February 1, 1955
Dear Diary,
Today was such a snowy day! But inside, it was all warm, and I got to ask Sister Mary Claire about something I've wondered for a while. "Who is the Holy Spirit?" I asked her, peeking over my glasses. She always knows so much and explains things in a way that makes sense to me.
Sister told me that the Holy Spirit is like the wind - we can't see it, but we can feel it. It's like the snow swirling in a dance outside, making the world look like a snow globe. She said it's a whisper in our hearts that helps us tell right from wrong and the warm feeling we get when we do good things.
She explained that the Holy Spirit is a special gift from God to make sure we're never alone. It's like a friend who's always with us, guiding us to be our best selves, even when we don't notice it.
It made me think of our cozy farmhouse, standing strong against the blizzard. It's our shelter from the storm, just like the Holy Spirit is a shelter for our souls.
Tonight, as I snuggle under my blankets, the wind is howling like a pack of wild wolves. But I'm not scared because I feel safe and sound, knowing I have a heavenly friend watching over me, just like Sister Mary Claire said.
Sister told me that the Holy Spirit is like the wind - we can't see it, but we can feel it. It's like the snow swirling in a dance outside, making the world look like a snow globe. She said it's a whisper in our hearts that helps us tell right from wrong and the warm feeling we get when we do good things.
She explained that the Holy Spirit is a special gift from God to make sure we're never alone. It's like a friend who's always with us, guiding us to be our best selves, even when we don't notice it.
It made me think of our cozy farmhouse, standing strong against the blizzard. It's our shelter from the storm, just like the Holy Spirit is a shelter for our souls.
Tonight, as I snuggle under my blankets, the wind is howling like a pack of wild wolves. But I'm not scared because I feel safe and sound, knowing I have a heavenly friend watching over me, just like Sister Mary Claire said.
Goodnight, Diary.
Kathy
Kathy
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