Praying at the Oak Tree

The day the children had been waiting for finally arrived. At noon, Lucy, Jacinta, and Francis stood near the green oak tree, happy and eager to see the Lady again. About sixty people had come to watch. The children’s parents had been unsure about letting them go, but at last they gave permission.

As they waited, the children prayed the rosary. Then Lucy saw the bright light and called out, “She is coming!” They hurried toward the oak tree. There was the beautiful Lady, surrounded by the same lovely light.

Later, the priest’s warning troubled Lucy deeply. She wondered whether what they had seen could be the devil’s work. Frightening dreams disturbed her sleep, and her heart grew heavy with worry. At last, she decided she would not return to the Cova da Iria.

Jacinta cried, and Francis begged her to come, but Lucy was too afraid. She was only ten years old and carrying such a heavy burden. Even on this painful path of faith, she needed kindness, comfort, and understanding.

The Rest of the Birthday Cake

 

Kathy's Birthday

Biscuits, Butter Gravy, and Our Lady’s Promise

 

September 29, 1957

Dear Diary,

Rain again! Harvesting was at a standstill, and everyone seemed to be watching the sky for a change. Our Reading Club met in the church basement, where Sister was busy at the stove making biscuits and butter gravy. Mini shook the raindrops from her coat before settling near my chair, her nose already working.

While the biscuits baked, I read my summary of the end of Chapter Four.

“On May 13, 1917, Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta took their sheep to the Cova da Iria after Sunday Mass. They ate lunch, prayed the rosary, and began building a little stone house for a game.

“Suddenly, they saw a brilliant flash, although the sky was clear. Thinking a storm was coming, they gathered the sheep. Another flash stopped them, and near a young oak tree they saw a beautiful Lady dressed in radiant white.

“She reassured them and told Lucy that she came from Heaven. She asked the children to return on the thirteenth of each month for six months, promising to tell them who she was in October. She assured them that they would go to Heaven, adding that Francis must pray many rosaries.

“The Lady asked whether they would offer sacrifices and accept suffering for the conversion of sinners and in reparation for offenses against God and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. The children willingly agreed. She promised that God’s grace would sustain them.

“When she opened her hands, a wonderful light filled their souls, and they knelt in adoration. Before departing, she asked them to pray the rosary devoutly every day for peace in the world and the conversion of sinners.”

I put down my paper.

“Their day began so ordinarily,” I said. “Mass, sheep, lunch, and a game.”

“And they answered so willingly,” Sister added, bringing the biscuits to the table.

Father LeRoy nodded. “Remember the promise that went with their answer: God’s grace would help them. We can ask for that help in our own difficulties, too.”

We thought of the farmers waiting for their fields to dry, with so much work still ahead.

“We’ll remember them in our prayers,” I said.

Then Sister ladled butter gravy over the warm, split biscuits. Dear Diary, Sister’s butter gravy must be about the best gravy ever made. I asked how she made it and wrote down her simple recipe:

Sister’s Butter Gravy

4 tablespoons butter


3 tablespoons all-purpose flour


2 cups milk


Salt and black pepper to taste

Melt the butter in a skillet over medium-low heat. Stir in the flour and cook for one to two minutes, stirring constantly. Slowly whisk in the milk until smooth. Simmer gently, stirring, until thickened, about three to five minutes. Season to taste. Add a splash more milk if needed, and spoon over hot biscuits.

“Nothing very fancy,” Sister said.

Father took another spoonful. “There’s no improvement I can suggest.”

Mini sat beside him, remembering their last meeting and that fortunate double-yolk egg. This time I offered her a tiny crumb of plain biscuit. She checked Father’s hands afterward, just in case.

Before we left, Father raised his hand in blessing.

“May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen,” we answered.

Then I offered a short prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for this warm table and the kindness we share. Bless the farmers waiting through the rain. Help us say yes to You with willing hearts, and teach us to pray faithfully for peace. Mary, our Mother, keep us close to your Son. Amen.

Love,
Kathy

The Angel Reappears

September 24, 1957

Dear Diary,

It was raining again so our Reading Club continued The Fatima Story today in the Church basement. Sister and I brought hard-boiled eggs, and there was toast and butter to go with them. But first, I read my chapter summary.

“Several months after his first appearance, the angel returned to Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta in the garden behind the well. He called himself the Angel of Portugal and asked them to pray, offer sacrifices for sinners, and pray for peace in their country. His words helped the children understand how deeply God loved them and how they could love Him in return.

“Throughout the summer, they continued tending their sheep while making prayer part of their days. In autumn, the angel appeared a third time, surrounded by brilliant light and holding a chalice beneath a suspended Host. He taught them a prayer to the Holy Trinity and gave them Holy Communion. Afterward, they remained in prayer, filled with peace. Finally, they gathered their sheep and went home, tired but joyful.”

For a moment, we were quiet.

“The sheep still had to be brought home,” Sister said. “That little detail stayed with me.”

“With all that had happened, they still had their ordinary work to do,” I agreed.

Father LeRoy nodded. “And ordinary duties give us plenty of opportunities to love God—being patient, helping willingly, remembering someone who needs our prayers.”

We talked about how a small kindness can require a little sacrifice: giving someone our time, taking a turn at an unwelcome chore, or holding back an unkind word.

“I could work on doing a chore without announcing how much trouble it is,” I admitted.

That earned a gentle laugh around the table.

Then we passed the toast and eggs. Wouldn’t you know it—Father LeRoy peeled his egg, broke it open, and found a double yolk!

