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