun even rose. She must have been so sad and confused, and when she saw someone near the tomb, she didn’t even recognize Him at first. But then Jesus said her name: “Mary.” That’s what changed everything. Just hearing her name in His voice brought her heart back to life.

After breakfast, Sister Mary Claire and I went down to the cave with Mini, who trotted along in her usual proud way but was happy to curl up at our feet once we sat down inside. The cave felt especially still today, and even the stream at the grotto seemed quieter than usual.

We brought along the little German prayer book again—the one Sister’s dear nun friend had given her when we were in Switzerland. It once belonged to a girl named Florine from Berchtesgaden. We think she was about my age, maybe with braids like mine and a quiet, thoughtful heart. Her book is handwritten and full of soft, careful prayers. Some of the pages are decorated with tiny flowers and colorful borders. Sister said it was surely made with love.

Today we translated one of the most beautiful prayers yet. It’s called My Morning Light Prayer, and it goes like this:

🌼 My Morning Light Prayer
from Florine’s Prayer Book.

Dear God,

You are my God, and I love You with all my heart.
When I wake up early, You’re already there,
like a soft light in my room.
I praise You, Lord,
and I want to carry Your name with me all day.
Please send Your Holy Spirit to stay close,
so I can bow my head and worship You
with all the love and mercy
You’ve given to me.

Amen.

Sister said that Florine must have prayed this before school, before chores, before everything—just like Mary Magdalene showed up early at the tomb, while it was still dark. That made me think: maybe the world is full of girls like Florine and Mary, quietly loving Jesus in the early hours while everyone else is still asleep.

And maybe He’s still calling names today. Maybe if we listen closely enough—in the cave, in the field, in the quiet—we’ll hear Him call ours too.

Love,

Kathy

Colin's Story

July 21, 1956

Dear Diary,

The sky was pale this morning and the grass had that quiet shimmer from dew. Mini found her squeaky ball right after breakfast and dropped it at my feet like it was a gift wrapped in slobber. I took it as one.

Since it’s Sister Mary Claire’s day off, she didn’t wear her veil—her hair was soft and brown and tucked behind her ears like she used to do when she was just Claire and not a Sister yet. She sat on the step beside me with her worn little Gospel book and read from Matthew 12.

Some Pharisees had asked Jesus for a sign, and He told them no sign would be given except the sign of Jonah. Sister explained that the sign of Jonah means Jesus going into the tomb—like Jonah went into the whale—and rising again after three days. She said Jesus was warning them that they were missing the biggest sign of all: Himself.

Then she told me about the Queen of the South. She was a real queen—from far away in Africa, Sister said, probably Ethiopia. She had heard about King Solomon’s wisdom and made a long, dangerous journey just to hear him speak. And Jesus said, if she made such a journey just to hear Solomon, how much more should people listen to Him, because He’s even greater than Solomon.

Sister looked at me kindly and said, “Kathy, sometimes people wait for something dramatic to shake them up—but real love listens closely and recognizes wisdom when it’s quiet and standing right in front of you.”

Later this afternoon, we heard the news about a young man named Colin who fell into one of the hot springs in Yellowstone. He was only twenty-three. My heart squeezed so tight when I heard it. I imagined how peaceful that park must have seemed—like something God painted Himself—and how suddenly danger appeared.

Right away, I took myself there in my imagination. I knelt near the steaming water in my mind and prayed for Colin. And then I thought—maybe this is what Jesus meant. Sometimes we wait for signs, for proof or safety, or even long lives, but the world is fragile. Colin didn’t get a warning. But the Gospel is our warning and our comfort. Jesus is already the sign, and He gives Himself to us before anything happens.

And maybe—just maybe—Colin had once heard the Gospel and remembered it in that moment, even just in his heart. Maybe the Queen of the South and the people of Nineveh will rise up and say, “Colin heard, and he believed.”

I don’t know for sure, but I believe God’s mercy finds us even in sudden places.

Dear Jesus,

Thank You for being the sign—stronger than a whale, brighter than a prophet, wiser than any king. Help me to follow You like the Queen of the South, even if the journey is long. Please be with Colin’s soul and hold him close. And help me to live each day ready—not scared—but ready with love in my heart. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Word on Fire

 
Dear Diary,

July 20

This morning, Mini and I listened to Word on Fire on the old Philco. Bishop Barron spoke about today’s Gospel—St. Luke 10:38–42—and I felt like it was meant just for me. Jesus had gone to the home of Martha and Mary, and while Martha was busy serving, Mary sat quietly at His feet. I used to feel a bit bad for Martha, but today I understood something new. Bishop said Mary wasn’t being lazy—she was just choosing the better part, staying close to Jesus.