“Well now!” he said, looking thoroughly pleased. “Your hens have been generous, Kathy.”

Mini appeared beside his chair so promptly that I wondered whether she had been counting eggs all along.

“And I see someone has come to admire it,” Father added.

He broke off a small piece of plain egg and offered it to her. Mini accepted with the greatest delicacy, then sat gazing up at him as though he had just become her favorite member of the Reading Club.

“There goes my faithful companion,” I said.

“Only as far as the egg,” Sister replied.

Before we left, I offered our closing prayer.

Dear Jesus, thank You for loving us through the ordinary moments of our days. Teach us to pray faithfully, to help willingly, and to offer our little difficulties with love. Bring peace to our country and draw wandering hearts close to You. Bless our Reading Club, our homes, and dear Mini. Help us remember You when there is work to do as well as when we are quiet in prayer. Amen.

Love,
Kathy

 

The Angel of Peace

September 18, 2026

Dear Diary,

Our Reading Club met outside once more today, enjoying the pleasant weather while it lasts. A gentle breeze accompanied our gathering, and Father LeRoy joined us for lunch.

Thanks to Father and the Church oven, we enjoyed a cheese pizza topped with four eggs, their yolks still soft! We divided it carefully, enjoying the warm cheese and golden yolks, and thanked Father for such a delicious treat.

As usual, I read the summary of our chapter from The Fatima Story.

The children had taken shelter from heavy rain in a rocky hollow where they could still watch their sheep. After lunch and the Rosary, they were about to play when a rushing wind and a brilliant light startled them.

A beautiful young man, shining like crystal in the sun, approached through the air.

“Do not be afraid. I am the angel of Peace. Pray with me.”

Bowing his forehead to the ground, he repeated three times:

“My God, I believe, I adore, I hope in Thee and I love Thee! I beg pardon from Thee for those who do not believe, who do not hope, who do not adore, and who do not love Thee!”

He told them that the most holy hearts of Jesus and Mary would be moved by their prayer.

After he disappeared, the children remained filled with a sweet awareness of God’s presence. They had many questions, but one thing was certain: they must pray. Again and again, they bowed down and repeated his words.

Their example stayed with me. I do not need to understand everything before turning to God. I can begin by offering Him my faith, my trust, and my love.

Our afternoon also reminded me of Jesus waiting in the tabernacle. I wanted to visit Him before going home and pray for those who have forgotten His love.

Dear Jesus, help me to pray attentively and trust You with my questions.

Good night, dear Diary. May Jesus and Mary watch over all those I love, and may St. Joseph keep us in his care.

With love,

Kathy

 

Little Shepherds and Egg Salad Beneath the Apple Tree

Dear Diary,

The weather was so lovely today that we took advantage of it and held our Reading Club meeting beneath the apple tree. Robert and I sat across from Sister and Father, while Mini settled near the lunch basket. She seems to know exactly where a corgi is most needed.

I read the summary of Chapter Two aloud. Lucy had begun tending her family’s sheep in the hills, and Francis and Jacinta missed her terribly. When their mother allowed them to care for their own flock, the three children could spend their days together again.

“They made looking after sheep sound like a holiday,” Robert said.

“Work is often happier when it’s shared,” Sister answered.

We talked about how the children hurried through their rosary after lunch because they were eager to play and pick blackberries.

“I might have been thinking about the blackberries, too,” I admitted.

“Especially the big ones,” Robert added.

Sister smiled, but reminded us that prayer deserves our attention, just as a friend does when we are talking together. That made me think about the times I finish my prayers without remembering much of what I’ve said.

Father spoke about the children’s ordinary lives—their chores, games, and family evenings—and how little they knew of what God had prepared for them.

“We aren’t given every tomorrow at once,” he said. “We can ask for the grace to be faithful today.”

I liked that. The chapter’s ending made me wonder how much good could begin with a little faith, hope, and love in our own hearts.

Then we unpacked lunch: egg salad sandwiches and sliced tomatoes. Robert noticed that the egg salad was especially yellow.

There was a very good reason. Mini had been given some of the egg whites in her own little dish!

“I see someone has had a say in the sandwiches,” Father said.

Mini kept eating, quite satisfied with the arrangement.

We lingered beneath the branches after lunch, enjoying the pleasant weather and talking about the next chapter. Before we left, I read our closing prayer slowly, remembering Sister’s words.

Dear Lord, thank You for this beautiful day, our food, and our friendship. Help us to do our work willingly, pray with attentive hearts, and grow in faith, hope, and love. Blessed Mother, watch over our reading club and our families, and lead us closer to your Son. Keep us in Your care until we meet again. Amen.

Chapter One with Dunlap Jam

September 16, 2026

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

 

A New Story

 

Tuesday, September 15

Dear Diary,

The reading club met in the church basement today because the weather was cold and wet. Rain tapped at the windows while Father LeRoy hurried about with mugs of hot cocoa and plates of buttered toast. Since he had called the meeting before we could put together a list of books, he had chosen our new story himself: Our Lady of Fatima.

I thought the sudden meeting might spare me from giving a chapter summary. No such luck. Father was so eager to begin that he brought me a copy of the book last night. I read the first chapter before bed, though I would have liked one more evening to prepare.

I told the club about Fatima, the Portuguese village of stony hills where children helped their families by tending sheep. According to the story, the village was named for an Arab maiden who became a Christian and was buried in a chapel there more than seven hundred years ago. The monastery around the chapel disappeared, but the chapel remained, and houses gathered beside it.

