Dear Diary,
This morning was bitterly cold—three degrees below zero. The frost clung to the windows, and even inside, the air felt sharp and crisp. Robert picked us up for Mass, and I was grateful for the warmth of the truck’s cab, which he had started early to fight off the cold.
At church, we sat in front pew near the stove. Robert added an ash log to the fire, saying, “Ash is great for a quick, hot fire.” The flames flickered and glowed, sending out much-needed warmth. I stretched out my hands toward the heat and whispered a little prayer of thanks.
Father LeRoy’s homily was about Our Lady of Lourdes, and I listened intently as he spoke of Bernadette’s faith. He reminded us how she remained steadfast despite being questioned and doubted, never turning away from what she had seen. It seemed fitting to hear her story on such a still, frozen morning—almost as if the world itself was listening.
After Mass, Robert dropped us off, and Sister Mary Claire and I went straight to work on the chores. The hens feathers were fluffed up against the cold. As I reached into one of the nesting boxes, my fingers met something hard and icy—a frozen egg, its shell cracked from the bitter cold. I sighed but smiled, knowing Mini would enjoy it for breakfast tomorrow. She trotted beside me, giving the cold ground a quick sniff as we hurried back to the house.
Inside, I warmed my hands near the stove. Mini curled up in her usual spot by the fire, her little body rising and falling with each breath, completely content.
The rest of the afternoon passed in quiet tasks—quick trips to gather eggs, and keeping the chicken water ice free and yes, watching snow dance against the window. The cold made the world feel still and hushed, and I didn’t mind.
A Lourdes Story for Bedtime
As the evening settled in, Sister Mary Claire sat beside me on the edge of my bed, a book in her hands. I knew exactly what she had chosen to read - my favorite Lourdes story.
I pulled the blanket up to my chin as she began:
“She was engaged in taking off her first stocking when she heard around her as it were, the sound of a blast of wind, rising in the meadow-tract with an indescribable character of irresistible might. She believed it to be a sudden hurricane, and turned herself round instinctively. To her great surprise, the poplars which border the Gave river were perfectly motionless. Not the slightest breeze stirred their still branches.
‘I must have been deceived,’ she said to herself. As she thought again about this noise, she did not know what to believe. She began once more to remove her shoes and stocking. At this moment, the impetuous roaring of this unknown blast became audible afresh. Bernadette raised her head, gazed in front of her, and uttered, or rather strove to utter, a loud cry, which was stifled in her throat. She shuddered in all her limbs, and confounded, dazzled, and crushed in a certain manner by what she saw before her, she sank down, bowed herself entirely to the earth, and fell on both knees.”*
Sister Mary Claire closed the book gently and looked at me.
“Isn’t it amazing how Bernadette’s faith carried her through such an incredible experience?” she asked.
I nodded, still caught up in the vivid imagery of the story. The wind that Bernadette heard, the vision that left her in awe—it felt so real, even across time.
We both knelt beside the bed and said a prayer together, thanking the Blessed Virgin for her guidance and asking for the strength to be faithful like Bernadette.
“Dear Blessed Mother, we thank you for your intercession and for the miraculous events that strengthen our faith. Please continue to guide us and watch over us, as you did for Bernadette. Amen.”
As I lay down to sleep, the fire in the stove crackled softly, and Mini gave a contented sigh from under the bed. I thought again about Bernadette’s unwavering faith and whispered a little prayer that I, too, would have the courage to trust in God’s plan, no matter what comes my way.
Until tomorrow, dear diary.
Kathy
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