Today, on Good Friday, the quiet solemnity of the farm was a stark contrast to the turmoil that filled our hearts. Sister Mary Claire and I ventured to St. Ambrose in Des Moines to partake in the sacred observance of this holy day, our spirits echoing with the poignant melodies of the service.
Seeking solace, we afterward found ourselves in the comforting embrace of the Maid Rite Café. The loose meats were more than just a meal; they were a small respite, a momentary lifting of the day's weight. And the cream of asparagus soup, fresh from Judy's garden, brought a taste of simplicity and home to our table.
The day concluded not with our usual routine but with a visit to the Inner Court wagon for evening prayers. It became our refuge, where the intimacy of our shared silence spoke volumes more than words ever could.
In this hallowed space, the story of the Passion was both a shadow and a beacon—its gravity a somber reminder, its message a herald of hope. For though today was draped in the deepest sorrow, we hold fast to the promise of Easter's dawn.
Kathy
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