The Immaculate Conception

July 5, 1955

Dear Diary,

I was startled awake early this morning by the deep rumble of an approaching thunderstorm. The room was illuminated in quick flashes of lightning, followed by the heavy drumming of rain against the roof. My first thought was a pang of disappointment—surely, I would not be able to visit the cave today. The storm seemed relentless, each clap of thunder shaking the very walls of hope.

Sister Mary Claire and I readied ourselves for Mass despite the tempest outside. We drove to St. Mary’s in Tom's old pickup, the windshield wipers working furiously to clear our view—well, at least one of them was. The other wiper had given up the ghost, leaving half the windshield a blur of rain and streaks. Iowa thunderstorms have a way of enveloping you entirely—there’s a primal energy to them, a mix of awe and trepidation. The sky was a swirling mass of dark clouds, occasionally split by the jagged brilliance of lightning. The roads were slick and shiny, puddles and streams forming quickly and reflecting the ominous sky above.

The sound of the rain was a constant roar, punctuated by the occasional crash of thunder. As we made our way to church, the world outside seemed a blur of gray and silver, the landscape momentarily illuminated by the fierce streaks of light. The ride felt longer than usual, the pickup creeping carefully along the drenched roads. Despite the storm, the thought of John Hathaway’s room and the many books it held occupied my mind.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the picture above his desk—the Immaculate Conception, so serene and divine. There was something deeply moving about it, a sense of purity and grace that captivated me. I recalled seeing a book on the same subject among Hathaway’s collection, and I was eager to delve into it, to understand more about the mystery and beauty depicted in that image.

Sister Mary Claire must have noticed my preoccupation, for as we bounced along in the pickup, she began to explain the The Immaculate Conception #1  #2 to me. She said that Mary was saved by the Redemption, as we are, but in a better way—by prevention, not by cure. No act of hers nor of her parents, but the intervention of the merits of her Divine Son, saved her from the torrent which was about to descend upon her. Her words painted a vivid picture in my mind, and I felt a deep sense of wonder and gratitude for the profound grace bestowed upon Mary.

Later in the day, there was a break in the weather. I seized the opportunity to visit the cave and spent two wonderful hours reading under the lantern light, captivated by the image of Murillo's Immaculate Conception. The peace and tranquility of the cave, combined with the beauty of the artwork, filled me with a profound sense of serenity and inspiration.

Moved by the experience, I wrote my prayer and took it home to share with Sister Mary Claire. She smiled warmly as I read it to her, and we prayed together, finding comfort in the familiar words and the shared sense of faith:

“Dear Lord, grant us the strength to weather the storms of life, both within and without. Help us find solace in Your wisdom and grace, and guide us on our journey of faith. May we always seek knowledge and truth, and may Your divine light illuminate our path. Amen.”

Good night, dear diary.

Kathy