The chapter then described the troubled years after Portugal’s revolutions, when people faced opposition to the practice of their faith. Even in Fatima, it said, some families had begun to neglect the evening rosary. But the chapter ended with a promise: Our Lady would come to that little village and choose three children to help bring her message of peace to a world troubled by war.

Father leaned forward as I reached that part, as though I might go on to the next chapter. I was relieved when he finally let me close the book. On the walk home, with the rain still falling, I found myself thinking about those three children. They must have believed they were simply going about another ordinary day with the sheep. I wonder what they thought when their lives began to change.

Good night, dear Diary.

The Last Page Under the Apple Tree

Dear Diary,

We met once more under the apple tree this morning, bundled in sweaters and jackets against the cool autumn air. I was grateful for another gathering in our familiar spot, though I had been dreading this meeting a little. We had reached the last chapter of Our Lady of Lourdes, and I simply didn’t want the book to ever end.

I read the chapter summary aloud through teary eyes. More than once, I had to pause and steady my voice.

Bernadette was no longer at Lourdes. She had entered the Sisters of Charity at Nevers, taking the name Sister Marie-Bernard. After all the crowds, questions, and excitement surrounding her, she had chosen a quiet life caring for the poor and sick. She wanted neither money nor recognition. Her treasure was in belonging to God and serving those who needed tenderness.

What touched me most was that her simplicity remained. Even through illness and suffering, she carried on with patience. Having delivered Our Lady’s message, she was content to step out of sight.

Then came that final thought: the very book that had told us so much about Bernadette would never be read by Sister Marie-Bernard herself.

I sat quietly for a moment after reading that. A few leaves stirred above us. It felt like watching someone dear walk away down a peaceful path, glad for her, but wishing she could stay a little longer.

Our discussion was especially tender today. We talked about how difficult it can be to do something good without wanting anyone to notice, and how Bernadette found a whole life’s purpose in humble service. I wondered aloud how often I overlook an opportunity to care for someone because I am busy thinking about something less important. This last chapter gave me plenty to carry home in my heart.

And then, of course, there was ice cream.

Robert had brought Dairy Queen soft serve, along with hot fudge tucked into a small thermos to keep it warm. Ice cream on a chilly morning might have seemed a curious choice, but the warm fudge tipped the scales toward comfort. With our jackets pulled close and that lovely chocolate melting into the soft serve, we were quite happy to linger beneath the apple tree.

Mini had a little dish of soft serve, too, and attended to it with a seriousness that made us all smile. Every so often, I looked down to see how the dish was coming along. There was very little left to wonder about!

None of us wanted this to be the end of our meetings. We agreed that we would keep gathering, although we still have to choose another book and find four copies of whatever we decide upon. That may take a little searching. For today, it was enough to know that there would be another meeting.

Before we said goodbye, we bowed our heads beneath the apple tree for a blessing:

“May the Lord bless us and keep us, guide us safely home, and help us carry the kindness we have shared into the lives of others. May Our Lady watch over us until we meet again. Amen.”

I closed my book gently afterward and held it in my lap a moment longer. I will remember this morning: the cool air on my cheeks, the warm fudge, our thoughtful conversation, and the dear company gathered beneath the branches.

I am still sorry to have finished the book. But tonight, when I think of Bernadette, I think of her tending someone sick, doing the small work before her with love. Tomorrow, I hope I will remember to do the same.

Our Lady of Lourdes, gentle Mother, pray for us. Bring comfort to the sick, courage to those who suffer, and peace to every troubled heart. Help me to follow Bernadette’s example of humility, patience, and faithful service. Watch over our little reading circle and all those we love, and lead us ever closer to your Son, Jesus. Amen.

Mary's Birthday Party

Mary's Cake Recipe

September 8, 1957

Dear Diary,

Today is the birthday of our Blessed Mother Mary. We had planned to read the epilogue of Our Lady’s Story of Lourdes, but Father LeRoy said it could wait until tomorrow.

“Today,” he told us, “we should give all our attention to Mary’s birthday.”

We gathered beneath the apple tree behind the church, where Father’s housekeeper had prepared a beautiful birthday cake. It was a tall lemon-and-blueberry cake with four golden layers and white cream-cheese frosting between them. Fresh berries surrounded a little statue of Mary dressed in blue, and ten white candles stood in a circle to represent the ten decades of the Rosary. A cold jar of Robert’s Jersey milk completed our little feast.

Father’s housekeeper told us how she made the cake. She began with two round white cakes. After slicing each cake in half, she brushed the layers with thawed lemonade concentrate. Then she stirred lemon extract into the cream-cheese frosting and spread it between the four layers. She frosted the top, arranged the fresh berries around Mary, and added the candles. Sister Mary Claire said we must write the recipe down because such a lovely cake ought to become a yearly tradition.

Before Father lit the candles, we each offered a quiet Hail Mary as our birthday gift to Our Blessed Mother. Then we sang “Happy Birthday.” Father said that Mary does not need earthly presents, but she is always pleased when her children remember her with love and try to please her Son.

The cake tasted wonderful—soft and lemony, with sweet frosting and berries. The cold Jersey milk went perfectly with it. Mini sat beside me looking hopeful until she received a little dish of Jersey milk. That made her feel included in the party too.

Father reminded us that Mary’s birthday is a happy day for the whole world, because the little girl born on this day would one day become the Mother of Jesus—and our heavenly Mother as well.

We ended our celebration by praying another Hail Mary together, and Father gave us his blessing beneath the apple tree.

