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.

Mom's Crucifix

Dear Diary,

This morning the thermometer said it was 3 degrees above zero, and the whole world looked like it was holding its breath. Even the windows seemed to crackle with cold.

Robert called and said that he tried to start his pickup, but it only made that sad, slow sound—like it wanted to wake up and just couldn’t. He forgot to plug in the heater last night, and Sister Mary Claire said, “That’s what happens when the cold gets a head start.” Then she looked out at the hard white yard and told me very plainly that it was too dangerous to walk to Church today, and not even safe to go down to the cave. I felt disappointed right away, but when Sister gets that careful tone, I know she’s thinking like a guardian angel.

So she said, “The garage will be our little church today.”

I helped her tidy it up—just a little—because the garage is still a garage, even if it’s fixed up nice. Sister brought me something very special: Mother’s Crucifix. She let me hang it on the wall. It still had that piece of yarn tied on it, the yarn Mother used to help support Jesus on the cross. I don’t know why, but seeing that yarn made my throat feel tight. It was like Mother’s hands were still there, doing a small loving thing, trying to hold up what looked too heavy.

Mini followed us in, of course. She pranced a little on the cold floor, then decided being brave was enough for one minute and curled herself into a tight loaf near our feet. Her ears did that “airplane” look, like she was ready to take off if the cold tried to boss her around. But then she gave a tiny sigh and wagged her little bottom—because even in winter, Mini wants us all together.

Sister read Today’s Meditation about the Holy Family returning from Egypt. She explained it to me in a way I could feel in my bones. She said Mary and Joseph didn’t hurry home just because they wanted to—they waited for God’s direction, and when the time came, they went without fuss, trusting that God knew what roads were safe. Sister said, “Real faith isn’t only about doing hard things. Sometimes faith is obeying God’s light and using sense—like not walking into danger just to prove we can.”

Then she told me how Saint Joseph was careful, too—how he prayed when he wasn’t sure what to do next, and God guided him. Sister said, “We can be brave and still be prudent. Today, the right choice is to stay. We’re not trapped, Kathy—we’re guided.”

I looked at our plain little garage, the Crucifix on the wall, and Mini all tucked in close, and it didn’t feel small anymore. It felt like Nazareth must have felt—quiet and hidden and humble, but full of Jesus anyway. Sister said Jesus loves lowly places, and that’s why He chose them. And I thought, maybe our little garage church is exactly where He wants us today.

We said our prayers, and Sister asked God to help Robert’s pickup start later, and to keep everyone safe in this bitter cold. I made my own resolution in my heart: to let faith lead me today, not impatience.

Now it’s evening, and the garage is quiet again, but I still keep seeing that yarn on the Crucifix—like a reminder that love supports what it can, even when it’s just a small string tied with care.

Little Prayer:

O Jesus, help me to be guided by faith and not by my own hurry. Keep us safe in the cold, bless Robert and his pickup, and make our humble places holy. And please help me love You like Mother did—steady and gentle. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Hidden With Jesus

Dear Diary,

This morning at Mass, Father LeRoy talked about the Holy Family when they had to live in Egypt—so far from home, and surrounded by people who did not know the true God. He said it wasn’t just the long traveling that was hard. It was the loneliness of being strangers, and the sorrow of seeing idols and sin everywhere, while Jesus, Mary, and Joseph loved God with their whole hearts. But Father said they still had a quiet peace—because they were together, and they were doing exactly what God asked.

So after chores, I slipped over to the ole garage with Mini and started a little fire in the stove. The first flame caught gentle and orange, and the stove began to tick the way it does when it wakes up. Mini curled close like a proper little guard, her ears up, watching the firelight dance on the floorboards.

And since I’m here right now, with the warmth growing and the cold pushed back a little, I keep thinking about Egypt. I can almost picture Saint Joseph checking the door, and Our Lady keeping Jesus close, and all of them living quiet and hidden where God placed them. Father LeRoy said the Holy Family didn’t get to pick their comforts—they only chose to obey and trust. So I’m trying to do the same in this little place: not wishing I were somewhere else, not fussing, but telling Jesus simply that I want to be faithful right where I am. The fire is small, but it’s steady, and it makes me think how grace can be like that too—quiet, steady, enough.

Resolution: In all trials and little disappointments, I will seek my comfort in God alone.

Evening Prayer:

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, keep me close to You. Help me to be humble and peaceful, and to love Your will even when I don’t understand it. Let Your grace be my comfort. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Source:  The Circling Year

Ready Obedience

Dear Diary,

It was 18 degrees this morning, the kind of cold that makes the air feel tight. Robert picked up Sister Mary Claire, Mini, and me for Church, and we rode along with the windows all fogged at the edges from our breath.

At Mass, Father LeRoy explained Today's Meditation about the obedience of St. Joseph and the Blessed Mother. He told how the angel warned Joseph in sleep, and Joseph did not put it off—he got up and obeyed right away. Father said their obedience was prompt and quiet, and also brave, because it meant leaving in the night and trusting God when everything was uncertain and hard. He said Mary trusted too, without making a fuss, because she belonged to God first.

