Love That Doesn’t Have to Feel Like Anything

Dear Diary,

This morning it was 36 degrees and everything felt wet and soft, like the snow had turned to sponge. The yard squished under my boots. Mini didn’t mind at all—she tested every puddle like it was her job.

Robert picked us up as usual and right on time. The roads were muddy but we made it. Sister Mary Claire reminded me to step carefully so I wouldn’t bring half the farm into St. Mary’s.

Inside church it was warm and quiet, and the sanctuary lamp glowed red. Father LeRoy’s homily followed today’s meditation from The Circling Year: loving Jesus isn’t something we do only when it feels sweet and easy. He said we can’t wait for “warm feelings” to prove our love is real. Real love stays steady even when the heart feels ordinary.

I kept thinking of the little St. Thérèse recipe card with the felt backing—her prayer and that line:

“I do not desire sensible love. If it is sensible to love Jesus, that is enough for me.”

It made me realize I sometimes want prayer to feel like sunshine. But maybe loving Jesus quietly—especially when I feel plain and distracted—is still love, and maybe it even pleases Him more.

On the ride home, Sister Mary Claire said St. Thérèse teaches us to do small things for Jesus without measuring our feelings. Robert said the best farm work is often the unnoticed kind. Mini fell asleep as soon as we got home, muddy paws and all, like she’d been on an important mission.

Tonight I set St. Thérèse’s card on my desk and tried to be glad for quiet love.

Evening Prayer

Sweet Jesus,

Teach me to love You whether I feel it or not.

Let my love be steady like the sanctuary lamp.

Help me do small things with great love,

and be faithful to You in the quiet.

If it is sensible to love You,

that is enough for me.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Robert Brings the Movie

Dear Diary,

Today is the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, and all day it felt like my thoughts kept drifting toward a grotto and a little stream. Even the cold air outside seemed quiet, like it was holding its breath. I kept thinking how Our Lady chose a poor, sickly girl—Bernadette—someone the grown-ups didn’t take very seriously. And still, Heaven came to her anyway.

This evening Robert treated Sister Mary Claire, me, and Mini to his very favorite old movie, The Song of Bernadette. He brought his projector and a real movie reel, and when he turned it on the room filled up with that soft clicking sound, like a tiny train going somewhere far away. Robert looked as happy as if he had brought us a whole feast.

The movie tells how Bernadette Soubirous, a simple girl from Lourdes, sees a beautiful Lady in white at the grotto of Massabielle. Bernadette doesn’t try to sound important—she just says what she saw. And because she won’t change her story to make people pleased, she gets questioned and teased and pushed around. But she stays gentle and firm. The Lady asks her to pray, and to do penance, and to tell the priests. Then that little spring begins to flow, and people come with their sufferings and their hopes, and some of them are healed. The saddest parts were when nobody believed her, and the sweetest parts were when Bernadette prayed anyway.

When the film ended, we sat very still for a minute. Sister Mary Claire’s eyes looked shiny in the lamplight, and Robert quietly rewound his reel like it was something precious.

Later, when it was time for bed, I couldn’t stop seeing a picture in my mind—so clear it felt like a memory. I imagined Mini and me down at Indian Creek, sitting on a mossy rock at the water’s edge. My hands were folded, holding my rosary, the beads slipping softly through my fingers. Mini sat close beside me, very still, her ears lifted and pointed the same way my heart was pointing. Across the creek, in the gentle glow, I imagined Our Lady of Lourdes—white and peaceful—standing as if the woods themselves were praying with her. The water shone like it was catching light from Heaven. And in my imagining, neither Mini nor I felt afraid. We just looked and looked, like children who finally found what they were longing for, even if we couldn’t explain it.

I think that is what the Feast felt like today: Our Lady reminding the world that she comes to the low places—the rocks, the cold streams, the quiet corners—and she invites us to pray there.

Evening Prayer

Our Lady of Lourdes,

please help me to be simple like Bernadette—truthful, brave, and gentle. Teach me to pray even when no one understands me. Bring Your Son close to our little home, to Sister Mary Claire, to dear Robert, and to faithful Mini. If there is anything sick or scared in my heart, let Your love be a healing spring.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy 🌹

“Food for Thought and Whipped Cream”

Click on Mini to Enlarge

Dear Diary,

This morning Robert picked us up as usual and right on time in the pickup, with the cold still holding tight to the fields. Sister Mary Claire and I sat close together, and Mini stood with her paws braced, ears alert, like she always does when she knows we’re going to church. I hadn’t read today’s meditation yet, so I didn’t quite know what to expect, but I had a feeling it would be a serious one.

Father LeRoy’s homily turned out to be a lot of food for thought. He spoke about how Jesus asks us not just to listen, but to let His words change us, even when they unsettle us or make us see ourselves more clearly than we might like. Father said the Lord isn’t trying to confuse us—He’s trying to draw us deeper, past easy answers and into trust. That made me sit very still in the pew. I kept thinking about how often I want things explained neatly, when maybe Jesus wants me to sit with the question instead.

On the ride home, I told Sister and Robert that my head felt full, like when you’ve read something important but don’t quite know yet what to do with it. Robert said that was probably a good sign. Sister helped by putting it into simpler words, saying that Jesus was asking for honesty of heart more than clever thoughts. Mini leaned against my leg the whole way, which somehow made everything feel steadier.

When we got home, Sister invited Robert in for coffee, and he stayed for a piece of mincemeat pie with fresh whipping cream. The kitchen felt warm and kind, and it was nice to hear everyone talking easily again. Mini sat very politely and was rewarded with a small dollop of whipping cream, which she accepted as if it were a great honor. It felt like one of those days where thinking hard and resting gently both belonged together.

I am grateful for days like this.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, thank You for Your words, even when they stretch my thinking and my heart. Thank You for Father LeRoy helping me understand, and for Sister and Robert helping me feel peaceful again. Help me keep what You taught me today and live it quietly and faithfully. Please bless our home and everyone who shared our table. Amen.

Love, Kathy

“Trusting Jesus When the Path Is Slippery”

Dear Diary,

This morning Robert picked us up as usual and right on time — in his pickup, with the heater working hard against the February cold. Sister Mary Claire and I climbed in together, and Mini wiggled herself into our little bundle like she belonged there most of all. The road felt rough and frozen, and I held my prayer book close, thinking about today’s meditation and how Jesus kept calling His apostles back to trust—back to remembering that God provides, even when we feel small and worried.

At Mass, Father LeRoy’s homily fit right into that. He spoke about how easy it is to look at what we don’t have—strength, answers, clear paths—and forget how many times the Lord has already carried us. Father said that when Jesus speaks like that, it isn’t scolding so much as it is love: like He’s trying to lift our chin so we’ll look up again. While he talked, I found myself glancing toward the tabernacle and wishing I could hold on tighter to that kind of trust, the kind that doesn’t shake the minute something turns hard.

