Dear Diary,
Another cold, blustery day, even worse than yesterday. My hopes of fishing by the shore of Okoboji were dashed as soon as I heard the wind whipping outside. Instead, Sister Mary Claire and I went to Holy Mass, wrapped up warm against the cold. I couldn’t stop thinking about the Gospel reading today. Jesus’ words, “Pay attention to what I am telling you. The Son of Man is to be handed over to men,” seemed so simple, yet so heavy. The disciples were too afraid to ask what He meant. I wonder if we sometimes choose not to ask difficult questions because we fear the answers might be too hard to bear.
After Mass, Sister and I headed to the little store we’d noticed on the way to church earlier this week. Mrs. Crawford’s living room has been transformed into the most charming little grocery shop. The shelves were full of the essentials, and I was so happy to find fresh milk from the Kolona Dairy, just like back home. With bread, milk, and our eggs from home, we had what we needed for breakfast. But it was when Sister quietly added two sticks of long black licorice and a bouncy ball for Mini that I smiled. I could already picture Mini’s excitement with her new toy, and Sister would surely enjoy her licorice—it’s a little tradition we share.
After breakfast, I spent the afternoon trying to sketch Antoinette, the young girl who owned the prayer book Sister has been translating. It's funny how, every time I close my eyes and try to picture her, I see Sister Mary Claire. In my mind, Antoinette has the same dark brown hair, the same serene expression. Maybe it’s because I feel like Sister carries the same kind of grace and purity that would have guided Antoinette’s prayers. The pages of her book are so delicate, and touching them feels like connecting with someone I’ve never met, yet somehow know. Each word she wrote with her hand, each prayer, speaks to something deep inside of me—like she’s still here, speaking through her words and through the gentle presence I see reflected in Sister Mary Claire.
As the day draws to a close, I offer my simple prayer for today:
Lord, through the ages, prayers remain, Binding hearts in love’s sweet chain. Let me see, in every face, Your eternal gift of grace.
Amen.
With warmth and gratitude, Kathy
Another cold, blustery day, even worse than yesterday. My hopes of fishing by the shore of Okoboji were dashed as soon as I heard the wind whipping outside. Instead, Sister Mary Claire and I went to Holy Mass, wrapped up warm against the cold. I couldn’t stop thinking about the Gospel reading today. Jesus’ words, “Pay attention to what I am telling you. The Son of Man is to be handed over to men,” seemed so simple, yet so heavy. The disciples were too afraid to ask what He meant. I wonder if we sometimes choose not to ask difficult questions because we fear the answers might be too hard to bear.
After Mass, Sister and I headed to the little store we’d noticed on the way to church earlier this week. Mrs. Crawford’s living room has been transformed into the most charming little grocery shop. The shelves were full of the essentials, and I was so happy to find fresh milk from the Kolona Dairy, just like back home. With bread, milk, and our eggs from home, we had what we needed for breakfast. But it was when Sister quietly added two sticks of long black licorice and a bouncy ball for Mini that I smiled. I could already picture Mini’s excitement with her new toy, and Sister would surely enjoy her licorice—it’s a little tradition we share.
After breakfast, I spent the afternoon trying to sketch Antoinette, the young girl who owned the prayer book Sister has been translating. It's funny how, every time I close my eyes and try to picture her, I see Sister Mary Claire. In my mind, Antoinette has the same dark brown hair, the same serene expression. Maybe it’s because I feel like Sister carries the same kind of grace and purity that would have guided Antoinette’s prayers. The pages of her book are so delicate, and touching them feels like connecting with someone I’ve never met, yet somehow know. Each word she wrote with her hand, each prayer, speaks to something deep inside of me—like she’s still here, speaking through her words and through the gentle presence I see reflected in Sister Mary Claire.
As the day draws to a close, I offer my simple prayer for today:
Lord, through the ages, prayers remain, Binding hearts in love’s sweet chain. Let me see, in every face, Your eternal gift of grace.
Amen.
With warmth and gratitude, Kathy
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