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.”
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