And that is exactly what I felt after Mass, because my thoughts went straight to the creek and the cave. The slope down to it is steep, and now it’s a mean mix of mud and ice, the kind that tricks your boots. I kept worrying that I won’t be able to visit Shaggycoat—my beaver friend—or the cave for a while, and it made my chest feel tight, like I was being kept away from something safe and dear. But then Father’s words came back to me: the Lord provides, even when the way is closed for a time. Maybe this is one of those days when trusting Jesus means staying put, even when my heart wants to hurry down a slippery hill.

This afternoon I kept picturing the sun softening everything little by little, and I asked Jesus to help me be patient. If He can hold the whole world in His care, He can surely hold Shaggycoat and our secret place too, until it’s safe again.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, thank You for bringing me to Mass today and for Father LeRoy’s words that helped me remember Your care. Help me trust You when I feel disappointed or worried, and keep me from rushing into danger just because I miss the cave. Please watch over Shaggycoat by the creek, and keep the slope safe until I can visit again. Stay with me tonight and teach my heart to rest in You. Amen.

Love, Kathy

The Circling Year

“Holding Close to the Sacred Heart”

Dear Diary,

This morning the air was 26 degrees, and everything outside felt like it had been held still by a quiet hand. The ground was frozen hard, and even the weeds by the fence looked stiff and silvered. It made me feel peaceful, because it meant there would be no muddy footprints in Church — not mine, and not Mini’s either. She stepped along like a little careful soldier, neat and proper, as if she understood that today was meant to be clean and solemn.

In Church, the world seemed softer. The candles flickered like tiny steady stars, and the hush in the pews felt like a blanket laid over everyone’s shoulders. When Father LeRoy began his homily, his voice didn’t feel like it was only filling the air — it felt like it was reaching down inside me, like a bell that keeps ringing even after you can’t see it swinging anymore.

He spoke about Jesus at the Last Supper, and about the apostles — His own friends — and how He knew they would be afraid. Father said Jesus didn’t stop loving them because they were weak. He looked at them with truth in His eyes, and still He stayed with them. Still He fed them. Still He prayed for them.

And then… I don’t know how to explain it, but I sort of floated away inside my thoughts. It was like I was sitting in the pew, and also somewhere else at the same time.

I could see it — a room lit in gentle shadows, a long table, and Jesus there, not harsh, not angry, but serious in a way that is almost more tender than smiling. His hand lifted as He spoke, like He was trying to gather their hearts back to Him before the night scattered them. The apostles leaned in, troubled and slow to understand, like men who can feel a storm coming but don’t know where to stand.

And in my imagination, Sister Mary Claire and I were across the room, holding on to each other, and I was hanging onto Mini too — the three of us watching, quiet as can be. I felt a little shiver in my heart, not from cold, but from how real it seemed: Jesus loving them so much, and still warning them, because love doesn’t pretend the hard things aren’t coming.

Father’s homily made me wonder about my own bravery. Not the brave that runs toward danger like in storybooks… but the brave that stays close. The brave that keeps loving. The brave that doesn’t disappear when things get frightening inside.

Could I be strong?

Could I be faithful?

Could I stay near Jesus when it would be easier to drift away like smoke?

Tonight, when the house got quiet, I kept thinking of that table and that look on His face. And I decided I’m going to keep my Sacred Heart badge close to me — right on my bedside table — so when I wake up and when I fall asleep, I’ll remember that Jesus is near, and He wants my heart to stay with His.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus,

When I am weak, please be my strength.

When I feel afraid, please be my courage.

Let me stay close to You like a little lamp that won’t blow out.

Teach my heart to be faithful — not all at once, but day by day,

until I can love You bravely.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy 💙

Mailbox Pickup & Jesus Prays for Us

Dear Diary,

The yard was muddy today, so Robert picked us up at the mailbox for evening Mass.

Mini came too, of course. She acted like muddy paws were part of her job, and she sat there on her towel looking proud, ears alert, like she was guarding us all the way to church.

At Mass, Father LeRoy based his homily on today’s meditation about Jesus’ pontifical prayer—how Jesus prayed to His Father for His followers. Father said Jesus wasn’t asking that we be taken out of the world, but that we be protected from the spirit of it.

He explained that the “spirit of the world” is when comfort, attention, and getting our own way starts to matter more than God. Father told us Jesus wants our hearts to stay simple and clean—full of faith, hope, and love—and ready to turn away from sin, even from the shadow of it.

Then Father spoke about how Jesus also prayed that we may be one—one family in the Church, one heart and one soul—because our Head is Jesus, and He desires peace and love among His people.

Father said unity doesn’t start with big speeches. It starts with little choices: gentle words, quick forgiveness, doing our duties without dragging our feet, and not stirring up trouble where peace should live.

When we came home, I kept thinking how sweet it is that Jesus actually prayed for us like that—so carefully, so lovingly—before He suffered. It made me want to answer His prayer by trying harder tomorrow.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, thank You for praying for me. Please guard my heart from the world’s proud spirit. Make me love what You love, and help our home and our parish be one—peaceful, faithful, and kind. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Muddy Mini and Careful Steps

 
Dear Diary,

At Mass, Father LeRoy based his homily on today’s meditation—Jesus’ great prayer before His Passion. Father said Jesus knew His hardest hour was coming, and still He lifted His eyes to the Father and prayed—first to do the Father’s will, and then for His own, because He loves us and wants us kept close to God. Father explained that trusting Jesus isn’t only for bright, easy days. It’s for the days that feel slippery and mixed-up too—when you can’t go where you want, and you have to take careful steps and simply do the next right thing. He said if Jesus could pray with such love on the night before His suffering, then we can offer Him our little troubles and stay close to Him instead of getting fretful.

By afternoon the warm-up really came, and that’s when everything turned messy. The snow went soft and shiny and then it all started to melt at once, and the yard looked like it couldn’t decide if it was winter or spring. Sister told me to stay put except for the chicken house, because the path to the cave was steep and slick and too risky to walk.

Mini, though, had other ideas. She started down the way toward the cave like she was on an important mission, and before I could call her back she slipped and rolled in the soft mud—one whole little tumble, ears and paws and all. That settled it: the cave was officially off limits until things dry up.

Evening Prayer:

Sweet Jesus, thank You for being with me today. When my plans get stopped and everything feels messy, help me to trust You and do the next right thing with a peaceful heart. Keep Sister Mary Claire, Father LeRoy, and our little farm safe tonight, and let Mini rest easy after her warm bath. Amen.




Love,

Kathy

Take, O Lord, Even This Cold Morning

Dear Diary,

This morning felt almost friendly compared to the last few days. It warmed up to 30 degrees, which still sounds cold on paper, but it made such a difference. Everything outside was frozen solid—the ground hard as a board, the water pails crusted over, and the fence rails rimmed with ice—but at least the air was breathable. I didn’t feel like my lungs were cracking when I took a deep breath. Mini stood beside me with her ears up, sniffing the cold like she was checking to see if winter was finally behaving itself.