After we got home, I took Mini for a walk to the old garage. The snow squeaked under my boots, and the yard felt so still it seemed like it was listening. Near the edge of the yard I found dry sticks that had snapped off in the wind. I gathered a bundle in my mittened hands and carried them inside.

I had a little quiet time there, and I used the sticks to fix the fire, laying them carefully so the flame could catch and breathe. It made me think how obedience can be like that—small things done the right way, right away. Not noisy. Not proud. Just faithful.

Tonight I keep wanting to say it simply and mean it: “Jesus, I want to do Your will.”

Resolution: I will try to obey promptly today in the small things, without complaining.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, help me obey like St. Joseph and Your dear Mother—quickly, quietly, and bravely. When I don’t understand, help me trust You anyway. Keep Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and Mini safe tonight, and bless our home with peace. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Corn-Cob Warmth & Quiet Trust

Dear Diary,

This morning it was 22 degrees, the kind of cold that makes your nose sting the minute you step outside. Sister Mary Claire and I went to Mass, and Mini came too, looking neat and proper like she always does when we’re headed someplace holy.

Father LeRoy explained the meditation about the Flight into Egypt—how the angel warned St. Joseph in the night to take the Child and His Mother and flee, because Herod wanted to destroy Jesus. Father said it seems so strange at first—the Son of God, having to run and hide, like a poor fugitive. But Father told us we have to look at things the way God looks at them, not the way proud human thinking does. He said Jesus was teaching us something very deep: that God’s way can feel humiliating or hard, and still it is full of love and wisdom, and it leads to good.

Father said the Holy Family didn’t argue or delay. They just obeyed and trusted. And God watched over them the whole way—sending the warning, guiding them, keeping Jesus safe—even while the danger was real. Father called it “living inside Divine Providence,” like staying right in the place God puts you, even when you’d rather choose something easier.

When we got home, all I could think about was my garage Robert fixed up—it’s such a snug little place, and I wanted to go sit in there a while with Mini. But I also knew our wood is in short supply, and it didn’t seem right to burn good firewood just because I wanted to feel cozy.

Then I remembered the corn cobs from the hand corn sheller—the one we use when we’re getting feed ready for the chickens. We strip the kernels off for the hens, and the cobs stack up dry as can be. I carried a bucket full  of those cobs down to the garage, and they felt light but promising, like they were made for a quick little fire.

I laid them in the stove and struck a match—and oh, Diary, they caught fast! The cobs made a bright, eager flame that crackled like it was happy to work. In just a few minutes the chill in the garage started to break, and the air turned warm enough that my hands didn’t feel like blocks of ice anymore. It was almost like summertime hiding inside winter.

Mini sat right beside me, watching the stove with a serious face, and then she scooted closer when the warmth spread across the floor. I kept thinking about Father LeRoy’s words—how the Holy Family had to travel by night into a strange country, trusting God even when it felt lowly and frightening. And here I was, learning a tiny version of it: not always getting what I want the easiest way, but accepting what’s sensible, and trusting that God can make even small, plain things—like old corn cobs—do what’s needed.

Before I left the garage, I thanked God for the warmth and for the lesson. And I tried to make a quiet little act of confidence, like Father told us to do: that God is guiding us, even when the road feels cold and strange.

Little Prayer

Jesus, help me trust Your loving Providence like the Holy Family did. When I feel upset or embarrassed or afraid, teach me to obey quickly and be peaceful inside. Keep me close to Your will today. Amen.

Love, Kathy

(Meditation source: “The Flight into Egypt.”

The Light in the Window

Dear Diary,

Today’s Meditation was about Simeon’s prophecy, and Father LeRoy said Jesus is our Light, and that Mary would have sorrow too, like a sword in her heart. It made me feel quiet inside, like when you know something is holy and serious.

After supper it was already evening-dark, and the snow was still falling thick and soft. I bundled up and walked out to the little cabin to be sure everything was snug for the night. Inside, I lit the lamp just long enough to check things, and the warm glow fell across the crucifix on the wall.

Then I hurried back toward the house.

But halfway across the yard, I stopped.

The cabin window was shining. I had left the lamp on.

So I turned back to shut it off—of course I did—but when I reached the cabin I didn’t go straight in. I don’t know why. I just felt called back to the window first, like the Lord wanted my attention for one small, quiet moment.

I pressed my mitten to the cold glass. Snow speckled the pane and swirled in front of my face, but inside the little room the lamp burned steady and warm, and the crucifix was there on the wall.

And then it felt like a dream for a moment—like everything got still, and my heart knew what it needed to say.

So I whispered, very simple:

“Jesus, I love you and I want to do Your will.”

Then I opened the door, stepped into the cabin, and turned the lamp off. When I turned back toward the house, it seemed like the snow had eased up all at once. I heard Sister Mary Claire calling my name from the porch, and right then I caught the sweetest smell—fresh baked cookies—warm and buttery in the cold air. It felt like the world was saying, Come home now.

