Before the Flap Opens

 

August 3, 1956

Dear Diary,

We woke early this morning, while the stars were still soft and the hush of the prairie hadn’t yet broken. The air was a cool 64 degrees, so Sister Mary Claire said we’d best keep the tent flap buttoned until the sun rose a bit more. Our featherbed was warm and cozy beneath the patchwork quilts, and Mini was nestled between us like a little heater, not even stirring when Sister reached for her breviary.

When the sky began to lighten, we opened the flap just a little and peeked out. The prairie was quiet and pale, like it had been dusted with powdered sugar. The grasses stood tall and still—frosty green and pewter-blue in the early light—and the flowers, still closed in sleep, looked like tiny painted buds lining the path. It was the kind of morning Laura Ingalls Wilder might’ve written about, where the whole world waits in gentle stillness.

We stepped out wrapped in sweaters, walking softly with Mini leading the way. The sun reached across the land slowly, brushing gold along the seed heads and warming the damp earth beneath our feet.

Later at St. Mary’s, Father LeRoy read from the Gospel of Matthew—the part where John the Baptist is killed. I always brace myself when I know it’s that reading. The part about the dance and the platter seems so far from the peace of our prairie morning, and yet, there it is: truth, caught in the middle of pride and fear.

After Mass, Sister said, “John the Baptist didn’t change his message depending on the room he was in. He spoke what God gave him, even when it cost him everything.” I’ve been thinking about that all day. Maybe truth is like the prairie grass—it doesn’t shout or shimmer, but it stands, even in the wind.

The sun is down now, and we’re tucked into our featherbed again. The stars are beginning to gather. Mini gave a sigh and is already half asleep.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus,

Let me love the truth like John did—
not for attention, but for You.
Make me brave and gentle,
like the prairie in morning light.
Thank You for this day,
for golden grasses and cool air,
and for the quiet that helps me hear Your voice.

All for You,

Love,

Kathy