This morning, with the sun barely brushing the horizon, Sister Mary Claire and I journeyed to St. Ambrose in Des Moines for Mass. As the light streamed through the stained glass, it painted the pews and the faithful in a kaleidoscope of grace, as if the very heavens were reaching down to touch the earth. The serenity within those walls was a gentle reminder of the peace that faith can bestow upon a willing heart.
The day unfolded with the usual rhythm of prayers and chores, but it's these moments of stillness in the Lord's house that make all our daily tasks seem lighter, more purposeful.
As dusk fell and the world outside began to settle, Sister Mary Claire opened the Inner Court Prayer Book, and her voice, soft yet resonant, filled our cozy quarters. "Holy Spirit, of light from the clear celestial height, thy pure beaming radiance give," she read, and it was as if the light from the morning's Mass had found its way into our very souls.
"Come thou, Father of the poor, come with treasures which endure. Come thou light of all that live, thou of all consolers best, thou the soul's delightsome guest, thus refreshing, peace bestow." These words, so familiar and yet always new, seemed to echo around us, wrapping our evening in a cloak of divine comfort.
The prayer was a balm, a soothing end to a day spent in both the house of God and the house of His creation. It's been a long day, diary, filled with the light of faith and the warmth of sisterly companionship. I find my eyelids heavy with the day's toil and the heart's contentment.
So, I'll draw the curtains early tonight, inviting the stars to watch over us as we rest. For in the morning, we do it all again, each day a step further on this journey of faith and love.
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