My resolution: I will try to obey quickly in the small things.

Evening prayer: Jesus, keep my heart willing. Mary, help me stay close to your Son. Amen.

Love, Kathy.

Waiting for the Consolation

Dear Diary,

This morning was so cold and bright that the snow looked like it was holding still. Sister Mary Claire and I were ready early, and Robert gave us a ride to Church. Mini sat close and proper in the seat, with her little showdog face on, like she knew we were headed somewhere holy.

Inside St. Mary’s, it felt warm and quiet, like the world couldn’t bother us in there. Father LeRoy explained the meditation about Simeon and Anna, and he talked about that beautiful phrase: “the Consolation of Israel.” He said it means the comfort and help God promised His people after so many hard years—like a deep ache they carried, waiting for God to come close again. And Father said the Consolation wasn’t just a nice feeling. It was a Person. It was Jesus Himself—God’s peace and mercy coming in the littlest, humblest way, as a Baby in Mary’s arms.

Father said Simeon’s heart was trained on God, so even though Jesus looked like any other baby, Simeon recognized Him because the Holy Ghost had taught him what to look for. And Anna—she had prayed and served for years and years, and when she saw Jesus, she couldn’t keep quiet about Him. She spoke about Him to everyone who was hoping.

On the ride home, I kept thinking that if Jesus is the true Consolation—the real comfort God sends—then I should run to Him first when I’m worried or lonely or crabby, instead of just sitting in it.

Humble Resolution: Today I will do my duties without delay and ask Jesus to be my Consolation when I feel cross or tired.

Evening Prayer: 

Dear Jesus, Console my little heart too, help me recognize You and love You in the ordinary hours. Make me faithful like Simeon and Anna. Amen.

Love, Kathy.

Down Into the Jordan

Dear Diary,

It was 13 degrees this morning, the kind of cold that makes your eyelashes feel stiff. Sister Mary Claire and I bundled up, and Mini came along looking every bit like a proper little showdog, even though the wind tried to boss her around.

At Holy Mass, Father LeRoy preached about Jesus going down into the Jordan to be baptized by St. John. He said the astonishing thing is that Jesus didn’t need it—yet He chose to stand with sinners anyway, to show us humility and obedience. Father said Jesus was teaching us that holiness isn’t loud or proud; it often looks quiet, plain, and faithful. He also said Jesus, by entering the water, made the waters holy for us, so our baptism could truly wash and lift us into God’s family.

When we got home, it was too cold to do much, so I read and wrote and started my Shaggycoat book again. Mini curled up near me and sighed like she agreed with every word.

Humble Resolution: Today I will choose the lower place gladly and not complain over small hardships.

Love, Kathy.

Shaggycoat - Chapter One

Fugitives

At the time when our story begins, Shaggycoat was a two-year-old beaver, fleeing with his grandfather from he knew not what. They had been so happy in the woodland lake, which was their home before the terrible intrusion, that the whole matter seemed more like a hideous dream than a reality.

When Shaggycoat thought of the old days and his family, he could remember warm summer afternoons upon clean sand banks, where he and his brothers and sisters frolicked together. Then there were such delightful swims in the deep lake, where they played water-tag, and all sorts of games, diving and plunging and swimming straight away, not to mention deep plunges to the bottom of the lake where they vied with one another in staying down. Then when they were hungry, the bulbs of the lily and a cluster of wild hops made a dinner that would make a beaver’s mouth water; with perhaps some spicy bark added as a relish.

Then came the cold and the pond was covered with ice. They could still see the sun by day and the stars by night, but they could not come to the surface to breathe as they had done before. There were a great many air holes, and places under the ice where the water did not reach it, but for breathing space they had to depend largely upon the queer conical houses in which they lived and their burrows along the bank.

There was still another way to breathe that I had nearly forgotten. A beaver or any of these little Water Folks can come up to the surface and breathe against the ice.

A big flat bubble is at once formed and as it strikes the ice it is purified and then the beaver breathes it in again and it is almost as fresh as though it came from the upper air. This he can do three or four times before having to find an air hole or going into one of the houses or burrows.

The beavers were very snug under the ice which kept away the wind and cold, and also their worst enemy, man.

The breath of the family made the houses warm, and as the walls were frozen solid, and were two or three feet thick, they were very hard to break into.

A store of wood had been laid up from which the bark was stripped for food as fast as it was needed, so that Beaver City had been very snug and comfortable, before the trouble came.

Then when they were sleeping through the short winter days, and prowling about the lake in the night in search of fresh twigs or sticks that had been frozen into the ice, the trouble began.

First there came the sound of pounding and soon there were holes in the ice near their supply of wood. Then occasionally a beaver who was hungry and had gone for breakfast was missed from the family or lodge where he lived. At first they thought he had gone for a swim on the lake and would soon come back, but when several had gone out to the winter’s store and had not returned, the truth dawned upon some of the older and wiser beavers. Their forest lake had been invaded by some enemy, probably man, and one by one the colony was being slaughtered.

