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
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
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