Dear Diary,
Another damp and chilly morning brought our Reading Club back to the church basement. Mini, my faithful Corgi, settled beneath my chair, keeping watch for anything that might fall from the table.
Four copies of The Fatima Story had been found in the church library, so everyone came prepared. I began by reading my chapter summary.
“Lucy, ten years old, and her cousins, Francis and Jacinta, are inseparable friends. Lucy is sensible and truthful, with her mother’s gift for storytelling. Jacinta is lively and tenderhearted, while Francis is quieter and very affectionate toward his sister. They play and dance, then rest behind the garden well, where Lucy tells stories about Jesus, His Mother, and the saints. Lucy has received her First Communion, and her cousins eagerly long to receive Jesus, too.”
“They sound like children we might know,” someone said. “Playing, dancing, even pouting!”
We smiled over Francis enjoying the dignity of being older, yet giving in to his little sister out of affection. Beneath my chair, Mini rested her chin on my shoe. She knows something about affectionate persuasion herself.
Another round of toast arrived. This time the butter was soft, and there was plenty of strawberry jam, made by Father LeRoy with Dunlap berries from his garden.
Father explained that Dunlaps were grown for taste, rather than for the store shelf. We certainly appreciated the difference. The jam tasted of summer, despite the weather outside.
The jar went around again. Mini’s ears rose at the clatter of plates, and I gave her a tiny corner of plain toast. She accepted it solemnly, then inspected the floor for further blessings.
Returning to our chapter, we talked about Lucy’s mother and the stories she shared.
“I wonder whether she knew how closely the children were listening,” I said.
That brought memories of our own mothers, grandparents, and teachers—the voices we still remember telling us about Jesus.
Jacinta’s words touched us all: “Poor Lord! I won’t sin any more. I don’t want Jesus to suffer.”
“She wanted to love Him better,” someone said simply.
Francis became quiet and thoughtful instead. We agreed that people take things to heart differently. Those who say the least may still be listening deeply.
Mini was now asleep, one paw across my foot. I took care not to disturb her.
We ended with the children’s longing for Holy Communion. Their eagerness stayed with me. I want to carry a little of it to Mass—to arrive with gratitude and take time to prepare my heart.
Before we cleared the table, I prayed:
Dear Jesus, thank You for our friendship and the food we shared. Help us to be truthful like Lucy, tenderhearted like Jacinta, and attentive like Francis. Bless those who teach children to love You. Renew our joy in Holy Communion, and help us carry Your kindness home. Bless Father LeRoy, our Reading Club, and dear Mini, whose faithful company brings me such happiness. Amen.
At the rustle of my coat, Mini woke and stretched, ready to lead me home. I tucked my book under my arm, grateful for a morning of good company, thoughtful conversation, and Father’s strawberry jam.
Love, Kathy
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