There is but one thing to do at such a time and that is to take safety in flight, for the beaver does not consider that he can match his cunning against that of man.

While the beavers were still considering whether to go at once or wait another day, there were sounds of heavy blows upon the tops of their houses and then there was a loud explosion and the water began to fall. Then they fled in every direction, some taking refuge in the burrows that they had dug under the banks all along the lake for such an emergency, while others sought to leave the lake altogether; some going up stream and some down. But the destruction of Beaver City had been planned very carefully by their cunning enemy, man, and most of them perished while leaving the lake.

When the men who were watching on the ice above saw a beaver swimming in the water under them, they would follow upon the ice, going just where the beaver went. The beaver would stay near the bottom of the lake as long as he could hold his breath, but finally he would have to come to the surface for air when the trapper would strike a hard blow upon the ice, stunning him, or perhaps killing him outright. Then he would cut a hole in the ice and fish out his unfortunate victim.

It was from such perils as these, although they were not fully understood by the beavers, that Shaggycoat and his grandfather fled the second night of this reign of terror. They would gladly have gone in a larger company, with Shaggycoat’s brothers and sisters and with his father and mother, but all the rest of their immediate family were missing and they never saw them again.

They went in the inky night, before the moon had risen. Silently, like dark shadows, they glided along the bottom of the lake, which was still about half full of water, for the white man’s thunder had not been able to entirely destroy the beaver’s strong dam.

Shaggycoat’s grandfather, being very old, and wise according to his years, took the lead, and the younger beaver followed, keeping close to the tail of his guide. They swam near the bottom and were careful to avoid the bright light of the great fires that men had built upon the ice in many places to prevent their escape.

By the time the moon had risen they were near the upper end of the lake. They at once took refuge in an old burrow that the trappers had overlooked and lay still until the moon went under a cloud when they came out and crept along the bank, still going under the ice. When the moon appeared again they hid under the roots of a tree that made a sort of natural burrow. There they lay for all the world like the ends of two black logs, until a friendly cloud again obscured the moon when they pushed on. Once the trappers came very near to them when they were hiding behind some stones, waiting for a friendly cloud, and Shaggycoat was about to dash away and betray their whereabouts, when his grandfather nipped him severely in the shoulder which kept him still, and alone saved his fine glossy coat.

They were now getting well up into the river that had supplied their lake, and it was not so easy to find breathing places as it had been in the lake where the water was low. But they could usually find some crack or crevice or some point where there were a few inches between the water and the ice and where they could fill their lungs before they journeyed on.

They had come so far and so fast that poor Shaggycoat’s legs ached with the ceaseless motion, but the older beaver gave him no rest, and led him on and on, swimming with easy, steady strokes. Although his own legs were weary and a bit rheumatic, he valued his life more than he did his legs and so set his teeth and breasted the current bravely. They both held their fore paws close up under them and used their hind legs entirely for propelling themselves, so these had to do double duty, plying away like the screw wheel on a great steamer.

When Shaggycoat remonstrated against going any farther, saying in beaver language that his legs were ready to drop off, his senior reminded him that his skin would drop off if they stopped, and, with a new wild terror tugging at his heart, he fled on.

When daylight came, they had covered five good English miles up the river, and were nearly eight miles from their dam and the beautiful woodland lake that had been their home.

Then the old beaver began looking for some burrow or overhanging bank where they might hide during the day and get some sleep, of which they were in great need. Finally they found a suitable place where the bank had shelved in, leaving a natural den, high and dry above the water. Here they rested and passed the day, getting nothing better to eat than a few frozen lily stems and some dead bark from a log that had been frozen into the ice. The dry lifeless bark was not much like the tender juicy bark that they were used to, but it helped a little to still the gnawings of hunger, and in this retreat they soon fell asleep and slept nearly the whole of the day.

But the older beaver was always watchful, sleeping with one eye open, as you might say, and waking very easily.

Once, when he was awakened by a sense of danger, he saw a large otter swim leisurely by their hiding-place and his heart beat hard and fast until he was out of sight, for he knew that if the otter discovered them, he would at once attack them and the battle would probably end in his favor.

Shaggycoat would be of little help in a real fight for life and the old beaver was far past his prime, his teeth being dull and broken. When the otter was out of sight, the watchman lay down and resumed his nap.

When Shaggycoat awoke, he knew it was evening for he could plainly see the stars shining through the ice.

His legs were cramped and stiff and there was a gnawing sensation in the region of his stomach, but there was nothing in sight to eat. His grandfather informed him in beaver language that there were weary miles to cover before they could rest again.

As soon as it was fairly dark, they came out from under the overhanging bank that had shielded them so nicely during the day and resumed their journey, swimming like two ocean liners, on and on. Their track was not as straight as that of the boats would have been, for they dodged in and out, going where the darker ice and projecting banks gave them cover, and stopping when they scented danger.