Afterwards, I walked with Mini down to the cave, and I felt that same quiet Mary must have felt. The air was cool, and the shadows danced a little in the candlelight. I set up my easel and sketched what was on my heart—a girl in armor (I pretended it was me!) on horseback with a halo behind her head, holding steady with a Crucifix, and Mini standing proudly below. I gave the banner the words Word on Fire because that’s what it feels like when God’s Word gets inside of you.

I hope I can be like Mary, listening closely to Jesus, but maybe with a little of Martha’s courage too—especially if there’s work to do!

Love,

Kathy

My Prayer Box

Dear Diary

This morning, Sister Mary Claire read the Gospel from St. Matthew while I finished drying the dishes. It was the part where Jesus knew the Pharisees were plotting against Him, but He quietly withdrew and kept healing people. Sister said, “A bruised reed He will not break, a smoldering wick He will not quench,” and then explained how Jesus never forces Himself—He comes gently, especially to the brokenhearted. I felt that part settle deep in me, like when you know something is true without needing proof.

After lunch, Sister handed me something special—a little wooden recipe box that Father gave her. It had belonged to one of Father’s housekeepers from long ago, and it was filled with blank recipe cards, soft at the corners and smelling faintly of cinnamon and old cupboards. Sister smiled and said, “I think you’ll know what to do with these.”

And I did.  (Red Print means a Live Link)

Mini and I walked to the cave, and I set the recipe box down near my Underwood typewriter. The box looked just right there, like it had always belonged. I decided it would be my prayer box. I slid one of the blank cards into the roller of my Underwood, pressed the keys slowly and carefully, and typed out my favorite prayer:

“O Mary, my Mother, I offer you my heart. Form it after your own. Make it soft and kind and strong. Never let it turn away from Jesus.”

The letters looked crisp and proper, and the clack of each key echoed softly off the cave walls. When I finished, I placed the card at the front of the box, my very first typed prayer. I think I’ll fill the whole box that way—typed prayers, one by one.

Mini lay beside me, keeping watch, and I gave her a pat for being such a good little cave companion. I told her this was our new sacred project—just her, me, the prayer cards, and the sound of the typewriter.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus,

Thank You for today’s Gospel. Help me to be quiet and brave like You—not breaking what’s already hurt, but helping it heal. Bless Father for sharing the recipe box, and the housekeeper who once used it. I’ll fill it with prayers from my Underwood, one card at a time, with all my heart.

Love,

Kathy

"Grainfield Mercy"

July 18, 1956 

Dear Diary

This morning I read from the Gospel of Matthew, and it stayed in my heart all day. It was the part where Jesus and His disciples walked through the grain fields on the sabbath. The disciples were hungry, so they picked grain and ate it. The Pharisees scolded them, saying it was unlawful on the sabbath.

But Jesus answered so gently, reminding them of David eating the bread meant only for priests. Then He said something that made me stop and look up from the page: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” And then, “The Son of Man is Lord of the sabbath.”

That line, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice,” made me think a long while. I believe Jesus was telling them—and us—that what matters most to God isn’t just following every rule perfectly, but having a heart full of kindness. Mercy means seeing someone’s hunger and helping them. Mercy means love first, not cold rules. The Pharisees cared more about rules than the hungry hearts in front of them.

And when Jesus said, “The Son of Man is Lord of the sabbath,” I think He meant that He isn’t bound by the sabbath—He made it. The sabbath was meant to bring rest and peace, not punishment. And Jesus brings that true rest, the kind that reaches our souls.

I let those words settle inside me while I fed the hens and gathered eggs. Omelette followed me all the way back to the kitchen steps, and I laughed, wondering if I looked like one of the disciples walking through a grain field, sharing little bits of God’s mercy along the way.

Later, after chores and a sandwich, I found myself in front of the easel. I drew a simple sketch that seemed to fit my thoughts for the day—just Jesus, Mini, and me walking quietly through a field of wheat. It wasn’t perfect, but somehow it felt like peace on paper.

Lord Jesus, help me to understand what You meant when You said You desire mercy. Let me be gentle with others. Let me hunger for You. Let me remember that You are my rest, my sabbath.

Love,

Kathy

July 16, 1956 – Revealed to the Childlike

July 16, 1956

Dear Diary

This morning, Mini came with us as we rode to Holy Mass in Robert’s old green pickup. The gravel road was still damp from last night’s rain, and everything smelled fresh and quiet. Sister Mary Claire sat beside me, humming a little tune under her breath while Mini rested her chin on my knee.