The epilogue will still be waiting tomorrow. Today belonged to Mary.

Happy Birthday, dear Blessed Mother!

Love,
Kathy

Where Are They Now?

September 7, 1957

Dear Diary,

After Mass this morning, our reading club met beneath the apple tree for the potluck dinner we had planned.

Sister Mary Claire brought a large pot of good old-fashioned Iowa chili. Father LeRoy supplied bread and butter, and we had warm blackberry cobbler with cream for dessert. Robert also brought a bottle of cold Jersey milk.

His other contribution surprised everyone. He arrived with a platter of tacos and a little brass handbell. When Father asked what he called his unusual dish, Robert rang the bell and announced, “Taco Bell!”

Nobody had ever heard of such a thing in 1957. We laughed and decided that Robert had invented both the food and the name.

Mini received a bowl of plain ground beef with a little dab of cream. She seemed to think the potluck had been arranged especially for her.

When dinner was finished, I read Part Six, which we called “Where Are They Now?” It told what had become of many of the people we had met throughout the story.

Those who had been miraculously healed were still in good health. Their continued recovery remained a living witness to the mercy shown at the Grotto.

Bishop Laurence was still serving as Bishop of Tarbes, and Father Peyramale had recovered from his illness. He remained the beloved Curé of Lourdes, always ready to help whenever there was good to be done.

We also learned that Bernadette’s mother died on December 8, 1866, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Bernadette’s father remained a poor miller, supporting his family through the work of his hands. Although a magnificent church was rising at Lourdes, the Soubirous family continued to live quietly and humbly.

Father said that the miracles did not end when the people returned home. Each healed person carried the story of Lourdes into the years ahead.

Now we have only one more meeting before we finish Our Lady of Lourdes. We will read the short epilogue together. I am thankful that we still have one final gathering beneath the apple tree to look forward to.

We ended with a prayer, thanking Our Blessed Mother for guiding our reading club and asking her to lead us always closer to Jesus.

Just as I said “Amen,” Robert rang his little bell once more.

Mini looked up quickly. I believe she thought it meant second helpings.

Love, Kathy

 

The Little Drop That Could Not Be Stopped

September 5, 1957

Dear Diary,

There was a real chill in the air this morning when we met beneath the apple tree behind St. Mary’s. Summer is still here, but it certainly did not feel like it today. Father, Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and I all had our jackets on, and even Mini seemed pleased to settle close beside us instead of wandering very far.

Father looked at our copy of Our Lady of Lourdes and reminded us that we are almost at the end now.

“Only two tiny parts after today,” he said.

That made everyone a little quiet.

Then Father asked me to read my chapter summary.

My Chapter Summary

Today’s part compared the story of Lourdes to a tiny drop of water coming down from the mountains.

Men might try to stop such a little stream by piling up earth, stones, and even great walls. For a while they might think they had succeeded. But the water keeps coming. Little by little it rises until at last it finds its way through, and what was once a quiet stream may become a mighty torrent.

The author said that this was like Lourdes.

At first there was only Bernadette, a poor young girl kneeling at the Grotto. Then came a few women with flowers, an old farmer praying, and a handful of people carrying candles.

Officials tried to stop them.

But the faith of the people could not be stopped.

In time, the little gatherings became great processions. Pilgrims came from far away. A magnificent church rose above the Grotto, and people from throughout the Christian world came to Lourdes to pray.

The little drop had become a mighty river.

But the chapter ended with a warning too. God gives His gifts to us, but then He asks us to care for them. We must remain humble and faithful so that we do not spoil through pride or carelessness what God has begun.

When I finished, Robert said he liked the part about the water finding its way through the wall.

Father nodded.

“Human beings sometimes imagine that they can stop what God intends to accomplish.”

Sister said she especially liked the final lesson.

“A gift from God still has to be treasured,” she said. “We cannot simply receive something beautiful and then forget to care for it.”

I thought about that for a while.

Perhaps our Reading Club is a little like that too. It began with only a few books beneath an apple tree. Now it has given us so many afternoons together, so many prayers, discussions, trips, treats, and things I never would have learned by myself.

Then Sister opened her basket.

Inside was a beautiful chocolate pie with a graham cracker crust and a thick whipped topping.

That improved everyone's spirits immediately.

Sister cut large pieces for us, and Robert poured the milk. The pie was rich and creamy, and the graham cracker crust was just right.

Mini received a little dish of whipped cream all her own.

She looked into the dish, looked at Sister, and then began licking so happily that Robert said Mini had officially approved today's refreshments.

After our discussion, Father reminded us that tomorrow we would meet again after Sunday service.

“And since we are so close to finishing,” he said, “I think we should have a potluck dinner.”

That caused quite a discussion of its own.

Sister said she would bring something. Robert immediately began making plans, and I started wondering what I could contribute. Father said the only rule was that no one was to turn the potluck into a competition.

Robert looked disappointed.

Before we left, Father asked me to say our closing prayer.

We bowed our heads beneath the apple tree.

Dear Lord,
thank You for the good things You begin in our lives.
Help us to care for Your gifts with humble and grateful hearts.
Keep our faith strong, and never let pride or fear keep us from following You.
Bless our Reading Club and everyone gathered here.
Amen.

Father gave us his blessing.

As we gathered our books, I looked at the apple tree, the church, and our little meeting place.

The book may almost be finished.

But somehow I do not think our Reading Club is.

Perhaps a little beginning, cared for properly, can keep growing for a very long time.

Just like that tiny drop of water.