After a bit, Robert picked us up as usual and right on time. Mini came too, of course, sitting nice and steady like she knows church rides are important business. The truck was still chilly inside, but it warmed as we went along, and it felt good just knowing we were headed to Mass. Sister Mary Claire was quiet, holding the meditation, and I hadn’t read it yet—I just watched the frosty fields go by and wondered what Jesus might ask of me today.

At church, Father LeRoy’s homily followed the meditation so closely it felt like he was answering the thoughts I didn’t even know how to say yet. He talked about how the prayer “Take, O Lord” isn’t only about giving Jesus the nice parts—our prayers, our good intentions, or the things we’re proud of—but also the cold, stiff parts of our days. He said we can offer Him our tiredness, our impatience, the chores we do when we don’t feel like it, and even the parts of ourselves that still feel frozen. Father said Jesus doesn’t ask us to warm ourselves up first; He asks us to hand everything over, trusting that He knows what to do with it. Sitting there, I thought about the frozen ground outside and how spring will soften it without the earth doing anything at all.

Tonight, as the house settled and the cold pressed against the windows again, I tried to remember that. I don’t have to fix everything before I give it to Jesus. I can just give it.

Evening Prayer

Sweet Jesus,

Take, O Lord, all that I am today—my small efforts, my cold hands, my wandering thoughts, and even the parts of my heart that feel stiff and slow. Teach me to trust You with everything, not just the easy things. Warm what is frozen in me, and help me rest in knowing that You will make something good of it all. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Staying Close to Jesus

Dear Diary,

Robert picked us up as usual and right on time. Sister Mary Claire and I hurried out with Mini, and she hopped in like she’d been waiting for this ride all morning, sitting up nice and proper with her ears alert.

At Mass, Father LeRoy explained that today’s meditation was from Jesus’ words at the Last Supper, when He tells us to abide in His love, and that His joy can be in us, and our joy can be full. Father said “abide” means stay close, like staying near the light when it’s dark, or staying near someone you trust when you feel small. He told us Jesus isn’t offering a quick happy feeling—He’s offering His own deep joy, the kind that comes from living inside His love.

Father LeRoy said the way we stay in that love is by keeping Jesus’ commandments, not like chores we dread, but like loving paths that keep our hearts joined to His. And he said this fits so perfectly with the Eucharist, because Jesus didn’t only talk about love—He stayed with us. He remains in the tabernacle, and He comes to us in Holy Communion, so we can truly remain with Him. Father said every time we come to Mass, we are answering Jesus’ invitation: “Stay with Me. Remain in My love.”

I tried to listen extra carefully, because I don’t want Jesus to offer me His love and joy and have me act like it’s not a big deal. On the ride home, Sister Mary Claire spoke softly about how obeying Jesus isn’t meant to feel like fear—it’s meant to feel like love. Little things, like being patient when chores take longer than I want, or being gentle when somebody is tired, are ways to stay close to Jesus all day.

Tonight, when it got quiet, I remembered Father saying that joy grows when we remain—when we keep coming back to Jesus instead of drifting off. So tomorrow I’m going to try to do my duties with a willing heart, and when I start to feel crabby or hurried, I’ll whisper, “Jesus, help me abide in Your love.”

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for inviting me to abide in Your love. Please help me stay close to You all day, not just at Church. Teach me to keep Your commandments with love, and to find my joy in You. Help me be kind and patient, even in small hidden ways. Jesus, let Your joy be in me, and make my joy full. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Good Ground at Littlemore

Dear Diary,

Robert picked us up as usual and right on time, and we rode to church together—Sister Mary Claire and me all bundled up, with Mini sitting straight and proud like she knew exactly where we were going.

At Mass, Father LeRoy talked about today’s meditation—the parable of the sower. He said Jesus isn’t just talking about seeds and soil, but about our hearts. Some hearts are like the hard path, where good things can’t sink in because we’re too rushed or closed off. Some are like rocky ground, where we start out strong but give up when things get hard. Others are like the thorny ground, where worries and little selfish things crowd out what God is trying to grow.

Then Father said something that really stayed with me. He said the good soil isn’t perfect soil—it’s just soil that keeps letting itself be worked on. It gets plowed, turned over, sometimes even hurt a little, but it stays open. He said God does the sowing, but we have to say yes to being good ground by listening, praying, and trying again even when we mess up.

I thought about that all day. I don’t want Jesus’ words to just land on me and bounce off. I want them to sink in and stay. I asked Him to help me be patient when I don’t understand things right away, and to keep my heart soft instead of stubborn.

When evening came, the house felt calm, and I thought again of the sower walking steadily across the field, scattering seeds without holding back. Jesus gives His love like that—freely, even when He knows some of it won’t grow. That made me love Him more.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for sowing Your words in my heart today. Please help me be good ground—open, patient, and willing to grow, even when it’s hard. Pull out the weeds in me and help Your love take root. Stay close to me tonight and help me belong to You always. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

“Tended Like the Old Oak”

Dear Diary,

This morning felt cold but hopeful, the kind of cold where you can tell the day is trying to warm up. I stayed inside where it was cozy and watched the window glass turn a little cloudy from the chill. Mini kept sitting up and lying back down again, like she knew it was a church morning and didn’t want to miss a thing.

Then we heard Robert’s horn.

We bundled up quick, and Sister Mary Claire made sure my scarf was tucked in tight. Mini trotted right along with us, all business. Robert picked us up as usual and right on time in his pickup, and off we went down the road to church with the heater working hard and Mini looking proud to be coming along.

The church looked especially quiet this morning, like it was waiting for us.

During Mass, Father’s homily stayed with me the whole time. He spoke about Jesus being the true Vine and us being the branches, and how the branch has to stay joined to the vine if it wants to live and bear fruit. Father explained that when God “prunes” us, it can feel like little cuts—corrections, disappointments, sacrifices, or having to do something we don’t feel like doing—but it isn’t mean. It’s love. It’s careful love, meant to help us grow cleaner and stronger and more fruitful.

I thought about how sometimes I don’t like being corrected, or when something feels hard or unfair. But Father said those moments can actually be signs that God is paying close attention to our souls, like a gardener who doesn’t forget even one branch. That made me feel calmer inside, like even the hard things have a purpose.

After Mass, Robert took us home. The roads looked pale and wintry, and the fields went by like big quiet blankets. Sister Mary Claire and Robert talked about Father’s homily on the way back. Sister said that staying close to Jesus doesn’t mean doing big, noticeable things—it means being faithful in the small ones, especially when no one is watching. Robert said it’s like farming: you don’t see growth all at once, but it’s happening all the time, and you have to keep tending what you’ve been given.

I listened and looked out the window and decided I want to stay close to Jesus today in my own little way—by doing my chores carefully, by being patient, and by accepting the “pruning” without fussing. Mini sighed and leaned into my coat like she was saying, Yes, that’s the plan.