When they had gone about a mile, they found a spot where the river had set back over the bank, freezing in some alder bushes. Upon the stems of these they made a scant meal and went on feeling a bit better. This night seemed longer and wearier to Shaggycoat than the first had. He was not so fresh and the first excitement was over, but the old beaver would not let him rest as he knew their only safety lay in putting a long distance between them and their destroyers.

They were not so fortunate in finding a hiding-place as they had been the day before, but they finally took refuge in a deserted otter’s burrow, which made them a very good nest, although it was possible that some wandering otter might happen in, and dispossess them.

When night again came round, they made a light supper on frozen lily stems and pushed on. They covered less distance that night than they had done before, for both were feeling the strain of the long flight, and so they rested frequently and took more time to hunt for food.

About daybreak of this third night of their journey, they found an open place in the ice where the stream was rapid and went ashore; here they soon satisfied their hunger upon the bark of the poplar and birch.

When they had made a good meal, the prudent old beaver, assisted by Shaggycoat, felled several small poplars and cutting them in pieces about three feet long dragged them under the ice to a protected bank and hid them against the time of need, for he had decided to spend a few days where they were, getting the rest and sleep which they both needed.

Last Look for Shaggycoat

Dear Diary,

This morning at Holy Mass, Father LeRoy talked about our Blessed Mother bringing Baby Jesus to the Temple, and how she did it so quietly and perfectly—like she was just an ordinary mother, even though she was the Mother of God. He said that is real humility: doing what God asks without needing to be noticed, and not making excuses for yourself. Mary even followed a law that didn’t have to bind her, just because she loved God’s holy Will and wanted to give us a shining example.

Father LeRoy told us to think about how Mary didn’t worry much about what other people might think—she only cared about honoring God. He said, “If you want to be a true child of Mary, be obedient in the little things first.” That made me feel very small inside (but in a good way), because I can be so quick to explain myself when I don’t want to do something.

After dinner, Sister Mary Claire and I went down to the Creek because Sister had left a book in the cave that she needed. The whole cave was all fine and safe—buttoned up tight for winter, just the way we left it. It felt so peaceful in there, like the cave was holding its breath and praying. Sister found her book, and then I pulled one off the shelf too—one I forgot I had. It was the story of Shaggycoat’s grandfather.

We didn’t see Shaggycoat anywhere, so we walked over to his lodge, and it looked so solid with sticks and frozen earth packed all around. I knew right then he must be tucked away safe and sound in the middle of it all. It made me think of what Father LeRoy said—how the holiest things can be hidden and quiet, and still be strong.

Tonight I think I will start that story, and I’m going to try to read it in a humble way—like I’m just thankful to be allowed to know it.

My Resolution:

Today I will do what I’m supposed to do without excuses, and try to be quiet about it—like Mary.

Evening Prayer:

O Mary, humble Mother, please teach me to obey quickly and gladly, and to care more about God than about being praised. Keep Shaggycoat safe and warm in his lodge, and keep our cave safe too. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Sources:  The Circling Year

Listening Like the Magi

 

Dear Diary,

The cold still won’t let go, but Robert made it by again to pick up Sister Mary Claire, Mini, and me for Church. The roads looked slick and stubborn, like winter had nailed them down.

When we stepped inside, Father LeRoy already had the stove ablazing. The whole Church felt kinder because of it—like the warmth was saying, Come in. Don’t be afraid.

Father explained Today's Meditation in a way I understood: the Magi listened to God because they didn’t only use their own heads and plans. They stayed close enough to God—through prayer and a humble heart—that when God warned them in sleep not to return to Herod, they believed it was truly from Him… and they obeyed. They didn’t say, “Well, that’s strange,” and do what they wanted anyway. They didn’t argue with God, or delay, or go back for “one last look.” They simply went “another way.”

Father said that is what listening looks like:

God speaks (sometimes through prayer, conscience, wise guidance, or even a warning that makes you stop and think).

We believe Him instead of making excuses.

We change our path—even if it’s inconvenient.

He said the Magi went home different on the inside too, because being near Jesus does that. They adored Him, and then they carried that light back with them. And that’s why they couldn’t just go back to the old road like nothing happened. The new road matched their new hearts.

On the ride home, I told Robert how well the old garage is buttoned up. Not one flake of snow drifted in! Robert smiled like he was glad it mattered to me. Sister Mary Claire reminded me again that firewood is precious, so the rule stands: no fire outside of the house for now. We save the wood, and we don’t pretend we’re braver than winter.

I keep thinking: if the Magi could listen so carefully—clear enough to obey right away—then I should practice listening too. Maybe listening is partly being quiet inside, and not always insisting on my way.

Resolution

Today I will try to listen to God by being obedient promptly, and by not talking back when I know what the right thing is.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, help me hear You—especially when You warn me away from a wrong road. Give me a humble heart like the Magi, so when You guide me, I follow quickly and faithfully. Keep us safe in this cold and help us be wise with our firewood. Amen.

Love, Kathy.

