March 19, 1955
Dear Diary,
The cold embrace of March dawn could not quench the fire within my soul this morning. Awakened at the whisper of darkness, we ventured out into the frosty breath of a new day for the 6 o'clock Mass. The pickup, warm and inviting, courtesy of Tom’s forethought, waited to deliver us to the house of God. There, amidst the solemn silence, an encounter awaited me, one that would sear a memory into my heart forever.
It was in this holy sanctuary that I received the Most Holy Sacrament, not merely from a servant of the Lord, but from my very own sister, Sister Mary Clare. "O God present in this Most Holy Sacrament," I whispered, feeling the bread of angels, the heavenly food, unite me to all that is divine. Though I professed my love for Thee, I knew my human heart could never match the breadth of divine affection that I received from Thee in that singular, sacred moment.
As Sister Mary Clare, in her beauty and grace, offered me the Eucharist, I could not help but feel an immense goodness, a love that sought to banish all earthly affections and fill me with a divine love beyond comprehension. "Do Thou, my Jesus, make known to me the beauty," I prayed, my heart yearning for every ounce of faith to understand the profound mystery of this communion.
We lingered in quiet adoration, the church's sanctity enveloping us in a veil of serenity. When we departed, the world outside remained shrouded in the cloak of predawn, the pickup cold once more, yet the warmth within us could not be diminished.
At the Maid Rite Café, Ginger's knowing smile met us as she beheld the joy radiating from my being. Indeed, how could anyone not see? With Jesus in my heart, the very fabric of my existence seemed to sing a hymn of exultation.
The breakfast of hot oatmeal, butter, and cream tasted like a feast of thanksgiving, while Sister savored her Illy coffee with whipping cream, and I, a glass of whole milk, fresh as the morning itself. Our homeward journey was contemplative, a shared prayer from the Inner Court prayer book bonding us in silent reflection.
Oh, how I am wrapped in awe, Diary, of the love that consumed me today. May this feeling linger, and may God bless my dear Sister Mary Clare, my family, and all who journey in faith. Until tomorrow, I rest in gratitude.
With a heart full of love, Kathy
Dear Diary,
The cold embrace of March dawn could not quench the fire within my soul this morning. Awakened at the whisper of darkness, we ventured out into the frosty breath of a new day for the 6 o'clock Mass. The pickup, warm and inviting, courtesy of Tom’s forethought, waited to deliver us to the house of God. There, amidst the solemn silence, an encounter awaited me, one that would sear a memory into my heart forever.
It was in this holy sanctuary that I received the Most Holy Sacrament, not merely from a servant of the Lord, but from my very own sister, Sister Mary Clare. "O God present in this Most Holy Sacrament," I whispered, feeling the bread of angels, the heavenly food, unite me to all that is divine. Though I professed my love for Thee, I knew my human heart could never match the breadth of divine affection that I received from Thee in that singular, sacred moment.
As Sister Mary Clare, in her beauty and grace, offered me the Eucharist, I could not help but feel an immense goodness, a love that sought to banish all earthly affections and fill me with a divine love beyond comprehension. "Do Thou, my Jesus, make known to me the beauty," I prayed, my heart yearning for every ounce of faith to understand the profound mystery of this communion.
We lingered in quiet adoration, the church's sanctity enveloping us in a veil of serenity. When we departed, the world outside remained shrouded in the cloak of predawn, the pickup cold once more, yet the warmth within us could not be diminished.
At the Maid Rite Café, Ginger's knowing smile met us as she beheld the joy radiating from my being. Indeed, how could anyone not see? With Jesus in my heart, the very fabric of my existence seemed to sing a hymn of exultation.
The breakfast of hot oatmeal, butter, and cream tasted like a feast of thanksgiving, while Sister savored her Illy coffee with whipping cream, and I, a glass of whole milk, fresh as the morning itself. Our homeward journey was contemplative, a shared prayer from the Inner Court prayer book bonding us in silent reflection.
Oh, how I am wrapped in awe, Diary, of the love that consumed me today. May this feeling linger, and may God bless my dear Sister Mary Clare, my family, and all who journey in faith. Until tomorrow, I rest in gratitude.
With a heart full of love, Kathy
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