Father LeRoy gave a beautiful homily after reading from the Gospel of Matthew. Jesus said that the Father hides things from the wise and learned but reveals them to the childlike. Father explained that it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t learn things—it just means we should never lose our wonder, our trust, or our littleness before God. He said that a heart full of trust sees farther than a head full of facts. I liked that very much.

On the way home, I looked out at the cornfields and wondered if Jesus was pleased with how I listened today. I think He was.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus,

Help me to stay little in my heart so I can see You more clearly. Let me never grow too proud to be taught by You.

Amen.




Love,

Kathy

Grasping Grace

Tuesday, July 15th, 1956

Dear Diary,

We waited up by the mailbox this morning, just as the sun was beginning to reach over the tops of the trees. Mini sat between me and Sister Mary Claire like a little sentry, ears perked and ready. The gravel road was still damp from the night’s dew, and it smelled earthy and clean.

Robert came rattling down the road in his pickup like always, with a wave and a cheerful, “Morning, girls!” Mini jumped in as soon as the door opened—she already knows she’s part of the church-going crowd.

At St. Mary’s, everything was quiet and simple. The Gospel reading was from Matthew 11, and it was one of those readings that feels a little heavier, like Jesus is speaking not just to people back then—but to us now, too.

“Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida!” Father LeRoy read aloud.

“For if the mighty deeds done in your midst had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would long ago have repented…”

He talked about how Jesus wasn’t just scolding—but grieving. Grieving the way people can see miracles with their own eyes and still not change their hearts. Father said, “We must ask ourselves: Have I let Jesus’ works in my life truly convert me—or have I grown used to His presence?”

That made me still inside. I thought about all the quiet ways Jesus has come near lately—morning Mass, the beauty of the sanctuary cave, the carved walnut door John Hathaway made, the peaceful walks with Mini and Sister. Jesus has been in our midst in a hundred quiet ways. But have I always noticed? And when I do notice, do I change? Or just go about the day like it’s any other?

The ride home was peaceful. Sister Mary Claire was quiet, watching the fence posts pass by through the truck window. Robert sang a little under his breath, and Mini laid her head on my lap as we bumped along the road back to the farm.

I want to remember today’s Gospel not as something scary, but as a kind of gentle warning from Jesus. A wake-up call to keep my heart soft and my ears open—to never get too used to grace, or take it for granted.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus,

Thank You for Your mighty deeds, even when they come in small ways—like a kind word from Sister, or the hush of the Church before Mass begins, or the quiet beauty of the grotto. Help me not to overlook You or let my heart grow dull. Let me be one of the ones who notices You and turns back—who repents, even in little things, and walks toward You with love.

And thank You for Robert’s pickup rides and the peace You give along the way.

Love,

Kathy

“The Sword of Loving Jesus First”

 

 

July 14, 1956

Dear Diary,
This morning at Mass, Father LeRoy read a Gospel that made me sit up straighter in the pew. It wasn’t the soft kind of Gospel that makes you feel cozy—it was the kind that makes you think deeply, like when you have to walk the long way home with heavy buckets and talk to Jesus the whole way so you don’t give up.

Jesus said something that surprised me: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace… I have come to bring not peace but the sword.”

At first that didn’t sound like Jesus at all. But Father LeRoy explained it gently during his homily. He said the “sword” isn’t a sword for hurting—it’s the sharp edge of choosing Jesus above everything else, even when it’s hard, even when others don’t understand. It’s the sword of truth that divides what is of God and what isn’t.

Jesus says we must love Him more than even our own family. That’s a hard thing to hear. I love Sister Mary Claire so much—more than anyone—but I think Jesus means that our love for Him has to come first, because it’s the only kind of love that helps us love everyone else better.

Then Jesus says something I’ve heard before: “Whoever does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.”Sometimes I wonder what my little cross is. Maybe it’s doing my chores when I don’t feel like it, or being kind when I’d rather not, or waiting patiently when I really want something now. Sister Mary Claire says we can even offer up little aches and worries to Jesus like flowers gathered for Him.

And at the end of the Gospel, Jesus says something beautiful: “Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones… will surely not lose his reward.” That part warmed my heart like sun on my back. Even the smallest kindness matters to Him.

So I’ll try to carry my little cross today and keep my eyes on Jesus, even when it’s hard. And I’ll look for someone who needs a “cup of cold water”—or maybe just a smile or a kind word—because Jesus said that’s how we follow Him too.