Evening Prayer:

Sweet Jesus, keep me close to You tonight. Help me to stay joined to You like a branch to the vine, even when things feel hard or confusing. Teach me to accept Your pruning with trust and love, and help me grow good fruit for You in the little duties of my day. Please bless Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and dear Mini, and keep us safe in Your care.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy

The Recipe Box Lesson

Dear Diary,

This morning it was 22 degrees, and the cold felt sharp the minute we stepped outside. Sister Mary Claire and I hurried through chores and then came back in to warm up. While the kettle was starting to sing, I opened Aunt Zora’s recipe box again. I love that box—how it smells like old paper and cinnamon and the kind of cooking that means someone cared.

Tucked between the index cards was a little recipe card, but it wasn’t for food at all. It was one of those “Daily Thoughts” cards, and it even had a St. Thérèse scapular with a felt backing taped on it, like Aunt Zora wanted to be able to hold it close and remember it with her hands as well as her mind. The words on the card said:

“I wish so much to love Jesus to love Him as He has never yet been loved.”

I read it twice, because it sounded so big—like a mountain. But then I thought maybe St. Thérèse wasn’t asking for big, showy things. Maybe she was asking for love that is real, and steady, and small enough to live inside an ordinary day.

Robert picked us up right on time, and in no time at all we were listening to Father LeRoy’s homily which followed today’s meditation, and it fit so perfectly with that little card that it felt like Jesus was pointing at it. Father said loving Jesus isn’t mostly loud words or grand gestures. He said the truest love is often hidden—like a good ingredient in a recipe that makes everything better even if nobody sees it. He called it the “Little Way,” and he said it means choosing love in the small place you’re standing in: in your chores, in your patience, in your speech, in the way you treat the people God has put right beside you.

Right then, Sister Mary Claire noticed my hands were cold and tugged my mitten down snug. I thought, St. Thérèse would call that a “little way” kind of love—quiet and real. And something in me settled, because I understood it better: loving Jesus as He hasn’t been loved yet can start with being gentle and careful in the moment I’m living—not the moment I wish I was living.

All day I kept thinking of that little scapular on its felt backing—soft, simple, and close. It made me want my love to be like that too: not fancy, not noisy, but warm and true. When I had a chance to be impatient, I tried to swallow it down. When I had a chance to be kind, I tried not to wait. Even Mini seemed to be practicing the “little way,” following close and watching everything with her serious helper face.

Tonight I’m putting Aunt Zora’s card back where it belongs, but I’m keeping the words in my heart. I want to love Jesus on purpose—in little ways that only He might notice, and that’s enough.

Evening Prayer:

Sweet Jesus, teach me St. Thérèse’s little way. Help me to love You quietly and truly, and to be gentle with the people You place right near me. Keep me faithful in small things, and help me begin again quickly when I fail. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Keeping His Commandment

 

Dear Diary,

This morning was so cold it felt like the air could crack as it was minus 6 degrees. I opened the door just a little to peek out, and the wind rushed in like it wanted to live with us. Mini took one brave step, then chose the rug like a sensible girl. Sister Mary Claire smiled and said Mini was “as wise as a little saint.”

Today the plan was to attend evening Mass, because by then it would at least be above zero. We kept the day careful and quiet—quick chores, and steady stove. When Robert picked us up, it felt like a true kindness on a day like this. Mini came too, sitting so proper and alert, like she understood where we were going.

When we got to church, it felt like stepping into a safe, warm pocket of the world. Father LeRoy’s homily followed today's meditation and I understood it better than I expected. He said people can get mixed up and think loving God is mostly long prayers or sweet feelings—and then they get discouraged when they’re busy, or when prayer feels dry. But Jesus Himself tells us the truest proof of love is to keep His commandments—to do God’s will faithfully, even in plain duties, even without consolations. That kind of obedience is love that doesn’t depend on feelings.

I brought my prayer book too, and I said the Holy Communion prayers before and after. Before, I asked for help to make a good Communion and tried to be very still inside. After Communion, I thanked Jesus for coming so close, and I asked Him to help me show my love in the simple ways He asks of me—being prompt, not complaining, and offering little sacrifices gladly.

And when Mass was finished, and I stepped out of the church door into the cold evening air, I didn’t want to leave Jesus behind—not even for a minute. So I whispered the sweetest line from my prayer book, as if it could be my little hand holding His:

“Sweet Jesus, I am going away for a time, but I trust not without You.” 

Sources:

The Circling Year

Holy Communion Prayers

Little Visits to Jesus

Jesus Is the Way

Dear Diary,

Today was +6 degrees, the kind of cold that makes your eyelashes feel like they’re thinking about turning to ice. Robert was right on time, and Mini did her usual welcome—spinning and hopping like Robert had just come home from battle and we were all a marching band just for him.

At Mass, Father LeRoy gave such a good homily and folded the meditation right into it. He talked about how the disciples heard Jesus, but still didn’t always understand where He was going—because the Cross is hard to understand when you’re only thinking with your “comfortable” mind. Then Father said the most important thing is that Jesus doesn’t just show the way—He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and we don’t get to the Father without following Him.

On the ride home, I kept thinking about how easy it is to know the right thing and still forget it the minute something pokes my pride or makes me tired. I don’t want to drift off the straight path by doing my duties halfway or skipping prayer when I feel “fine.” So today I’m choosing one simple thing: to follow Jesus in humility, especially in the tiny moments when nobody claps and nobody notices.

Tonight, I’m going to bed asking Jesus to keep my heart clear and honest—no pretending, no excuses—just following Him, one step at a time.

Evening Prayer:

O Jesus, my Way, my Truth, and my Life, take my hand and don’t let me wander. Help me love the small duties, do them with a happy heart, and keep my eyes on Heaven. Bless Sister Mary Claire, bless Robert for his kindness, and bless little Mini too. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Sources:

The Circling Year

Holy Communion Prayers

Little Visits to Jesus

The Ash Wood Surprise and Jesus Waiting in the Tabernacle

Dear Diary,

Today was another cold day (+10 degrees) the kind where your breath turns white the minute you step outside. Robert picked us up for Mass again, but he came a half hour early because he had a load of split ash wood for us. Sister Mary Claire and I thanked him and thanked him, because ash is such good stove wood, but Robert just shrugged it off like it was nothing.

When we got home, we started stacking it right away. Mini supervised the whole thing like a tiny foreman, trotting back and forth with her ears out, watching every log go into place. If I set one a little crooked, she gave me that look like, Kathy… we are building a wall against January. So I fixed it.

At Mass, Father’s message in the homily was about how Jesus stays with us in the tabernacle because He loves us, and how He didn’t want to leave us alone even after He went back to the Father. Father LeRoy said love always wants to be near, and that Jesus chose a way to remain close—quietly—so we could come to Him anytime. He said the tabernacle is not just “where Jesus is,” but also where Jesus is waiting—not like waiting impatiently, but waiting like Someone who is glad when you arrive, even if you come in all bundled up and feeling small.

