Friday, March 27, 2026

A Quiet Kind of Sadness

 
Dear Diary,

Today I think I understood something a little better, even though it made me feel sad.

When I said the prayer again—“O most holy and afflicted Virgin”—I started to feel why it sounds the way it does. It isn’t just words. It feels like kneeling right beside Our Lady while she stands at the Cross.

It says she watched the “agony of thy expiring Son” and that her whole life was full of sorrow, and I think that’s what I was feeling today—not just sadness, but a kind of love that hurts because it cares so much.

And when I said, “look down with a mother’s tenderness and pity on me,” I almost felt like I wanted her to see me and understand. Not just my little troubles, but that I want to love Jesus too, even when it’s hard or sad.

The part that stayed with me the most was when it said she “drank so deeply of the chalice” of Jesus’ suffering. That means she didn’t turn away. She stayed. And maybe that’s what we are doing right now in Lent—staying with Him, even when it hurts our hearts.

I think my sadness today was not just being sad… it was being close.

Close to Jesus.

Close to Our Lady.

And maybe that’s why the Church lets us walk through all of this again, even though it’s already over—so we don’t forget how much love was in it.

I still whispered, “When will Easter come?”

But now I think… we are walking toward it together.

Tonight I will listen to my recording again and try to stay there quietly, not rushing away.

Evening Prayer:

O most holy and afflicted Virgin, help me to stay with you at the foot of the Cross, and to love Jesus even when my heart feels heavy. Amen.

Love,

Kathy


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