Love,

Kathy

Not the End After All

September 4, 1957

Dear Diary,

We met beneath the apple tree behind St. Mary’s again today. The afternoon was warm and peaceful, and every so often a little breeze stirred the leaves above our heads. Mini settled beside my chair as though she knew exactly where a faithful member of the reading club belonged.

Father asked me to begin by reading my chapter summary. Today we talked about what Lourdes was like eleven years after the Blessed Virgin appeared to Bernadette. The wild place around the Grotto had changed so much. A great church was rising above the rock, pilgrims were coming from faraway places, and the little spring Mary had revealed continued to flow. It seemed wonderful to think that something which began with one poor girl kneeling in the mud had grown into a place of prayer and hope for the whole world.

We had a very good discussion afterward. Sister Mary Claire said that the buildings and crowds were important, but the greatest change could not be seen with the eyes. It was the change within the hearts of all the people who came to Lourdes seeking God.

For our treat, Sister brought a plate of her chocolate chip cookies, baked just right—soft in the middle and a little crisp around the edges. Robert brought a quart of cold Jersey milk, and we passed it around in little cups. Sister had wisely made a special cookie for Mini without any chocolate chips. Mini ate it happily and then lapped up a little dish of Jersey milk. Afterward, she carefully searched the grass for any crumbs that might have escaped her notice.

I think we were all feeling a little sad because we are nearing the end of Our Lady of Lourdes. Father must have noticed, because he smiled and said, “Finishing one book does not mean the reading club is finished.”

Those words cheered everyone at once.

Father said he would like the reading club to continue. He asked each of us to begin thinking about what book we might read next. Everyone may choose one title, and after all the suggestions have been given, we shall cast our votes.

Robert immediately looked as though he already had three books in mind. Sister laughed and reminded him that Father had said one title from each person. I do not know yet what book I shall choose, but I want it to be something that will help us love God more and give us plenty to talk about beneath the apple tree.

When it was time to leave, Father asked me to read our closing prayer. We bowed our heads, and I prayed:

“Dear Lord, thank You for our reading club, for the lessons we have learned, and for the happy hours we have shared together. Bless each person gathered here, and guide us as we choose our next book. May everything we read lead us closer to You. Amen.”

As we gathered our books and cups, the reading club no longer felt as though it were ending. It felt as though another wonderful story was waiting just around the corner.

Love,

Kathy

The Last Chapter Begins

 

Dear Diary,

We met again today under the apple tree beside St. Mary’s, and somehow everything seemed a little quieter than usual.

The sun was warm, the leaves over us rustled when the breeze came through, and our chairs were all in their familiar places. Father LeRoy was there, Sister Mary Claire and Robert too, and Mini settled down close beside me.

But I think all of us were thinking the same thing.

Today we began the first part of the last chapter of Our Lady of Lourdes.

I did not like the sound of those words very much.

We have spent so many wonderful days together reading this book—under the apple tree, beside Indian Creek, in the clubhouse when it rained, and even riding along in Father’s car—that it hardly seems possible that the story can really be coming to an end.

Mini must have noticed that something was different too. Usually she is watching for squirrels or wondering whether anyone has dropped something good to eat, but today she just lay beside my chair with her chin on her paws as if she were melancholy with the rest of us.

Father looked around at everybody and smiled.

“Well, Kathy,” he said, “we had better not mourn the end before we have finished the story. Let us hear what happened at Lourdes.”

So I opened my notebook and read my summary.

Years had passed since Bernadette first knelt before the rough Grotto of Massabielle. The lonely place she had known had changed almost beyond recognition.

A great church was rising above the rocks where the Blessed Virgin had appeared. The steep hillside had been covered with grass, shrubs, flowers and winding paths. Roses, violets and daisies grew where once there had been only rough earth and stone.

The Grotto itself had become a sanctuary. An iron railing protected it, a golden lamp hung above, and candles burned there day and night.

The miraculous spring still flowed.

Its water now filled great basins, and a place had been prepared where the sick could bathe. Roads had been built so pilgrims could reach the Grotto more easily. Even the stream and part of the river had been moved so that the growing crowds could come safely to Massabielle.

And the most wonderful thing was that these enormous works were being paid for largely by the little offerings of ordinary people.

A copper coin here.

A gift of thanksgiving there.

Offerings from people who had been healed, comforted, or brought closer to God.

The author said something I liked very much: God did not force anyone to give. He wanted gifts freely offered by people who loved Him.

When I finished, nobody spoke for a moment.

Then Sister Mary Claire said, “Think how it began. One poor girl kneeling in the mud before a place most people hardly noticed.”

“And now there is a church rising above it,” Robert said.

Father nodded.

“That is often how God works,” he said. “Something may begin very quietly. So quietly that the world thinks it is nothing. But if it truly belongs to God, we should not be surprised at what may grow from it.”

I looked up through the branches of our apple tree.

That made me think about our Reading Club.

We certainly had not built a basilica.

We had only gathered beneath a tree with some old books, a few chairs, plenty of questions, and usually something good to eat.

But I wondered if little things could grow too.

Maybe Robert would remember these meetings when he was old.

Maybe I would.

Maybe someday I would hear the name Lourdes and remember Father sitting beneath this apple tree, Sister explaining something I could not understand, Robert reading ahead when he was not supposed to, and Mini waiting patiently for her share of the refreshments.

Then Robert announced that there was one more matter requiring our immediate attention.

From his cooler he produced great vanilla ice-cream cones.

“A nickel apiece,” he said proudly.

