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