This morning, as I bundled up in my warm coat and scarf, I tucked my little stuffed lamb into my arms and carried it with me to Church. Sister found it at a thrift store, and I was so glad to be the one chosen to give it a home. It has no eyes, but somehow, that makes it even more special—because it reminds me of the Lamb of God and how faith isn’t just about what we see, but what we believe.
The meditation today was about Jesus healing a blind man. At first, the man could only see shadows—people looked like trees walking around—but then Jesus touched him, and his sight became clear. I think sometimes I see the world like that—dimly, uncertainly, not fully understanding what God is doing. But if I keep my heart open, Jesus will help me see more clearly, just as He did for the blind man.
At Mass, I sat quietly, holding my little lamb in my lap. As I looked at it, I thought about how Jesus, the true Lamb of God, allowed Himself to be sacrificed for us. He saw everything—not just the cross ahead of Him, but also each of us, whom He loved enough to die for.
The words of today’s meditation echoed in my mind:
Some years in the distance, three trees on a hill.
Or were they three people? My eyes couldn’t tell.
The three trees on a hill—the crosses of Calvary. Jesus knew they were coming. And yet, He walked toward them with love. He didn’t need physical sight to see what truly mattered—His Father’s will, our redemption, the eternal life He was offering us.
Lent is coming, and I want to see more clearly. I want to look at the world with eyes of faith, not fear. My little lamb reminds me of that—it doesn’t have eyes, yet I love it anyway, just as God loves me.
Good night, dear diary.
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