They were enormous for a nickel.

Mine was already beginning to melt down one side before I had taken three bites.

Mini suddenly recovered from her melancholy.

Robert had remembered her too and brought out a little dish of plain vanilla ice cream. She cleaned it so carefully that Father said perhaps Mini had decided the last chapter was not entirely bad after all.

We laughed, and that helped.

I am still a little sad tonight, Diary.

The book is nearly finished.

And perhaps these wonderful summer meetings really are drawing toward their end.

But today’s chapter reminded me that an ending does not always mean something disappears.

Bernadette’s days at the Grotto ended long ago, but what began there kept growing.

Maybe that is the important thing.

Some things stay with us after the chairs are folded, the books are closed, and the last nickel ice-cream cone is gone.

And perhaps that is how a little Reading Club under an Iowa apple tree can last forever too.

Good night, dear Diary.

Love, Kathy 

 

The Faith of a Child

Dear Diary,

We met under the apple tree again today for our Reading Club. The morning had that nice late-summer feeling to it, with the leaves stirring every once in a while and little patches of sunlight moving around on our books.

Father LeRoy had told us he might be a little late, so Sister Mary Claire said we should go ahead without him. Robert carried the chairs out, Mini found her usual place where she could keep an eye on everybody, and I began my chapter summary.

Today’s chapter was about a boy named Jules Lacassagne and his father, Roger.

Jules had been sick for two whole years. At first he could hardly swallow solid food, and later the doctors discovered that his throat had become so terribly narrowed that he could live only on liquids. He grew thin and pale, and even the finest doctors in Toulouse and Bordeaux could not cure him.

But Jules had read about Lourdes.

He became completely certain that the Blessed Virgin could help him. He told his mother, “Send me to Lourdes, and you will see I shall be cured.”

His father did not really believe in miracles, but he loved his son so much that he was willing to try anything. So in February they traveled to Lourdes.

Jules prayed in the chapel and at the Grotto. A priest consecrated him to the Blessed Virgin, and afterward Jules washed himself with the spring water and drank some of it.

Then his father handed him a biscuit.

After two years of being unable to eat solid food, Jules swallowed it.

“Papa! I am swallowing the biscuit. I am able to eat. I was sure of it, for I had faith.”

He ate another, and another.

His father hurried off to send one word by telegram to Jules’s mother:

“Cured.”

And Jules remained well.

When I finished reading, nobody said anything for a little while.

Then Robert said, “The boy seemed to have more faith than everybody else put together.”

Sister Mary Claire smiled. “Sometimes children do.”

That started quite a lively discussion.

Robert wondered why Jules could believe so completely when his father could hardly believe at all. Sister said perhaps Jules had received the grace to trust simply, without needing to understand everything first.

I said I thought the most beautiful part was that Jules had carried the thought of Lourdes quietly in his heart for eight months. Nobody encouraged him very much, but he never forgot.

Sister nodded.

“Faith can grow very quietly,” she said. “Sometimes the deepest things are happening when nobody else notices.”

Just then we heard a car door shut beside the church.

“There’s Father,” Robert said.

Father came around the corner carrying a big cardboard tray and looking rather pleased with himself.

“I hope,” he announced, “that the theological discussion has not advanced beyond the point where refreshments may still be admitted.”

Dairy Queen!

He had brought Oreo Cookie Blizzards for everybody.

Sister laughed and said that perhaps this was the first recorded Reading Club discussion in which St. Vitus’ dance, Lourdes, miracles, the Blessed Virgin, and Oreo cookies had all appeared in the same hour.

Mini received no Oreo Blizzard, of course. Father had remembered her too. Hers was a little dish of plain vanilla ice cream with a vanilla wafer stuck in the top.

Mini ate the wafer first.

Robert said that proved she understood the proper order of things.

When our Blizzards were nearly gone, Father returned to the chapter.

He said that perhaps the greatest miracle in the story was not only what happened to Jules.

“Notice what happened to the father,” he said.

Jules received back his health, but his father received something too. A man who had trusted only what he could see and explain suddenly found himself standing before something he could not explain away.

Sister said that was why the author wrote that the Blessed Virgin had given Jules temporal life, but had helped lead his father toward the life that lasts forever.

I liked that very much.

Maybe sometimes God answers one person’s prayer and, hidden inside the answer, there is another gift meant for somebody else.

The afternoon breeze began rustling the apple leaves above us, and one apple dropped into the grass with a little thump.

Father stood and gave us his blessing.

On the walk home I kept thinking about Jules saying, “I was sure of it, for I had faith.”

I don’t think faith always means being sure that God will give us exactly what we ask for.

Maybe it means being sure that, whatever happens, we can still put ourselves into His hands.

And perhaps that is the kind of faith I would like to have.

Dear Blessed Mother, help me to trust Jesus simply and lovingly, especially when I cannot see what He is doing. Help me remember that no prayer offered with love is ever forgotten.

Amen.

The Water from Lourdes

Dear Diary,

Today our Reading Club had quite an adventure.

Father LeRoy told us this morning that he would not be able to come to our regular meeting because some church business had come up and he had to drive to Sioux City right away. We were all a little disappointed until Father looked at us and said, “Why don’t you all come along? You can have your meeting on the way, and afterward I’ll treat everybody at the Dairy Queen on Nebraska Street.”

That changed things in a hurry!

So Sister Mary Claire, Robert, Mini, and I piled into Father’s car, and off we went to Sioux City. Mini settled herself comfortably as though she had been invited personally.

