Wednesday, August 6, 2025

The Feast of the Transfiguration



Dear Diary,

Last night was another night on top of the bluff overlooking Indian Creek. Sister Mary Claire and I had our featherbed spread just right, and Mini curled up in her usual spot—half on the quilt, half off, like she couldn’t quite decide if she was brave or chilly. The stars blinked at us, and the wind carried the scent of the river and prairie hay.

This morning, before the sun even peeked over the hills, we read today’s Gospel together—the story of the Transfiguration. I tried to picture it all in my mind: Jesus glowing so brightly His clothes turned dazzling white, and Moses and Elijah right there beside Him, talking as if they’d never left this world. I imagined the sky being full of light, like Heaven spilled out for just a moment.

Sister Mary Claire told me the word “transfigure” means to change in a glorious way—to be lifted out of how things look and into how God sees. I asked her if we ever get to do that, and she said yes. She said every time we let Jesus make our hearts clean and bright again, that’s our own little transfiguration.

Peter wanted to stay there forever—he even offered to put up tents. That part made me smile because it reminded me of us camping up here on the bluff. And I thought maybe I’d say the same thing if I were Peter. “It is good that we are here.” It is good. Sometimes up here, with the wind soft and the valley quiet below, I feel like I am on a mountain with Jesus. Not seeing Him in shining light exactly, but knowing He’s nearby, maybe just behind the clouds.

When the cloud came and covered them, and God said, “This is my chosen Son; listen to Him,” I got goosebumps. I wonder if that voice sounded like thunder, or soft like the breeze? Either way, I want to listen better. I really do.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus,

You shone so bright on that mountain,

and I believe You still shine in quiet ways

—in a Sister’s voice, in a river’s hum, in the hush of evening light.

Help me listen when You speak, even if it’s not loud.

Let my heart be changed by You,

clean and glowing and ready to love.

And when I get sleepy, like Peter did,

wake me gently to see Your glory.


Love, Kathy


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