Little Prayer:

Dear Jesus,
Help me love You more than anything.
When I feel small or unsure,
Help me carry my cross with joy.
Let me be Your helper, even in little ways.
Amen.

Love,
Kathy

Dear Jesus, Help Me Be a Neighbor

July 13, 1956

Dear Dairy,

Today’s diary entry is a little different. I didn't write about chores or Mini or anything that happened outside—at least not the usual kind. Instead, I sat with my prayer book and listened as Sister Mary Claire read today’s Gospel out loud: the story of the Good Samaritan.

It’s from Saint Luke, and I’ve heard it before, but this morning it felt like Jesus was telling it straight to me.

A scholar asked Jesus what he had to do to get to Heaven, and Jesus told him to love God with all his heart—and to love his neighbor too. But then the man asked, “Who is my neighbor?” So Jesus told the story of a man who was hurt and left on the side of the road. A priest passed him by. So did a Levite. But then came a Samaritan—a stranger—who stopped, took care of him, and made sure he was safe.

Jesus said the Samaritan was the real neighbor because he showed mercy.

I thought about that for a while after. I want to be like that Samaritan. Not someone who just feels bad, but someone who does something. Even if I don’t have coins like he did, I can still give my time or a kind word—or even just a prayer.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m too small to make a difference. But maybe loving your neighbor means doing what you can, right where you are. Like bringing warm eggs to the Breakfast Club, or letting Mini nap on my lap when she’s tired, or sharing my last peppermint with Ronnie after Mass.

Jesus said, “Go and do likewise.” So I’ll try.

Little Prayer:

Jesus, help me see with Your eyes,

Stop with Your heart,

And love with Your mercy.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Today's Gospel Reading

The Sunday Sermon

Before the World Woke

 

 
I woke early, left Sister Mary Claire a note, and walked with Mini to the cave. The world was quiet, and the creek whispered past the grotto, like a prayer in motion.

Inside, I lit the lantern. Mini curled up on her rug, and I sat at my Underwood to begin the day the best way I know how.

Morning Prayer

In the name of God the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Oh dear Lord, I love You so much! You’re the most high and holy Trinity—one God, not three—and You pulled me up out of the deep dark when I didn’t even know I was lost. You made me in Your image, even though I’m just a little person in this big world. And when I was far from You, You found me and saved me in such a wonderful way.

Praise be to You forever, my sweet Savior, Jesus Christ!

Love,

Kathy

Calling of Philip and Nathaniel

Meditation for Saturday

Calling of Philip and Nathaniel.

“On the following day, He would go forth into Galilee, and He findeth Philip. And Jesus saith to him: ‘Follow me.’ Now Philip was of Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip findeth Nathaniel and saith to him: ‘We have found Him of Whom Moses in the law and the prophets did write, Jesus, the Son of Joseph of Nazareth’” (John 1, 43–45).

First Prelude: Picture Jesus calling these two disciples.

Second Prelude: Replenish my heart, O Jesus, with a lively faith, which will regulate my whole life according to Thy good pleasure, and make me persevering in Thy service.

First Point

The Calling and the Zeal of Philip

As Simon Peter had been called by his brother Andrew, so Philip and Nathaniel were led to Jesus by their friends. They had often listened in common to the sermons of the precursor, and, beyond a doubt, had often conversed about the kingdom of God and of the expected Messiah, the hope and the salvation of Israel. Thus they mutually confirmed and animated each other in their holy expectations and in the zeal for the law of God. What a powerful influence is exerted upon us by the example of those with whom we live! Intercourse with zealous religious impels us to be likewise zealous, whereas tepidity and imperfections easily exercise a pernicious influence. What is the character of our example and our discourses?

When Philip came to the Master, the latter looked at him lovingly and said: “Follow Me.” O powerful glance! O almighty word of Jesus, you move the disciple instantly to follow Jesus. O my Saviour, how often hast Thou said also to my heart: “Follow Me,” in renunciation, in the practice of virtue. How far am I removed from the docility of Thy disciple! How often have I left Thy loving invitation unheeded and occupied myself with unnecessary useless thoughts! Pardon me, O my Jesus, for my infidelity and let me in future make atonement by increased fidelity. Let us further consider the activity of divine love in a heart that surrenders itself unreservedly. Divine love urges Philip on to zeal for the salvation of souls and the honor of God and makes of Andrew an apostle, a “messenger” of the Lord. We, too, are messengers of God in the circle of our labors. Do I strive to make all my actions redound to the praise of the Lord? True discipleship of Christ, genuine piety, is just as far from a forward, self-sufficient zeal, as from a spiritual egotism, which tries to evade the hardships and difficulties of a life of sacrifice in the interest of souls, under the pretext of modesty, recollection and reserve. O Jesus, replenish me with Thy spirit!