Once we were well on our way, Father said it was time for the Reading Club meeting, so I took out my notes and gave today’s chapter summary.

The story was about a man whose eyesight had always been wonderfully strong. Then, in 1862, his eyes suddenly became so weak that he could scarcely read even a few lines. Doctors tried many different treatments, but nothing really helped, and before long he began to fear that his good eyesight was gone forever.

Then something very strange happened. One of his closest friends, who was a Protestant, visited Lourdes and heard about the remarkable cures connected with the water from the Grotto. He wrote and urged his Catholic friend to try it.

The man resisted—not because he thought God could not cure him, but almost for the opposite reason. Deep down he feared that if God really did perform a miracle for him, his whole life would have to change. He knew that such a gift would call him to become better and more faithful.

At last his friends persuaded him to write to the Curé of Lourdes, and a bottle of water from the Grotto was sent to him.

When it arrived, he prayed earnestly to God and Our Blessed Mother and washed his eyes and forehead with the Lourdes water.

Almost immediately, he knew that something had happened.

He was cured.

Only minutes before he could scarcely read a few lines. Now he picked up the little book about Lourdes and read more than one hundred pages without any weariness at all. Seven years later, when he wrote his account, his eyesight was still perfectly strong.

That gave us plenty to talk about.

Robert was the first to notice something unusual.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “He’s telling this whole story as ‘I.’ Do you suppose this is the author himself?”

That made all of us think.

Sister Mary Claire said it certainly sounded that way. The man was not simply repeating something he had heard about another person. He was describing his own fear, his own prayers, and exactly what happened when the Lourdes water arrived.

Father, keeping his eyes on the road, said, “I think Robert may have found something important. Perhaps Monsieur Lasserre has been telling us about his own cure without stopping to announce it.”

That made the chapter seem completely different to me. All this time the author had been telling us about the miracles of Lourdes, and now it seemed possible that Lourdes had touched his own life too.

Sister Mary Claire said the part that touched her most was that he had actually been frightened of receiving such a great grace because he knew it would ask something of him in return.

Father said, “Sometimes we ask God for something wonderful, but we ought also to ask ourselves what we will do with the gift if He gives it to us.”

By then Sioux City was getting close, and after Father’s church business was finished, he kept his promise and took us to the Dairy Queen on Nebraska Street—the same one we had visited before.

Father said we could have whatever we wanted.

That may have been the second miracle of the day.

There were cones, sundaes, shakes, and plenty of chocolate syrup involved. Mini received her own little dish of plain vanilla and considered the entire trip an excellent Reading Club meeting.

On the ride home we talked some more about Lourdes and especially about whether we had just read the author’s own miracle. Somehow that made the whole book feel more personal.

When we reached St. Mary’s, Father stopped the car before anyone climbed out.

He made the Sign of the Cross over us and gave us his blessing.

It seemed like the perfect ending to a Reading Club meeting that had begun on the road, traveled all the way to Sioux City, stopped for ice cream, and brought us very close indeed to the man who had written the story of Lourdes.

Good night, Diary.

Kathy

 

Stone by Stone

Dear Diary,

Today our Reading Club was back in its usual place under the apple tree beside St. Mary’s.

Sister Mary Claire brought vanilla ice cream and a can of Hershey’s chocolate syrup. She poured the chocolate over our dishes in great dark ribbons, and it was about as good as anything could be on a warm August day.

Mini received her own little dish of plain vanilla.

She had no complaints whatsoever.

When everyone was settled, Father asked me to read the short chapter summary.

I told the club that Bishop Laurence, acting for the Church, purchased the Grotto, the surrounding land, and the Rocks of Massabielle from the town of Lourdes. Mayor Lacadé helped arrange the sale, and M. Rouland approved both the purchase and the building of a church there in memory of the Apparitions.

Soon the great sanctuary began rising stone by stone above the Grotto.

But while the church was being built, devotion to Our Lady of Lourdes was spreading far beyond Lourdes itself. People in cities, villages, and lonely country places called upon her, and many reported remarkable favors and cures.

The author said that before finishing his story, he wanted to tell us about two more extraordinary events. One of them had happened to him personally and had remained in his memory for many years.

Robert said, “It must have been something pretty important if he saved it for almost the very end.”

Father nodded. “Sometimes the things closest to us are the hardest to write about.”

Sister Mary Claire said she liked the thought of the church rising one stone at a time while devotion to Our Lady was spreading everywhere at the same time.

I looked up through the apple leaves and thought about how slowly we had been reading this book, one chapter at a time, all summer long.

Then Father said, “We are getting very close to the end of our story.”

Nobody said anything for a moment.

I think we had all grown rather fond of Bernadette, the Grotto, the spring, and even all those officials who seemed to spend so much time arguing about everything.

Father smiled and added, “So we had better begin thinking about what book the Reading Club will take up next.”

Robert immediately said he had several ideas.

Of course he did.

Mini had finished her ice cream by then and was licking the dish so carefully that I think she would have voted to continue any book at all, provided Sister kept serving refreshments.

When it was time to leave, Father asked us to bow our heads.

He thanked God for Our Lady of Lourdes, for Bernadette’s faithfulness, and for all the good that had come from the little Grotto at Massabielle. Then he asked God to guide our Reading Club as we came to the end of one story and prepared to begin another.

Father gave us his blessing.

The apple leaves rustled overhead, Mini stretched out in the grass, and I looked around at everyone sitting there together.

I think I am going to be a little sorry when this book is finished.

