The Picture on The Wall

July 4th, 1955 

Dear Diary,

This morning, Sister Mary Claire and I walked to St. Mary's for the early morning Mass. The air was fresh and cool, with a gentle breeze that seemed to carry whispers of serenity. As we walked, Sister Mary Claire shared her thoughts on the beauty of the world around us, and it felt as if each step brought us closer to peace.

Father LeRoy's homily today was about the beauty of Mary, our Blessed Mother. He spoke with such reverence and love, reminding us of her purity and grace. He shared stories of how Mary has always been a guiding star for the faithful, a beacon of hope and love. His words resonated deeply within me, and I felt a renewed sense of devotion to Mary.

After our chores and breakfast, I couldn't wait to return to the cave. I hurried back, eager to explore and to write a prayer inspired by this morning's homily. As I ventured deeper into the cave, I found myself once again at the door of John Hathaway's room. This was my second visit, so the sight of the beautifully carved walnut door felt familiar. The door opened with a squeak, reminding me that I needed to bring some oil for the hinges.

Inside John Hathaway's room, I saw something that took my breath away. Hanging on the wall directly above his little desk was a picture I recognized immediately—it was Murillo's painting of the Virgin Mother. Sister Mary Claire had once told me about Murillo and his twenty-seven attempts to paint this picture. She said that after each attempt, he was not satisfied, feeling that it did not praise Mary enough. But on the twenty-seventh attempt, he created the most beautiful picture of Mary ever painted. I could see why John Hathaway must have cherished this picture. It truly captured Mary's beauty and grace.

Feeling inspired, I decided to write a prayer. I sat at John Hathaway's little desk, which seemed to hold echoes of his past reflections and writings. Opening a drawer, I found a stack of old paper, yellowed with age but still sturdy. I took one sheet and picked up John’s very own pencil, feeling a connection to him as I began to write. The pencil was worn from use, its tip sharpened to a precise point. As I wrote, I imagined John sitting here, perhaps penning his own prayers and thoughts, often glancing up at Murillo’s depiction of the Blessed Mother right in front of him.

It was comforting to think that John Hathaway, in his moments of contemplation, might have found the same solace and inspiration from Mary's image that I did now. With each glance upward, he must have felt her gentle guidance, just as I did.

Here is the prayer I wrote:

O Blessed Mother, guide me with your light. In moments of doubt and darkness, be my star. When I falter, lift me up with your grace. Help me to always seek your intercession and to love you more each day. May I see your face in heaven and find comfort in your eternal love. Amen.

Goodnight, dear diary.

Love,
Kathy