Second Point

The Calling of Nathaniel

“We have found Him of Whom Moses in the law and the prophets did write, Jesus, the Son of Joseph of Nazareth.” Thus spoke Philip to Nathaniel, who expressed his prejudice against the insignificant city of Nazareth in the words: “Can anything of good come from Nazareth?” (John 1, 45). What harm can prejudice bring about even among religious! It is a fact that the world persecutes all good Christians and especially souls consecrated to God with her foolish prejudices. These can be utilized to their salvation, if they try in reality to walk without blemish, as true children of God, overcoming evil with good. But if they themselves are the victims of some preconceived opinion, how easily will obedience to their superiors and spiritual counselors be rendered difficult and its merit greatly impaired! How easily are faults and even acts of injustice committed against charity towards fellow-religious and subjects! How carefully must we guard against this danger!

Nathaniel is of good will and sincere of heart. He seeks the truth and is determined to follow it, and therefore, he deserves to have Jesus solve his doubts. “Truly, an Israelite in whom there is no guile” (John 1, 47). Jesus Himself praises him and vouchsafes a ray of His divine omniscience, a revelation of the Divinity to the honest seeker when “Nathaniel saith to Him: ‘Whence knowest Thou me?’ Jesus answered and said to him: ‘Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the fig tree, I saw thee’” (John 1, 48). Nathaniel, now recognizing the Saviour, full of faith, cried out: “Rabbi, Thou art the Son of God, Thou art the King of Israel!” (John 1, 49). Rightly does Nathaniel conclude that He Who discerns what is hidden, must be the Son of God. Let us excite a lively faith in the omniscience of God and do nothing that would displease His all-holy glance. Can the Lord say of me that I am a true religious, who seeks to please Him in all simplicity of heart?

Affections: O Jesus, Thou art the Son of God, but at the same time, our benign Saviour and Redeemer. How lovingly didst Thou say to me: “Follow Me!” Thou, who searchest our innermost thoughts, mayest Thou find in mine the sincere desire to follow Thee on the way marked out for me by my holy vows and Holy Rule. Do Thou sustain my good will by Thy grace, O King of the elect, till, according to Thy promise, I may not only see “heaven open” but may enter with Thee into Thy kingdom, for all eternity.

Resolution: I will frequently recall the omnipresence and omniscience of God.

Spiritual Bouquet: “How good is God to them that are of a right heart!”

Take, O Lord, and receive all my liberty,

my memory, my understanding, and my whole will.

Thou hast given me all that I am and all that I possess:

I surrender it all to Thee that Thou mayest dispose of it

according to Thy Will.

Give me only Thy love and Thy grace:

with these I will be rich enough,

and will have no more to desire.

 

The Silence of Jesus

Dear Diary,

My Underwood was waiting for me in its usual spot inside the cave. From where I sit and type, I can see Our Lady’s little grotto so clearly—her gentle face watching over me while I work. It always makes me feel calm, like I’m not alone in here at all.

Mini flopped down at my feet with a sigh, and Omelette nestled quiet in her sling. Shaggycoat met us near the cave entrance, sniffed the air like he always does, and then hurried back to the creek with a splash that made Mini lift her head.

Today’s Meditation was about how Jesus stood silent before Pilate. He didn’t try to explain Himself or fight back—He just stood there, quiet and loving us through all of it. That silence must’ve hurt more than words could say.

When I look at Mary’s grotto, I wonder if she stood silently too, trusting even when it hurt. I want to be like that—quiet, brave, and close to Jesus.

Dear Jesus, help me to be still and gentle like You. When I want to defend myself or speak without thinking, remind me of Your silence. And Mary, help me see things with love the way you did. Amen.

Love,

Kathy 🕊️

“Jesus is Condemned to Death”

 

 

“Jesus is condemned to death”

“And so Pilate being willing to satisfy the people released to them Barabbas, and delivered up Jesus, when he had scourged Him, to be crucified” (Mark 15, 15).

First Prelude: Behold our Divine Saviour standing before Pilate awaiting His sentence.

Second Prelude: O my Saviour, let me penetrate into the sentiments of Thy Sacred Heart and realize how painful for Thee was the shame of condemnation.