Drifting Snow & Three Gifts for Jesus

Dear Diary,

Winter has really settled in—drifting snow, sharp wind, and temperatures below zero. Today was no exception, and Church was called off again. I felt that disappointed pinch inside, because I always want to start the day with Jesus, but Sister Mary Claire said we could still make our home a little chapel with today’s meditation.

Today’s Meditation was about the gifts of the Magi—gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Sister explained that the gifts weren’t just “nice things,” but signs full of meaning: gold for Jesus our King, frankincense for Jesus our God, and myrrh that reminds us He is truly Man and would suffer for us. And she said we can still offer those same kinds of gifts—just in our own small way.

That made me think hard. I can’t bring treasures like the Magi, but I can give Jesus what I do have:

my best effort instead of being careless (my little “gold”),

my prayers even when plans change (my “frankincense”),

and my patience when things are hard and cold and disappointing (my “myrrh”).

Mini stayed close all day, trotting from window to window like she was watching the snow move. Later, I bundled up and snuck over to the garage to see if any snow had sifted in. The drifts were piled up high, but the garage was buckled up tight and everything was all well. And do you know what made me smile? My little All For Jesus sign out front was still showing—even with snow trying to bury it. It looked like it wasn’t giving up, not one bit, and it made me feel braver inside.

Resolution for Today

Today I will offer Jesus three simple gifts:

my best effort,

extra prayers even without Church,

and patience in this hard weather.

Evening Prayer: Jesus, please take my little gifts and make them pleasing to You. Keep our home warm with Your love. Amen.

Sources:  The Circling Year

Love, Kathy

A Little Star on the Gravel Road

Dear Diary,

It was 30 degrees when we stepped outside, and the cold pinched my cheeks awake. Mini trotted along like she was on a mission, making sure we all stayed together.

Robert picked us up on the way to Church, and as the truck warmed up he told us the TV repair man in Littlemore had passed away. In Littlemore, that man wasn’t just “a repair man”—he was the one folks depended on when a picture went fuzzy or a set went silent. He’d come with his little tools and fixes, and somehow he always made things work again.

Sister Mary Claire said she had known him pretty well. One time she loaned him a book about the Catholic Church. It took him a long while to return it, and after that she never heard from him again about it—not whether it helped him, or what he thought. Then she said softly, “The Catholic Faith is caught—not taught.” Like you can teach facts, but faith is often caught by being near it and watching it lived.

At Mass, Father LeRoy’s homily tied right in with Today’s Meditation about the Magi. The meditation said the Magi followed God’s light right away—not saving obedience for “later.” Father said faith is like that too: not only learning things, but answering God and stepping onto the road.

He said we may never know what a small “star” did inside a person—maybe a kindness, a good example, or even a borrowed book. That made me think straight of the TV man from Littlemore. Father also explained that the Magi didn’t see the star every moment—sometimes it was hidden, like clouds cover the sky. But they kept going anyway, trusting God was still leading them, and the light returned when they needed it.

When we got home, Mini did a happy circle on the rug. Sister and I said a prayer for the TV repair man, and it made the kitchen feel gentler.

Resolution: Today I will follow a good prompting right away, and if I feel cloudy inside, I will still keep my prayers and duties until God brings the light back.

Love, Kathy.

Sources:

The Circling Year

On the Way Back Home

A Star, and a Secret Surprise

 

Dear Diary,

This morning was cold and slick, the kind of winter day that makes everything shine like glass. Robert drove us to Mass, and Mini came too, snug as could be.

At Church, Father LeRoy preached on The Epiphany and the wise men following the star to Jesus. He said the star is like the gift of faith—God gives it, and we must follow it with grateful hearts. Father reminded us that faith isn’t only a feeling; it has duties: to pray reverently, do our work well, be patient with others, and not keep Jesus’ light to ourselves.

After we got home and had lunch, I wanted to go to my secret cave, but the ground was too icy and treacherous. Sister Mary Claire looked out at it and said, “A wise girl knows when to stay close to home.” I didn’t like hearing that (because I wanted my cave!), but I knew she was right.

So I decided I would at least peek at the old garage and think about what it would take to fix it up—seal the cracks, keep the wind out, and make it feel snug enough to sit and pray in.

When I got near the garage, something about it felt… different. It was too quiet, and too closed up, like the building was holding its breath. My stomach did a funny flip, and I suddenly felt like I shouldn’t go any closer.

Mini pressed right up against my leg, ears straight out like she was in airplane mode.

I was too scared to open the door. Instead, I crept up to the dusty window and peeked in—ready to run if I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see.

And, diary… there was a warm glow inside.

Not a wild glow—just steady, like a lantern or a little stove doing its work. The garage was buttoned up tighter than a drum, and it wasn’t just “fixed”—it was furnished and made snug, almost exactly like I had imagined in my own mind. It looked like a real little hideaway, safe from the winter.

Then I saw him—Robert—there inside, as calm as could be, like he belonged there, like he had been doing this kindly work without a single trumpet blast.

I just stood there blinking at the window, half amazed and half embarrassed that I’d been afraid.

When I finally went in, I blurted out, “Robert… how did you know?”

He only smiled that quiet smile of his.