Father also said something that stayed in my mind: that Jesus, hidden and still, is busy loving us—thinking of our needs, ready to help us, ready to strengthen us. He said when we kneel and whisper even one honest sentence, Jesus can speak back to our hearts—softly—like He knows exactly where the sore spot is inside us. And Father reminded us of that kind invitation Jesus always gives: Come to Me… and I will refresh you.

On the way home, I kept thinking about it while the cold fields slid past the windows. I thought about how the tabernacle is kind of like our stove—quiet on the outside, but full of warmth inside. And I thought about Robert’s ash wood too, because that was a real kindness that came early, before we even asked, and it made our home warmer. Then it hit me that Jesus does that even more—He gives Himself, not just something helpful, but Himself. That’s bigger than a whole truckload of ash.

So today I want to remember two things:

Kindness can be quiet. Robert didn’t make a speech about it. He just did it.

Jesus is the quietest kindness of all, because He stays, and waits, and never gets tired of us coming back.

After supper, I went and looked at the wood stack again, just because it felt so comforting to see it there—straight and ready. Mini followed me and sniffed the bottom row like she was checking if winter had any sneaky holes. Then she leaned against my leg for a second, and I thought, Even Mini likes a house that feels safe.

And I decided I want to go to Jesus more—not only when I have a big problem, but also when I just need my heart to be warmed up and put back in order.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, thank You for staying with us in the tabernacle because You love us so much. Thank You for caring about our little needs and our big ones too. Please bless Robert for his kindness, and help me to be grateful without forgetting You are the greatest Gift. Keep our home warm, keep us faithful, and teach me to come to You quickly—like You are truly waiting for me. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Sources:

The Circling Year

Holy Communion Prayer

29th Little Visit

A New Commandment in the Cold”

 

Dear Diary,

Today began cold again, +10 degrees, and the air felt sharp enough to make my cheeks sting the moment we stepped outside. Sister Mary Claire and I hurried along, all bundled up, and Robert pulled up right when we needed him—like the Lord sent him at just the right time. Mini came too, of course. She hopped up so proud on the seat, with her ears up like little airplane wings, as if she was on an important mission to get us to Morning Mass.

The ride to Church was quiet and frosty, the kind where the fields look pale and still, and you can almost hear the cold. Mini kept leaning forward to see everything through the windshield, and once she let out a tiny happy sound, like she knew where we were going. Sister smiled at her and told her, “Yes, Mini—Mass first, then all the rest.”

At Church, Father’s homily was about today’s meditation on Love, and it felt like he was speaking right from the Last Supper, like we were allowed to stand near the doorway and listen. Father said Jesus gave His friends a new command—not just “be nice,” but love each other the way He loves us. And that love isn’t only for the people who make it easy. Jesus loved people even when they didn’t deserve it, even when they ran away, even when they were ungrateful. Father explained how Jesus didn’t just say loving words—He proved His love with what He suffered, and with how He gave Himself.

That part made me feel very small inside (in a good way), because I know I can be sweet to people when I’m in a sweet mood, but Jesus is asking for something braver: a love that doesn’t quit, and a love that doesn’t depend on someone “earning it.” Father talked about how the early Christians were known for loving each other so much that people could actually see it in their lives—like it was their mark, like a bright ribbon.

And then Father said something I want to keep: that the Holy Eucharist is the living source of love, because Jesus doesn’t just tell us to love—He comes close to help us do it. That made me think of all the times I feel impatient or offended or tired, and how I try to fix it just by trying harder. But today I understood a little more that I need Jesus Himself to make my heart softer and stronger.

So on the way home, I told Sister Mary Claire I want to practice love in a real way today—not in big dramatic ways, but in the little ones that actually count: “So today I’m going to try to stay gentle, not get snippy, not count who did what, and do one kind thing quiet—just for Jesus.”

 Sister said that is exactly what makes love “new” in the way Jesus meant it—because it looks like Him.

And the best, holiest part of my whole morning was Holy Communion. When I received Our Lord, I tried to be very still inside, like a little lamp that doesn’t want to flicker. I told Jesus, “Teach me Your kind of love. Put it in me.” I will remember that warm, sacred moment for the rest of the day, because it felt like Heaven came close enough to touch my heart.

Short Prayer:

O Jesus, please make my heart like Yours—gentle, brave, and full of love. Help me love others the way You loved me. Amen.

Love, Kathy.

Sources:

The Circling Year

Holy Communion Prayers

Into the Vineyard, Even on a +7° Morning

Dear Diary,

Today was +7 degrees, the kind of cold that makes the world look clean and hard, like everything is holding its breath. Robert was able to give Sister Mary Claire and me a ride to Church, and I felt so grateful, because even the walk from the door to the car made my cheeks sting. Mini was especially happy—she’s had a touch of cabin fever, and the moment she realized we were going somewhere, she turned into pure sunshine with show-dog energy, sitting up tall and looking proud of herself, like she belonged to the whole adventure.

At Mass, Father LeRoy explained The Meditation about the laborers in the vineyard—how serving God isn’t something we can “skip” like a chore we don’t feel like doing. He said God is our true Master, and we belong to Him, so our thoughts and words and choices are meant for Him. He compared the vineyard work to the hard work inside our own hearts—pulling out faults and learning virtues, like pruning and trimming vines so they can bear fruit.

On the ride home, Sister and Robert talked more about it, and it helped me understand it in a simpler way. Robert said it isn’t just “doing a lot,” but doing our duty with love and earnestness, because God looks at the fervor we bring, not just how long we’ve been around trying. Sister reminded me that nobody is excused from trying to grow—rich or poor, healthy or sick, young or old—and that even small sacrifices matter if they are offered faithfully.

When we got home, Sister Mary Claire invited Robert to breakfast. She said, very cheerfully, that she had a new jar of Nescafé and whipping cream to put on top. Robert smiled and said yes (and honestly, who wouldn’t?). The kitchen felt warm and friendly, and the coffee looked like a little celebration. Mini sat nearby, still bright-eyed from Church, watching us like she was part of the conversation too.

All day the words kept coming back to me: “Why stand ye here all day idle? Go ye also into my vineyard.” I don’t want Jesus to ever be able to say I wasted a whole day just standing around. So today I tried to do my duties right away, without sighing or delaying. And I chose one thing I really need to work on—being patient—and I asked Jesus to help me practice it all day long.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, help me not to be idle with my heart. Please make me a true worker in Your vineyard—quiet, faithful, and full of love. Take all I am and all I do, and make it pleasing to You. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Blowing Snow and Brave Goodbyes

Dear Diary,

Today the thermometer said minus 10 degrees, and the wind acted like it was trying to boss the whole world around. It shoved the snow into little whirlwinds that skittered across the yard and smacked the window panes like handfuls of dry cornmeal. Mini kept popping up and spinning in circles, sure that surely we were going out to check the chickens anyway. She sat by the door with her ears up like airplane wings and that serious “I can do chores” face—until Sister Mary Claire reminded her, “Mini, even a brave helper has to mind the weather,” as I put on my parka and scarf for the first trip to the hen house to collect eggs and warm the chickens’ drinking water.

