Stepping into Trust

March 8, 1956

Dear Diary,

This evening, as I turned the pages of my big picture book, my eyes rested on an old oil painting, its colors softened with time, yet still full of life. It showed a woman kneeling in prayer, her crutches set aside, as the Blessed Mother and Child appeared before her in golden light. I stared at it for a long while, the room around me fading, until I almost felt as though I had stepped inside.

Mini was with me, just as she always is, curled close, her warm little body pressed against my side. The tiles beneath us felt cool, and the candlelight flickered against the patterned walls. The woman’s face was full of trust, as if she had placed everything—her suffering, her fears, her very life—into the hands of Jesus and Mary. And then, as if carried on the very air of the painting, I remembered the words Sister Mary Claire and I had studied this morning:

"In Thee, O Lord, I place all my trust, my only hope, and I shall never be confounded."

How true those words felt now! The woman in the painting, though leaning on crutches, was not leaning on them in spirit. Her confidence was placed in something far greater. The Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary, framed above her bed, seemed to burn with divine love, a reminder that no burden is ever carried alone.

Perhaps this painting was made long ago by someone who had also learned to trust in Jesus. Maybe they, too, had whispered prayers in the quiet of their room, hoping for strength and courage. And now, across time and space, that same trust reached me, wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

Evening Prayer for Confidence:

Jesus, my Lord and my King, I place all my trust in Thee.
Let me walk forward with faith, even when I do not know what lies ahead.
When doubts come, remind me that Thy love never fails.
Like the woman in the painting, let my heart rest in Thee, knowing Thou art my strength and my hope.
O Mary, my Mother, guide my steps and keep me ever close to Thy Son.

"Lord, increase my hope!"

With these words, I close my diary, feeling safe, as if the light in the painting has settled in my heart.

With love,
Kathy

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Loving Hands to Cruel Nails

March 7, 1956

Dear Diary,

Today was a sheet of icy white outside, and the roads were like skating rinks—way too slippery for Mass. So, Sister Mary Claire and I stayed snug inside, diving into a powerful reading that really got me thinking.

I keep picturing the beautiful image in my picture book, where Mary is holding little Jesus so tenderly. It’s a picture full of love, just radiating warmth. But then, comparing that to what we read today about how Jesus suffered when he grew up, it's just so heartbreaking. Mary’s hands, which cuddled and cared for Jesus, are a world away from the rough hands that later caused him so much pain, suffering, and eventually death.

It’s really shocking to think about how Jesus went from being so cherished by his mom to being treated so horribly. Those cruel people didn’t see him as Mary did. They were harsh and made him suffer a lot, even though he was the kindest person ever.

It squeezes my heart to think about all Jesus went through, all because he loves us so much. He moved from the warmth of his mom’s loving arms into facing terrible things, all to save us.

Evening Prayer: Dear Jesus, tonight my thoughts are heavy with your story—from being tenderly held by Mary to enduring such harshness and pain. You suffered so much, and you did it all out of love for us. Help me to spread kindness and be brave like you were. Keep us all wrapped in your love, safe from the icy cold outside, and warm in our hearts. Amen.

Love, Kathy

39,949 Visits

The Cross is an Open Book to All

 

February 28, 1956


Dear Diary,

The snow is blowing again, and it's a crisp 24 degrees outside, but I feel just fine now that my cold is all gone! After early morning Mass at St. Mary’s, Robert kindly gave Sister Mary Claire and me a ride home. He’s such a good neighbor, always looking out for us. Now that we’re back, I’m just about ready to go gather the eggs.

Right now I'm sitting by the fire with Mini curled up beside me and I've opened my book. The picture on the page shows a sickroom, with a mother kneeling by a child’s bed in prayer. A little framed picture of Our Lady hangs on the wall. Looking at it, I think about Father LeRoy’s sermon this morning. He said that the Passion of Our Lord is like an open book—one that anyone can read, no matter if they are happy or sad. He explained that when we look at the Cross, we see the greatest love of all. Even in His suffering, Jesus was thinking of us.

Father LeRoy put it so simply: Some people see the Cross and look away because they don’t want to think about suffering. Others stop and understand a little—that Jesus suffered out of love, not just for the whole world, but for each of us personally. And then there are those who gaze at the Cross with their whole heart, like the saints did. They see it as a book without words, teaching patience, love, and the courage to follow Jesus no matter what.