Tonight I keep thinking: God still guides people—sometimes by a star, and sometimes by a quiet kindness that feels like a surprise.

Resolution: I will thank God often for the gift of faith, and I will try to follow it in my little duties today.

Prayer: O Jesus, true Light, keep me faithful and grateful. Help me follow You like the wise men did, and adore You with a brave, good heart. Amen.

Love, Kathy

The Beauty of Simplicity

Dear Diary,

It was a chilly 29 degrees when I first opened my eyes, and the whole house looked like it was holding its breath. The window had that wintery glass look to it, and even the floorboards felt cold under my feet. Sister Mary Claire was already up, moving gently so everything stayed quiet and peaceful, like she didn’t want to wake the whole morning too fast. Mini was curled up tight, with her little nose tucked in, and when I whispered her name she did a tiny thump-thump with her bottom like she was glad it was still us.

Robert picked us up for morning Mass, and I was thankful for his truck the minute we stepped outside. The air pinched my cheeks, and my scarf felt like a blessing. Mini sat close like she always does, watching the world out the window with her serious little face, and then looking back at us as if to say, “Are we all together?” Robert drove careful on the cold road, and the heater smelled like warm dust and kindness.

At Church, Father LeRoy explained today’s meditation about the Infant Jesus in the manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid on straw. Father said there is something so strong about how little and simple Jesus chose to be. Not fancy, not loud, not trying to impress anyone—just there, with bright eyes that promise peace. He told us simplicity isn’t pretending we don’t have faults, but having a straight heart that wants to please God and not twist around with secret little selfish plans. He said simple souls are like children walking beside a loving Father—doing today’s work with trust, without worrying themselves sick about tomorrow.

I kept thinking about how I can make things complicated in my head, even little things—like wanting to do everything all at once, or wanting people to notice when I do something good. But Jesus in the manger doesn’t ask for that kind of busy, tangled feeling. He asks for one clean intention: to love God and do His will. Father LeRoy said if we fall, we don’t have to turn mean toward ourselves—we just humble down, and begin again, like a child who knows she’s still loved.

When we got home, the day still looked cold outside, but my heart felt warmer, like there was a small steady lamp lit inside me. I want my life to be more like that manger—plain and honest and full of love.

Resolution: Today I will do my duties with a simple, honest heart, and try to please God alone—quietly, without fuss.

Prayer: O dear little Jesus, teach me to be small and true of heart. Help me to love what Thou lovest—humility and simplicity—and to begin again when I fail. Amen.

Love, Kathy.

Meditation source:

A Blueprint in My Head

Dear Diary,

It was 30 degrees this morning, the kind of cold that makes everything feel extra plain and honest. Before Holy Mass, I sat quiet for a little while and let my mind go straight to the old garage in the grove. I know it’s rough and weathered, but I can’t help fixing it up in my thoughts—like daydreaming can make a place warmer.

I kept “seeing” it the way I’d like it to be: the doors snug, the little bed tucked in right, the stove placed safely, the calendar on the wall like a soft light. It was as if I already had the blueprint in my head, folded up neat as a letter.

When Robert picked us up for church, I decided to be brave and ask him if it might be possible—someday—to fix the garage a little. Not make it fancy, just make it sound and safe, like a real little hideaway. Robert listened like he always does, like nothing is too silly to say out loud.

At Mass, Father LeRoy spoke about the meditation—the poverty of Jesus in the crib. He said the Lord who owns everything chose straw and cold and littleness, and that it wasn’t an accident. He wanted to teach us to love what is simple, and to hold our hearts free from too many wants. When Father said that, I thought again of the old garage and how the best part of it isn’t comfort at all—it’s how it reminds me of Bethlehem, and how Jesus did not ask for much, only love.

All day I have been trying to remember that. If I feel a little pinch of cold, or if something feels inconvenient, I want to offer it quietly to Jesus like a tiny gift—like placing it at His feet in the manger.

Evening Resolution

Today I will try to choose the simpler thing without complaining, and I will offer one little privation to Jesus with love.

Love, Kathy.

Meditation source (Jan 4): “Poverty of Jesus in the Crib.”

Mary and Joseph in the Old Garage

Dear Diary,

This morning it was 25 degrees, which felt almost kind for January. Mini hopped around while Sister Mary Claire and I got ready for Church, like she could tell it was a holy sort of morning.

On the way, I kept thinking about my dream again—the old garage in the grove, the one that isn’t really there anymore like it used to be. In my dream it feels so real, like a place that can still hold a secret. I can’t explain it right, but it’s like God lets my heart remember what my eyes can’t see.

At Mass, Father LeRoy explained Today’s Meditation about Mary and Joseph at the crib of Baby Jesus. He said to picture them there—so quiet and full of adoration—and to notice how Mary’s heart is alive with faith, because she knows the little Baby she is holding is truly God. And Father said Mary didn’t just look—she pondered, like she held everything close inside her, the way you keep a treasure safe.

