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.

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.