First Point

The Suffering of Jesus at His Condemnation

Contemplate the immeasurable pain of our Blessed Saviour Who, having been publicly repudiated by His people, now hears the death sentence from the lips of the weak, unjust and pagan judge. In obedience to His heavenly Father and out of incomprehensible love of us poor, sinful creatures, He accepts the sentence. He sacrifices His infinitely precious life, to raise us from the death of sin to a life of grace and glory. Let us praise the love of the Father, Who sacrificed His Son to redeem the servant, but let us also recognize the severity of Divine Justice, that demanded such atonement.

We love the title “Spouse of Christ.” Let us then accept with tranquillity slights, contempt and injustice that we may bear resemblance to our Divine Exemplar. Our love for our Saviour, however, must lead us further and impel us to take humiliations upon ourselves willingly in the place of others. O Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make our hearts like unto Thine.

Second Point

The Silence of Our Lord

With imperturbable peace Jesus hears the terrible sentence and is silent. With a single word He could have silenced His accusers, but He does not utter it. The love which moved Him to deliver Himself into their hands, keeps Him silent and humble now. This marvelous silence of the Eternal Word exhorts us almost irresistibly to imitate it. If we find it repugnant to our nature in all humility to hold our peace when unjustly accused, let us be mindful of our Saviour before the tribunal of Pilate. By His silence He merited grace for us to control our unbridled tongue, to accept a reproof quietly, to forget an injury. By such courageous self-denial we learn to speak to God and to listen to Him.

Daily and hourly the Holy Spirit leads reticent souls into the retirement of holy recollection and confidential intercourse with God. O my Saviour, let me learn more and more to love and practice holy silence.

Affections: Sweetest Jesus, Who wast so patiently delivered up to the will of Thy enemies, deliver me not to my perverse will, I implore Thee. Be Thou, O Lord, the director of my will. From Thy example let me draw courage to overcome myself and in humility and silence to bear the just, as well as the unjust, accusations of others. Grant that according to Thy example I may accept willingly from the hands of the heavenly Father all the sufferings of life as well as the sentence of death which hangs suspended now in order to give Thy Sacred Heart the consolation of pronouncing a mild sentence upon me in the hour of my death.

Resolution: Out of love for our suffering Saviour I will not excuse myself today on any occasion.

Spiritual Bouquet: “O Jesus, be not my Judge but my Saviour.”

Soul of Christ, be my sanctification.

Body of Christ, be my salvation.

Blood of Christ, fill all my veins.

Water of Christ’s side, wash out my stains.

Passion of Christ, my comfort be.

O good Jesus, listen to me.

In Thy wounds I fain would hide,

Ne’er to be parted from Thy side.

Guard me should the foe assail me.

Call me when my life shall fail me.

Bid me come to Thee above,

With Thy saints to sing Thy love,

World without end. Amen.

(300 days’ indulgence; 7 years; plenary if said after Communion, once a month—Pius IX, Jan. 9, 1854) 

Ready to Follow

Dear Diary,

There was no need to carry my Underwood typewriter today—I had left it in the cave, all ready to go. Mini came along beside me, ears perked and paws light on the path. It felt like the cave was waiting for us.

This morning’s meditation was about the very first people who followed Jesus. They didn’t wait or make excuses. They just went—because they believed. It made me think that sometimes we don’t need to have it all figured out to follow Him… we just have to start walking.

I typed out this little prayer by the grotto:

“Dear Jesus, when You call me, help me to come right away—like those first disciples. Even if I’m unsure, let my heart be brave and quick to follow. Amen.”

Love,

Kathy 🐾💙

Meek, Gentle and Patient

Dear Diary,

This morning, I lugged my new Underwood typewriter all the way down to the cave—Mini trotted beside me, curious as ever. I think thinking is better down there. It’s quieter, like the cave listens.

What stood out to me in today’s meditation was that Jesus didn’t just die for us— He stayed with us in the Blessed Sacrament, as the Lamb of God forever. That kind of love! I whispered “thank You” right there at the grotto, while Mini sniffed the moss.

I’m going to try to be more like Him—meek, gentle, and patient, especially when the chores pile up or the hens don’t cooperate. Even Omelette.

Love,

Kathy 🐾

Thursday - The First Disciples of Christ

 Prayer Before and After. . .

“The next day again John stood and two of his disciples. And beholding Jesus walking, he saith: ‘Behold the Lamb of God.’ And the two disciples heard him speak and they followed Jesus. And Jesus, turning, and seeing them following Him, saith to them: ‘What seek you?’ Who said to Him: ‘Rabbi, where dwellest Thou?’ He saith to them: ‘Come and see.’ They came and saw where He abode and they stayed with Him that day: now it was about the tenth hour” (John, 1, 35–39).

