Dear Diary,
The air outside feels as sharp as glass tonight, with lows creeping into the single digits. But here in our cozy little house, all is well. The pantry is full, the fire burns steadily, and Mini is curled up beside me, her little nose tucked under her paws. She looks so peaceful, as if the cold outside doesn’t exist.
Tonight, Sister Mary Claire and I sat by the fire while she read to me about faith and generosity. She explained how true generosity isn’t just about giving what is easy but offering what costs us—our time, our comfort, or even our will. As I listened, I couldn’t help but compare her words to the fire before us. A fire asks something of us. It needs logs, kindling, and care. Without them, it dies. Faith, too, demands effort and sacrifice, but what it gives back—warmth, light, and strength—is far greater than what it costs.
As I watched the fire flicker, I thought back to early fall when Mini and I prepared for winter. We walked through the grove, gathering sticks and pine cones for kindling. Mini sniffed out every stick, wagging her little tail as if she were the best helper in the world. Those simple, ordinary tasks—gathering sticks, filling baskets, —have now turned into the warmth that fills this room.
This reminds me of how faith works in our Catholic life. The small acts we offer, like gathering kindling, can become something much greater when we give them to God. A prayer said before the Blessed Sacrament, a small act of kindness for a neighbor, or even offering up little sacrifices throughout the day—all of these are like sticks and cobs we collect, fueling a fire that burns brighter through grace.
Sister Mary Claire said something tonight that stayed with me: "Christ Himself showed us the greatest generosity when He gave everything for us on the Cross." It’s humbling to think that we are called to imitate that same love and sacrifice. Even in small ways, we can bring light and warmth to others, just as He did.
As the firelight flickered on the walls and Sister Mary Claire’s voice softened, I glanced at Mini, her eyes half-closed after all her "help" with the chores back then. I feel grateful tonight—for her, for the fire, for the rhythm of our life on the farm, and for the gift of faith that transforms even the smallest acts into something beautiful.
O Sacred Heart of Jesus, may I tend to my faith like this fire, offering the small things with love, knowing that You can make them burn brightly for Your glory.
Goodnight, dear Diary.
Kathy
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