Right after breakfast, the telephone rang, and it was Father LeRoy. His voice sounded kind but firm, the way it does when he’s trying to keep everyone safe. He told Sister that Church is cancelled again and asked her to help him call parishioners and tell them to stay indoors. Sister put on her calm, busy voice and started making calls, one right after another. I listened to her say the same careful words: “Please don’t try to come in—Father wants you safe. Pray at home today.” Every time she hung up, I could see she felt sad, because she loves when the little St. Mary’s family is all together.

When the calling was done, Sister and I sat close together and read Today’s Meditation about Jesus leaving Nazareth and how Mary knew the separation was coming and didn’t let tomorrow’s sorrow steal today’s duties. It said Mary kept Jesus’ words in her heart, and she didn’t get all twisted up with fearful thoughts—she accepted each day from God’s hand and prepared herself with a brave love. It said Mary wanted Jesus to begin His mission, even though it would hurt her, because she cared more about God’s work and other souls than her own comfort. And it spoke of Jesus, too—how hard it was for Him to leave the little home He loved, and how He knew it would pierce His Mother’s heart, yet He went anyway, for love.

It made me think of when Sister and I left Sioux City to come to Littlemore and help Father LeRoy with our little parish. Sioux City wasn’t Nazareth, and we aren’t Jesus and Mary (not even close), but I remember that feeling of stepping away from what is familiar. I remember how Sister tried to be cheerful for me, even when I could tell her heart felt squeezed. I even thought of the old Combination Bridge, crossing the Missouri River into Nebraska, and that clink-clank sound as the tires went over the iron rails—then Nebraska on the other side, like you’d stepped into a different world in one minute. But I pulled my thoughts back quickly to Jesus, because I could tell that whole bridge story is for another diary day.

And then—oh dear—I thought of St. Boniface school and how I had to leave my friends. I wondered what home schooling would be like way out in the country with Littlemore and just a handful of residents. Would it feel lonely? Would I miss the bell and the desks and the busy hallway sounds? Oh my!!! Sister must have noticed my face, because she touched my shoulder and said, “Kathy, God will not send us somewhere without also sending what we need.” That helped me breathe again.

Tonight, the house feels extra quiet—like the whole world is holding its breath in the snow. But the meditation helped me. It told me not to borrow tomorrow’s troubles, and to offer the little sacrifices of the day—cold feet, cancelled plans, being stuck inside—with Jesus and Mary, all is well.

Evening Prayer

O sweetest Jesus, keep our little parish safe tonight. Bless Father LeRoy as he watches over his people, and bless Sister as she serves with a brave and willing heart. Help me not to be fretful about tomorrow, but to do the duties You give me today with love. Please watch over Shaggycoat in his lodge, and over every creature in this bitter weather. And Mary, Mother of Sorrows, teach me to hold God’s words in my heart and to say “yes” when it is time to go where God calls. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Sunday — The Wind That Won’t Quit (–8°

 

Dear Diary,

This morning was minus eight degrees, and the wind was blowing so hard it felt like it could scrape the skin right off your cheeks. Snow kept whipping past the house in fast little sheets, and the drifts around the picket fence looked sharp and lumpy, like the world had been carved instead of gently covered.

Robert came for us right at the gate outside the fence, bless him. He pulled up as close as he could so Sister Mary Claire and I wouldn’t have to fight the wind any longer than necessary. Mini came too, of course—she stepped into that cold like she was proud of it, ears up and eyes bright, and then she settled in like she belonged in Robert's pickup as much as we did.

At Mass, I kept thinking about the meditation for the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul—how Saul was so sure he was right, and then the Lord stopped him in a flash and turned his whole life around. And the words that stayed in my mind were: “Lord, what wilt Thou have me do?”

Sister explained that this is the most important question a person can ask, because it means you’re done arguing with God and you’re ready to obey Him—quickly, like St. Paul did.

Sister told me that sometimes God’s light comes like a big surprise, and sometimes it comes quietly—like a little thought in your heart that says, be kinder… stop pouting… do your duty… say your prayers… And she said we should follow those little inspirations right away, because grace is a gift, and we shouldn’t make the Lord “knock twice” on a stubborn heart.

She also said St. Paul, after he was struck down, had to be led and guided—he had to trust obedience, and wait on God’s timing with prayer and fasting, and not demand comfort right away. That made me think of the cold wind again—how you can’t boss it around, you can only keep steady and do what’s right anyway.

When we got home, the snow was still flying past the fence rails, and the yard looked like it was full of invisible white birds. I said that little line again while I stomped the snow off my boots: “Lord, what wilt Thou have me do?”

And I tried to mean it, even for plain chores—because if God’s will is the “guiding star,” Sister says you don’t get lost, even on the windiest days.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for bringing St. Paul out of darkness and into Your light. Please give me a ready heart that says, “Lord, what wilt Thou have me do?” and then does it without delay. Help me obey quickly, pray faithfully, and stay steady when things are hard or cold. Bless Robert for his kindness, bless Sister, and keep Mini safe and warm. Mary, wrap our home in your mantle tonight. Amen.

Love, Kathy.

A Kettle-and-Chicken Day (–9°)

 

Dear Diary,

It was –9 degrees today, the kind of cold that bites your eyelashes and makes the whole world feel brittle. We were supposed to go to Mass, but Robert couldn’t come—he was having livestock trouble. One of his cows had gotten out on the corn stubble again, and he was trying to push her off the field and into his little cattle shed, and it just wouldn’t go right. So the church ride didn’t happen, and we stayed home, where the Lord had plenty of work waiting anyway.

Sister Mary Claire said, “Then we’ll do our duties with extra love,” and we spent the day caring for everything at Littlemore. The chickens were my special worry. Their water kept trying to turn into a solid block, so I kept a tea kettle on the stove all day. Every two hours, like a little bell inside my head, I took the kettle out to the chicken house. I gathered eggs, too—warm ones tucked under cold feathers—and then I poured hot water into the pan to melt what had started to ice over. It felt like such a small thing, but in that kind of weather it’s the difference between comfort and misery for our hens. Sister and I worked together, and even though the wind made our faces sting, we didn’t complain much—because there were hungry creatures counting on us.

Later, when we finally warmed our hands again, Sister and I read today’s meditation together about the labor of Jesus in His hidden life. It said Jesus chose poor, ordinary work—hard work—like a carpenter, and that He did it on purpose to sanctify labor and make it something holy. Sister explained it in a way I could really understand. She said Jesus didn’t just work with His hands—He worked with His heart pointed straight at His Father the whole time. Even when He was doing the plainest chores, He stayed in prayer inside, and He offered every bit of effort like a gift.

Sister told me that’s how we can make our own work shine to God too:

First, we should do our duties because they are God’s will for us right now, not because we feel like it.

Second, we should keep our intention clean—no showing off, no grumbling, no doing things only for praise—just doing them for love.

Third, we can keep a little “thread” of prayer going while we work, like whispering, “Jesus, I do this with You,”even if our hands are busy.