First Prelude: Behold our Divine Saviour, addressing the disciples lovingly with the words: “What seek you?”

Second Prelude: Grant me the grace, O Jesus, to seek only Thee and Thy love, and to lead others to the knowledge of Thee.

First Point

THE CALL OF THE FIRST DISCIPLES.

The first two disciples of the Lord, Andrew and John, were disciples of Christ’s holy precursor. They had received His doctrine willingly and had persevered with their Master, even when the multitudes had dispersed. Thus they merited the grace of being directed to the Messiah by St. John. Their docility to the “Voice of one crying in the wilderness” led them to the Saviour and merited them the honor of being His first disciples. Fidelity to grace and persevering docility to the voice of our superiors and to the inspirations of grace will secure us new graces.

Our Saviour lovingly addressed the two disciples: “What seek you?” Jesus often puts the same question to us interiorly. “What seek you?”—in your prayers and your labors, in your conversations, in intercourse with your neighbor: One day we shall have to render an account whether we have sought God’s honor, His holy Will, or self-love, sensuality, or satisfaction. Instead of answering our Lord directly, the disciples put a counter-question to Him saying: “Master, where dwellest Thou?” By these words they manifested their desire to receive His instructions. How willingly Jesus complied with their request! He took them with Him at once, and permitted them to spend the rest of the day in His company. How attentively may they have listened to Him, how delighted may they have been in His blessed company! We need not ask with the disciples, “Master, where dwellest Thou?” We know that He dwells among us in the Blessed Eucharist, that we find Him in the person of the poor and needy, of the children in our care, that He desires to dwell in our hearts. Oh, let us render Him companionship, let us remain with Him as did the happy disciples, and He will speak words of eternal wisdom to us also.

Second Point

THE ZEAL OF THE FIRST TWO DISCIPLES.

After the conversation with Jesus, the two disciples were penetrated with lively faith in the Messiah, and desired that others, too, share their happiness. Andrew sought his brother Simon, and said to him, full of joy: “We have found the Messiah.” Without hesitation, Simon suffered himself to be led to Jesus. Oh, how may the first gracious look of the Saviour have inflamed the heart of the disciple with love, and prepared him to become worthy of the new name, which designated his mission in advance. Let us learn from Andrew to be grateful for our vocation to the religious life and above all to the faith, by leading others to the Saviour, by pointing out to the children entrusted to our care the paths of virtue. Peter gives us the example of fidelity to grace and docility to his brother. Let us enter into ourselves and see whether we have complied with the designs of Almighty God in our behalf, and whether we have allowed our superiors, His representative, full liberty to direct us. Let us repent of our negligence, our indolence, and our disobedience, whereby we have placed so many obstacles in the way of His loving Providence. How much more could we have accomplished had we been faithful to grace!

Affections: Happy disciples attracted so powerfully by the Saviour’s gracious call! We wish you happiness in your fidelity in obeying so cheerfully and promptly the impulse of divine grace. This was the first link in the immeasurable chain of graces, that made apostles and saints of you. Oh, entreat for us the grace to hearken with docility to the voice of the Lord and to labor courageously and perseveringly at our sanctification, that we may lend a ready ear to the exhortation and counsels of those that are appointed to guide us on the path of perfection. May we render ourselves worthy thereby to lead the souls of those entrusted to our care to the knowledge and love of the Saviour.

Resolution: We will faithfully correspond to the inspirations of grace and use every opportunity to be useful to our fellow-religious and our charges.

Spiritual Bouquet: “Come and see, and taste how sweet the Lord is.”

Prayer:

O Jesus, living in Mary! come and live in Thy servants,

in the spirit of Thy holiness,

in the fullness of Thy might,

in the truth of Thy virtues,

in the perfection of Thy ways,

in the communion of Thy mysteries;

subdue every hostile power,

in Thy spirit for the glory of the Father.

Amen.

(Indulgence of 300 days, once a day. —Pius IX, Oct. 14, 1859)

Prayer Before and After. . .

Wednesday - Jesus—the Lamb of God

 

Prayer Before and After. . .

This meditation was submitted by Sister Mary Claire and her little sister Kathy at Camp Littlemore Farm in Iowa.

It is taken from their beloved copy of Jesus, the Model of Religious, a book of meditations translated from the German by a Sister of Notre Dame, and known for its simple, direct insights that stir both the mind and the heart.

Title of the Meditation for Wednesday

Jesus—the Lamb of God

“The next day, John saw Jesus coming to him, and he saith: ‘Behold, the Lamb of God, behold Him who taketh away the sins of the world’” (John 1, 29).