Kathy

Eighteen Times

Dear Diary — August 21, 1957

After church this morning, Father said that instead of meeting under our usual apple tree, we should move the picnic table to the left side of St. Mary’s. From there we had a wonderful view of the sunflower field on the other side of the church.

The flowers were so bright and beautiful that I told Sister Mary Claire they looked a little like something we might see in Heaven.

Then we discovered that nobody had brought anything to eat.

Robert jumped into his pickup and drove into Littlemore. It seemed as though he was back in two minutes with Krispy Kreme doughnuts and a quart of cold milk.

Father laughed and said, “Providence sometimes works through fast pickup trucks.”

Mini sat under the table and watched everyone eat. Robert finally gave her a little dish of milk, which pleased her very much.

Then Father asked me to read today’s chapter summary.

I explained that after four years of careful investigation, Bishop Laurence of Tarbes finally gave his judgment about Lourdes. Bernadette had been questioned many times, but her story never changed. She remained simple, truthful, and asked for nothing for herself.

The Bishop also considered the conversions, renewed faith, and remarkable cures connected with the Grotto. Doctors had examined many of them, and the spring water itself had no natural healing properties.

At last Bishop Laurence declared that the Blessed Virgin Mary truly appeared to Bernadette eighteen times beginning February 11, 1858. He approved devotion to Our Lady of Lourdes and announced that a sanctuary should be built near the Grotto.

Robert said, “So after all the arguments and investigations, the Bishop finally said it was true.”

Father nodded. “Yes, but only after great care. The Church wanted to be certain.”

Sister Mary Claire said that Bernadette’s humility was one of the loveliest parts of the whole story.

I looked toward the sunflowers and said, “God seems to like choosing little people.”

Father smiled. “He certainly does.”

Just then Mini rested her chin on my shoe, and Robert said, “Here is another little person.”

We all laughed.

When it was time to leave, I said our prayer.

Dear Blessed Mother,

thank you for appearing to Bernadette
and giving us Our Lady of Lourdes.

Help us to be truthful and humble like Bernadette,
and to keep our eyes turned toward Jesus
just as these sunflowers turn toward the sun.

Please watch over Father LeRoy, Sister Mary Claire, Robert, Mini,
and all of us in our Reading Club.

And someday, dear Mother,
please help us all reach Heaven together.

Amen.

Father gave us his blessing, and I looked once more across the bright field of sunflowers.

For just a moment, Diary, it really did look a little like Heaven.

Kathy

Pilot Rock and the Test of Time

Dear Diary,

Father LeRoy kept his word today!

After Mass he called, “Everyone into the car,” and there sat his newest treasure—not a new car at all, but a beautifully kept 1936 Hudson.

Robert rode up front with Father while Sister Mary Claire, Mini, and I settled into the back. Soon we were rolling through the Iowa countryside with the windows open.

Father finally handed me a sign stating our destination.

Pilot Rock!

It stood on the farm of an old friend of his. Father seemed to know half the countryside through people he had met at Immaculate Conception Catholic Church.

When we arrived, I could hardly believe the size of the rock. We spread our blanket on its shady side where the great stone helped keep us cool.

Mini carefully inspected everything before settling beside me.

Sister explained that Pilot Rock was a glacial erratic, carried here by ancient ice and left behind when the glacier melted.

“So the glacier disappeared, but the rock stayed,” I said.

Father smiled. “That fits Kathy’s chapter very well.”

So I opened my notebook and began.

My Chapter Summary

Hundreds of cures had been reported at Lourdes, but the Church did not simply call them all miracles.

The Episcopal Commission carefully investigated thirty cases. They rejected cures that happened gradually, those involving medical treatment, and even remarkable spiritual conversions because such things could not be proved publicly.

The physical cures were divided into three groups. Some could have natural explanations. Others seemed probably supernatural, but the Commissioners remained cautious.

Only fifteen cures were finally judged unmistakably miraculous.

The doctors noticed that many completely different illnesses had been suddenly cured after using the same simple water from the Grotto. Yet scientific examination showed that the water itself had no special medicinal properties.

Bishop Laurence became convinced, but even then he waited.

Three years.

Then the cures were examined again. The people remained well, the witnesses stood by their testimony, and the facts had survived the test of time.

Only then was the Bishop ready to give his solemn judgment.

I closed my notebook and looked up at Pilot Rock.

“I think I understand,” I said. “This rock has survived rain, snow, wind, and years and years of time.”

“And Bishop Laurence wanted the truth to survive time too,” Sister said.

Father nodded. “He was not slow because he lacked faith. He was careful because the truth mattered.”

Then Sister announced lunch.

She brought out a beautiful peach pie, a jar of heavy cream, and cold milk.

The cream ran over the peaches and crust, and it was wonderful.

I told Father that peach pie was one thing I thought could be approved without a three-year investigation.

He laughed.

“I would still advise caution, Kathy.”

Mini sat beside me wearing her most hopeful expression until she received a little treat of her own.

Before leaving, Father asked us to bow our heads.

I prayed:

Dear Blessed Mother,
 help me to love the truth 
and to be patient when answers take time.
Keep my faith strong
and lead me always closer to Jesus.
 Amen.

Father gave us his blessing, and we packed everything back into the old Nash.

Mini jumped in first.

As we drove away, I looked back at Pilot Rock.

The glacier was gone.

The rock remained.

Three years had passed.

The cures remained.

Maybe that was the lesson of today.

Truth does not have to fear the test of time.

Good night, Dear Diary.

Love, Kathy 

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