And lastly, when the work feels heavy or dull, we can offer that part as a small penance, the way Jesus bore the heat of the day without being seen by crowds.

When I went back out with the kettle again, I tried it. I held the warm handle and thought, Jesus worked in a little workshop. I’m working in a little chicken house. He knows what it is to do small things over and over. Somehow the cold didn’t feel quite so bossy after that.

Tonight the stove is still going, and the kettle is finally resting. Sister and I are tired in the good way—like the day was used up the way it ought to be.

Evening Prayer:

O Jesus, who did all things well, thank You for the hidden work of this day. Please bless Robert and help him with his cow, and keep all the animals safe in this terrible cold. Teach me to do even the smallest chores with a clean heart, without complaining, and to stay close to You while I work. Let my hands be helpful, and let my work be an offering of love. Mary, keep us under your mantle tonight, and keep our home warm and peaceful. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Omelette is Safe Inside

Dear Diary,

Today the temperature took a tumble clear down to minus 15 degrees, and it felt like the whole world got hushed up and told to stay put. Everything was called off—no Church, no travel, no going anywhere—just a stay-at-home day where you listen to the stove and the wind and try to keep things alive and warm.

Right away I carried firewood indoors and filled the wood box heaping, like I was building a little wall of safety right in the kitchen. I kept thinking about Robert and his generous nature, and how he makes sure we’re never caught short. Because of him, we were warm and safe, even when the cold tried to boss the whole farm around.

I brought Omelette inside, too. She was so sweet and calm, like she understood the rules of a bitter day. I kept her close while Sister Mary Claire and I watched the clock and planned our little dashes outside. Because the hens can’t be forgotten on a day like this.

And Mini helped us every time.

Every two hours, I’d pull on my coat and mittens, and Mini would come bouncing up like she was saying, “I’m ready! I’m on duty!” Sister would open the door just quick, and Mini and I would run out together—straight to the henhouse like a little rescue team. The cold air bit hard, and the snow squeaked under our boots, but Mini didn’t care. She trotted right beside me, nose up, ears alert, and when I crouched to gather eggs, she stood watch like a tiny farm guardian.

Sometimes I had to laugh because she looked so serious out there, like she was counting eggs with me. Then we’d hurry back in, and Sister Mary Claire would shut the door fast and brush the snow off my shoulders, and Mini would do a quick happy circle by the stove like she’d just completed an important mission.

Since we couldn’t go to Mass, Sister Mary Claire said, smiling, that she would fill in for Father LeRoy today. We sat down with our daily meditation and read about how Jesus lived at Nazareth and “was subject” to Mary and Joseph.

Sister explained it so I could understand: that Jesus is the Lord of everything, but He chose to obey anyway—cheerful and quick and loving—like obedience was His hidden work, the way we do chores without anyone clapping for us.

She said the prettiest part was that it wasn’t just “doing what you’re told”—it was Jesus giving His whole heart to it, to please His Heavenly Father.

And she told me something I’m going to try hard to remember: that real obedience brings a kind of peace, because you can say, “I am where God wants me, doing what He wants me to do.”

So I tried to live it today in small ways—getting up right away when it was time to check the hens, not fussing, not dragging my feet, and offering my little will to God like a warm gift instead of a stubborn stone. Even those quick runs with Mini felt like part of it—like my small obedience could be tucked right in with Jesus’ hidden days.

The rest of the day settled around the stove and the ticking clock and the radio weather updates, with the wind moaning outside like it was looking for a crack to sneak through. But our home felt steady. Sister kept the fire going, I kept the wood coming, Mini kept helping with every egg-gathering dash, and Omelette kept blinking at us like she was thankful for every warm minute.

Tonight, before bed, I’m making my resolution simple: In all my actions, I will try to unite myself with the obedience of Jesus.

Evening Prayer:

O Jesus, hidden and humble at Nazareth, help me to obey with a willing heart. Keep our home warm and safe tonight, bless Robert for his goodness, and watch over our hens in this hard cold. Bless Mini for her faithful little help, and let me be where You want me, doing what You want, with peace. Amen.

Love, Kathy

The Hidden Life at Indian Creek

Dear Diary,


This morning Robert came to pick us up for Church, and it felt like the whole world was still half-asleep—fields all white and quiet, and the road looking like it went on forever through the cold. Sister Mary Claire sat close and calm, like she always does, and Mini rode along like a little lady, sitting up proper with her show-dog face, watching everything out the window as if she was guarding us.

At Mass, Father LeRoy explained the meditation about the Hidden Life of Jesus at Nazareth—how Jesus, even though He is the Son of God, chose to live for years where hardly anyone noticed Him, working in an ordinary little town, doing humble duties, and being subject to Mary and Joseph. Father said that the hidden life isn’t wasted at all. Jesus was doing the Will of His Father the whole time, and teaching us that the small, plain things can be very great when they’re done for God. 

All the way home, I kept thinking about that word hidden. It made me think of Littlemore Farm, because so much of our life is quiet and ordinary too—chores that don’t look important to anybody else, like carrying wood, helping where Sister needs me, keeping things tidy, and doing what I’m told without making a fuss. And then it made me think of my hidden cave by Indian Creek—how it’s tucked away and you wouldn’t even know it’s there unless you were really looking. When I’m down there, it feels like the world can’t reach me, and it’s easier to remember that God sees things even when nobody else does.

Sometimes I like being hidden because it feels safe and peaceful. But sometimes I want to do something big so people will notice, and then I feel a little ashamed of that. Today I understood better what Father meant: Jesus could have “manifested Himself,” but He didn’t—He chose quiet obedience, and He loved it, because it pleased His Father. So maybe my cave isn’t only a hiding place. Maybe it can be like my little Nazareth—where I learn how to do my plain duties with love, and where I practice being happy with Jesus even if nobody is clapping for me.

Mini doesn’t worry about being seen at all. If she’s with us, she’s content—and that made me think: maybe the secret of the hidden life is just that… being with Jesus, and letting that be enough.

Resolution (Hidden Life): I will try to do my ordinary actions carefully and sweetly—especially the hidden ones—so Jesus can be pleased with me, even if nobody notices.




Love, Kathy

About My Father's Business

 

Dear Diary,

This morning the air felt shaxrp enough to snap, but it was warmer than it has been, and the thermometer said 17 degrees above zero. Sister Mary Claire and I were already waiting at the mailbox when Robert came along in his pickup, and we were all glad we didn’t have to walk in that biting cold. Mini was up on the big rock like a little sentry, sitting so proud and still, as if she had been put in charge of watching the whole farm.

At Mass, Father LeRoy tied our meditation to the scene of Mary and Joseph finding Jesus in the Temple. He explained how Mary said, “Son, why hast Thou done so to us?”—not like a scolding at all, but like a loving mother who had been worried sick, and she spoke her sorrow honestly because she loved Him so much. Father said it helped me to see that it isn’t wrong to tell Jesus when something hurts, as long as we do it humbly and don’t let our hearts get cranky and hopeless. He said if we would pour our grief out at Jesus’ feet instead of scattering it all over the world, we’d find a kind of consolation the world can’t give.