First Prelude: Picture St. John on the banks of the Jordan, pointing to Jesus, and saying: “Behold, the Lamb of God.”

Second Prelude: O Jesus, Lamb of God, Who takest away the sins of the world, cleanse me also from my sins, and make me worthy to be numbered among those who will one day follow Thee in heaven whithersoever Thou goest.

First Point

Jesus, the Lamb of God, the Divine Victim in His Mortal Life

The holy precursor designates Jesus before the multitudes as the “Lamb of God,” as Him Who was expected for centuries to redeem the world from the misery into which sin had plunged it. The Saviour is the Lamb of immolation given to us by the heavenly Father Himself, the accomplishment and consummation of the typical sacrifices of the Old Law, to which Isaias (5, 3, 7) had reference with the words: “He was offered because it was His own will; and He opened not His mouth: He shall be led as a sheep to the slaughter, and He shall not open His mouth.” From the moment of Christ’s entrance into the world, His death was ever present before Him: “My sorrow is always before Me” (Ps. 37, 18), in virtue of which constant remembrance, He was for the term of His whole life, a Victim for our salvation. Jesus is further called the Lamb of God to indicate the attributes of the Messiah, namely, purity, innocence, meekness, patience, and simplicity. Through these He wills to establish His kingdom on earth as we read in Holy Writ, “Send forth, O Lord, the Lamb, the ruler of the earth” (Isaias 16, 1). The Divine Lamb immolated Himself for us; we will make a complete sacrifice of ourselves to Him; we will offer Him our self-love, our pride and self-will. Jesus takes away sin from us, if we approach Him with a truly penitential spirit. Let us show ourselves grateful and help others to cleanse themselves of their sins by our humility and meekness and anticipation of their every want. If the Lord should send us crosses and sufferings, let us also imitate the patience of the Lamb. By our patience we must merit the privilege of one day bearing the name of the Lamb engraven on our foreheads.

Second Point

Jesus, the Lamb of God, in His Glorified Life

It did not suffice for our Divine Saviour to immolate Himself to the heavenly Father for our salvation. His love urged Him to remain with us in the adorable Sacrament of the Altar to the end of time. What an immeasurable grace for us! Does not a single Holy Mass surpass in worth the countless sacrifices of the Old Law? These were efficacious only in view of the spotless Sacrifice of the New Dispensation that was to come, and of which they were but types. In the Sacrifice of the Mass we offer to the Most High the “Lamb of God Himself.” But can we not apply to many the word of St. John: “There has stood One in the midst of you, whom you know not” (John 1, 26). O my Saviour, enlighten the blindness of those who will not know and love Thee in the Sacrament of Thy Love. Oh, that we, at least, were penetrated with a lively conviction of the majesty of the hidden God, of the goodness and mercy of His Sacred Heart! Let us excite humble and boundless confidence whenever we hear the words of St. John: “Behold, the Lamb of God,” which Holy Mother Church repeats again and again at Holy Communion, as a confession of faith in the Divinity of Christ. In the Apocalypse, St. John saw the King of Glory under the figure of a Lamb, on Mt. Sion, surrounded by His elect. We, too, have been purchased from among human kind as first fruits for God and the Lamb. Oh, how great is our hope, being called, by the practice of virginal chastity, to the nuptials of the Lamb. Let us, then, prepare our wedding ornaments, and seek ever more to replenish our lamps with the oil of charity, that when we shall hear the cry: “Behold, the Bridegroom cometh,” we may enter the marriage feast with the prudent virgins.

Are these immortal hopes not worth being purchased by a life of labor, of exertion, and sufferings?

Affections: O Thou Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world, have mercy on us! Have mercy on my poor soul! Take away my sins and my misery. Let me ever better recognize the gratitude I owe Thee for having purchased me at the price of Thy Precious Blood, for having left it as perpetual satisfaction for my sins, even as the nourishment of my soul. Grant me courage, strength and grace to immolate myself to Thee with all that I am and have. May I help to recognize Thy love. Oh, do not permit me to abuse the graces Thou dost offer me so generously, or to squander my time in indifference and sloth as did the foolish virgins! Behold, with renewed fervor I will arise from my tepidity that Thou mayest recognize me in life and in death as Thy true spouse.

Resolution: In union with our dear Saviour, we will cheerfully make the sacrifices that God asks of us today.

Spiritual Bouquet: “Behold the Lamb of God, Who taketh away the sins of the world!”

Prayer Before and After. . .