Dear Diary,
Tonight, as Sister Mary Claire and I snuggled under the quilt, the snowstorm outside seemed to soften its howls, as if it wanted to listen to her voice too. The little room glowed warm and golden, with the candlelight flickering against the frosted windowpane. Mini curled up contentedly at our feet, her little chest rising and falling in time with Sister’s words.
She was reading to me about a man named John Traynor, (The Full Story) a soldier broken by war but healed in a way only Heaven could explain. She told me how he’d been paralyzed, his body battered by shrapnel and despair, yet he made a journey to Lourdes on nothing but faith. And there, as Sister read, his story unfolded. I could almost picture the moment he stood, no longer broken, no longer a prisoner of his injuries, but free—free to walk, to live, to love again.
Sister’s voice wove the story like a hymn, her words full of hope and wonder. She looked over at me, her dark brown hair catching the candlelight, and smiled softly as if to say, “See, little one? Nothing is impossible for God.”
I rested my head against her shoulder and whispered, “Do you think the water there is really that special?”
Her smile widened, and she leaned her head to mine. “It’s not the water, Kathy,” she said, her voice warm and sure. “It’s what’s behind the water—the love of Our Lady, and her Son’s endless grace.”
The wind outside seemed quieter now, as though the world itself paused to remember John Traynor’s miracle. As Sister Mary Claire continued reading, her hand resting gently on mine, I felt something stir in my heart—something hopeful, something holy.
Goodnight, dear Diary. May miracles find us all, even in the quiet of snow-filled nights.
With love,
Kathy
To Watch the Full Story
Click on the Movie Poster
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