Then Father talked about Jesus’ answer: “Did you not know, that I must be about my Father’s business?” He said Mary and Joseph didn’t understand everything right away, but they adored God’s plan anyway, and Mary kept the words in her heart. He told us to learn that—accepting what God shows us, doing the duties right in front of us, and not prying into tomorrow like we can force it open. And he said before we begin things—especially prayers and devotions—we should renew our good intention, so our day belongs to God on purpose and not just by accident.

All day long I kept thinking about that: my Father’s business. Even simple things can be His business if I do them for love. When I was helping with our ordinary tasks and trying not to drift into silly thoughts, I kept whispering inside, “Jesus, I’m doing this for You.” And when I felt a little lonely in the cold air, I remembered Mary searching for Jesus sorrowing, and I asked her to teach me how to keep my heart steady and faithful.

Resolution: Before my prayers and my work, I will quietly renew my intention: “Jesus, this is for You.”

Evening Prayer:

O Jesus, keep my mind and heart turned toward You. If I feel sorrow or confusion, help me to bring it straight to You—humbly and trustfully—like Mary did. Teach me to be about my Father’s business in the little things, and to love Your will more than my own. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Found in the Temple

Dear Diary,

 

It was 2 degrees above zero this morning, the kind of cold that makes the air feel like it has little sharp edges. Robert picked us up, and Mini sat so proper beside me, but I could tell she wanted to tuck her nose down and disappear into my coat.

When we got to St. Mary’s, it was colder than usual inside—because Father LeRoy had overslept. Robert didn’t even make a fuss. He just went right to the stove like he belonged there and started the fire up. Sister Mary Claire hurried over to the rectory to wake Father, and no one looked shocked at all. It’s almost like everyone already knows: Father is a good man, and once in a while he just sleeps too hard.

By the time Father came in, his cheeks were red—partly from the cold and partly from being embarrassed. But he had his homily notes all ready, and the church was already starting to warm. Nobody said one cross word. I think it’s because Father is the kind of priest that makes you feel safe, like he’s truly trying his best for Jesus and for us.

Father talked about Mary and Joseph finding Jesus in the Temple after searching for three days. He said if we want to find Jesus, we shouldn’t go hunting through noisy, mixed-up places first. We should go where He loves to be found: in God’s house, and especially near the Blessed Sacrament, where He waits so quietly. Father also said there is another “temple” we forget about—our own heart—and Jesus wants to dwell there too, if we keep it peaceful and let Him speak inside.

Mini was very still during the homily (as still as a corgi can be), only giving one little sigh that sounded like she agreed with everything. When we got home, the cold followed us right in the door, but it felt warmer in my mind, like I had found something important and didn’t want to lose it again.

Evening Prayer:

O Jesus, help me to find You quickly when I feel far away. Help me to look for You in Your church, close to the tabernacle, and also in the quiet temple of my own heart. Make me humble and ready to listen. Keep Father LeRoy, Robert, Sister Mary Claire, and Mini safe through this bitter cold night. Amen.

Love, Kathy

A Window-Seat Howl and Suspicious Tracks

 

Dear Diary,

It was minus 5 degrees when the alarm went off, but our day truly started at 3:00 a.m. because Mini suddenly jumped up onto the window seat and let out a howl—long and wild—like a little coyote right inside our own house.

Sister Mary Claire and I sat straight up. Thinking she needed to go out, we made it a quick trip. The cold air bit our cheeks, and the snow squeaked under our boots. Mini acted very watchful the whole time—ears out flat like airplane wings, nose working, eyes searching the dark as if she could hear something far away. We didn’t see anything moving, but when Sister held the lantern low, we found something amiss: suspicious tracks crossing the yard where they shouldn’t have been. That made my heart beat faster, because it meant something really had been out there, even if it had already slipped away.

When we got back inside, Sister Mary Claire said, in her gentle way, that Mini knows things we don’t, and we should always respect her wisdom and her sense of awareness. Sister said God sometimes warns us in quiet ways—through a sudden feeling, through signs we only notice if we look closely, or even through a faithful little creature who keeps watch when we are sleepy.

At Mass, Father LeRoy spoke about the Child Jesus remaining in the Temple, and how Mary and Joseph walked along thinking everything was fine—until they realized Jesus wasn’t with them. Father said they didn’t ignore that awful feeling or keep going out of pride or hurry. They turned back right away and searched until they found Him. And I kept thinking about Mini’s howl from the window seat—how she woke us up and made us look, and then we found the tracks. If we had stayed cozy and careless, we would have missed the warning.

I want to be the kind of girl who listens when my heart needs waking—so I don’t drift along pretending all is well when Jesus is calling me to turn back and seek Him.

Little Prayer:

Jesus, please wake up my heart when I’m getting careless, the way Mini woke us up tonight. Help me notice the “tracks” that show me I need to turn back to You, and give me courage to seek You quickly and faithfully. Amen.

Love, Kathy

A Warm Little Fire for Jesus

Dear Diary,

Today was still awfully cold — only 9 degrees — but it felt like a big victory anyway, because Robert’s truck popped right off this morning since he remembered to keep the engine heater plugged in. I like when something simple like that makes the whole day go smoother.

We all got to Church, and Mini was of course right there, so happy to see everyone, and everyone was happy to see her too. She greeted people like she belonged there (because she does), and it made me smile the whole time.

Father LeRoy talked about the meditation and he explained it so well that I felt like I could really understand it in my heart. He said the Holy Family going up to Jerusalem wasn’t just “a trip,” but an act of love and obedience — like they were showing God, “We are Yours.” And he reminded us that being faithful is often made of small steps done carefully, even when it’s cold, even when it’s inconvenient, even when we’d rather stay home where it’s warm.

After chores, I found a few minutes in the afternoon to slip away to the old garage — my backyard getaway. It was cold in there at first, the kind of cold that makes the air feel sharp. But I set a little fire in the stove, and it warmed everything up quickly, like the whole place was sighing and waking up again. I sat still and listened to the tiny pops and crackles.

Before I left the getaway, I wrapped Mother’s Crucifix in my green wool blanket and laid it on my pillow where the stove had made everything cozy. I wanted it kept right under that green blanket, safe and tucked in for the night. There will be plenty of time to hang it on the wall. Tonight, I wanted it kept warm and quiet.  I left it there as if it could be watched over from above, safe in the hush of the garage.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, thank You for getting us safely to Mass, and for Father LeRoy’s words that helped me understand. Please bless Robert for helping us, and keep him safe on the roads. Thank You for Mini and all the friendly faces at Church. Help me be faithful in little things, like the Holy Family was faithful, even when it’s hard. And please watch over our home and my little getaway, and keep us close to Your Heart as we sleep tonight. All for Jesus. Amen.

Love, Kathy.