Then Father talked about St. Joseph, and how he loved the hidden life—how he didn’t need to be seen by the world to be faithful. He just wanted to be near Jesus and Mary, doing the lowly work with a brave, humble heart. Father said that’s where we often find Jesus too—quiet places, simple places, even places the world would call “small.”

And that made my dream feel different. Because maybe my “old garage” isn’t only a dream-memory. Maybe it’s my heart’s way of learning the same thing: Jesus likes humble shelters. A stable. A manger. A forgotten place. And He comes there anyway.

Mini sat so nicely today, like she was listening too. I scratched behind her ears after Mass and told her she was a good little church dog, and she blinked at me like she understood.

Resolution: Today I will try to be more quiet inside—less fussy—and I will do one hidden, humble thing gladly, like St. Joseph.

Short Prayer: O Jesus, help me ponder You in my heart like Mary did, and obey You simply like Joseph. Please stay close to our little home. Amen.

Love, Kathy

THE HOLY NAME

 

Dear Diary,

It was 18 degrees when we stood out by the mailbox, waiting for Robert. The cold made everything look extra clear, like even the bare trees were holding their breath. When Robert’s truck came, it felt like a little rescue, and off we went to Mass with MINI tucked in close.

Today’s meditation was about the Holy Name of Jesus, and Fr. LeRoy helped us understand why that name is not just a name—it is a gift Heaven chose on purpose. He reminded us how the angel told Mary and St. Joseph exactly what to call Him: Jesus, because He would save His people from their sins. That part made me feel both small and safe at the same time. Small, because I forget how serious sin is. Safe, because Jesus didn’t come to scold us from far away—He came to save us from close up.

The meditation said that from the very beginning, even as a tiny Baby, Jesus already showed He was willing to suffer for love of us. And Fr. LeRoy said something like, “If the first drops of His Precious Blood were given so early, then His love is not a late thing—it is an early thing, a forever thing.” I thought about that all through Mass.

But the part that stayed brightest in my mind was how the meditation ties the Holy Name to our whole day. It said we should do everything in the Name of Jesus—our thoughts, words, chores, joys, and even the hard parts. And then it said the motto plain as day:

All for Jesus.

That’s the part I was particularly taken with. Because “All for Jesus” doesn’t feel like a poster or a slogan when you really think about the Holy Name. It feels like a key that opens the right way to live. Like if I say, “Jesus,” with reverence, it pulls my mind back into the light, and makes me want my actions to match my prayers.

So I decided I want to begin things more carefully. Not only the big things—also the little ones, like washing up, doing chores, starting my schoolwork, and being patient when I don’t feel like it. If Jesus’ Name is above all names, then my day should lean toward it, like a sunflower leans toward the sun.

After Communion, I whispered His Name very softly—just “Jesus”—and it felt like a small peace dropped right into my heart. MINI was quiet and steady too, and I noticed that even her stillness helped me stay still inside.

On the ride home, I kept thinking how the meditation said we should carry His Name in our hearts and on our lips. I want that this year. I want to belong to Him in a real way—not halfway.

Resolution: I will often whisper the Holy Name “Jesus” today with love and confidence, and I will begin my work by saying, “All for Jesus.”

Spiritual Bouquet: “O Jesus, be to me Jesus, and save me.”

Love,

Kathy

January 1st — Something Waiting in the Grove

Dear Diary,

I woke up while it was still quiet-dark, and I don’t know how to explain it except that something pulled at me to go to the old garage in the grove. Not like a loud voice—more like a steady tug in my heart, the way you suddenly remember something important and can’t rest until you go and see.

I bundled up and slipped outside. The cold woke me up fast. The grove was all white and hushed, and the branches were frosted like they had been dipped in sugar. The garage was almost out of sight, tucked back where you have to know it’s there.

Inside, hanging right where it always hangs, was that old calendar page—faded, worn, and a little torn around the edges. It shows Baby Jesus with angels leaning close, and the dates are printed beneath, but some of the ink has gone pale. It is just paper, and it has never changed.

But this morning it felt like something was waiting for me there.

I looked at the calendar and my heart began to “see” more than my eyes were seeing. For a moment it was as if God allowed that worn old picture to become part of the real scene—like the poor little garage was a shelter, and the gentle faces were truly near. Not in a way I could prove—just in the quiet way a gift is given to a tender heart.

Then I thought of the meditation for today, and how Jesus shed His Precious Blood even at the beginning—how love started right away for Him. And when I remembered what was ahead of Him later, my eyes filled up and I cried right there in the grove where nobody could see me.

I came back inside still feeling it. The Spiritual Bouquet kept repeating in my mind like a little bell: “Today I will begin.”I want to begin this year by giving Jesus my first moments, not my leftovers, and by letting Him cut away what is vain or proud in me.

Evening Prayer

O dear Jesus, thank You for loving me first, and for beginning my salvation at the very beginning of Your life. Please help me begin this new year with true love and steady obedience. Remove what is proud, impatient, or lazy in me, and make me faithful in little duties. Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, keep me close to Your Son. Amen.

Love, Kathy.