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
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