I suppose the mother in the picture must be reading that book with her heart, too. Maybe she knows that Jesus is with her in her sorrow, just as He is with me in my joys.

Now it’s time to bundle up and head out to the chicken house. I wrap my scarf tight so the wind doesn’t bite my ears. As I open the henhouse door, the wind rushes in, ruffling the hens’ feathers and sending bits of straw swirling around. They cluck and flutter, shuffling their feet as if I have disturbed a very important meeting. Poor things! But inside, the henhouse is nice and tight against the weather, warm enough to keep them comfortable. I reach into the nests, feeling for eggs, and sure enough—there they are, big and brown. Omelette gives me a look as if she’s saying, Took you long enough! I laugh and scratch her head before gathering the eggs into my basket.

Now, back inside where it’s warm, the day is coming to a close. I sit with Sister Mary Claire by the fire, Mini curled at our feet. The wind howls outside, but in here, everything is peaceful.


Dear Jesus, let me never look away from Your Cross. When I see it, let me remember how much You love me, and let that love fill my heart so I can share it with others. Help me to be patient in little sufferings, and always stay close to You. Just as the henhouse keeps the wind away from my hens, let Your love shelter me in the storms of life. And if I should ever forget Your goodness, remind me to look at the Cross again and see the open book of Your love. Amen.

With love, Kathy

Reminder of Dearth

 

February 14, 1956

Dear Diary

This morning, Sister Mary Claire and I rose early for Holy Mass on this first day of Lent. Before we left, we read from our meditation book, and it spoke of the reminder we receive today: Dust thou art and unto dust thou shalt return. It is a solemn thought, but one that Holy Mother Church gives us as a gift, so that we might always keep our last end in mind and never be lulled into the distractions of the world.

Robert picked us up at the mailbox, and though the church is just down the road, a warm ride is always welcome. The roads were cold and crisp, the morning air full of that hush that comes before a snowfall.

Before Mass began, Mini fell into her old routine of greeting parishioners as they arrived while I handed out the Gospel reading. Her little tail-less body wiggled with delight as she welcomed each familiar face, bringing smiles to everyone who passed by. Once the pews were full and the last hymn before the readings had been sung, she settled down beside me, content.

When Father LeRoy began his homily, his words sounded just like the meditation we had read earlier—no surprise, since Father also reads the same daily meditations. It made his homily feel familiar, as though God had prepared our hearts to hear it twice. He reminded us of the grace of remembering our mortality and of making good use of this Lenten season to atone for sins and grow in holiness.

After Mass, Robert drove Mini, Sister Mary Claire, and me home in his pickup. The warmth of the ride made the journey peaceful, and I felt grateful for good friends and the quiet comforts of the morning.

As I sit now by the fire, the black cross of ashes still faintly on my forehead, I think of how swiftly time passes. Lent will come and go, and so will this season of life. But if we keep our hearts fixed on Heaven, every sacrifice, every little mortification will be worth it.

O merciful Lord, as we begin this holy season of Lent, grant me the grace to remember my last end, not with fear, but with hope. Help me to live each day as a gift from You, using this time to turn away from sin and draw ever closer to You. May my small acts of penance be pleasing in Your sight, and may they help me to love You more. Amen.

Gaining the Harbor

 
March 4, 1956

Dear Diary

The temperature has finally moderated, and I am feeling so much better today. After so many days of rest, it felt good to be outside again with Mini, gathering a basket of eggs in the fresh air. The hens clucked and scratched around, and Omelette followed me closely as if she had missed me. Mini trotted beside me, her little paws padding against the earth, occasionally stopping to give the basket a sniff, making sure everything was in order.

Later, I opened my big book and found a holy card called Le Divin Pilote—The Divine Pilot. It showed Jesus in a small boat, sailing toward the shore. The words underneath read:

“It is night, we are gaining the harbor… We touch it—ALLELUIA.”

At first, I noticed only Jesus, resting peacefully as He steered, but then my eyes fell upon a small dove nestled in His lap. I almost missed it at first—it was so still, so gentle. The little bird seemed perfectly at home, safe in His care, as if it knew it had nothing to fear. It made me think of how I should be—resting in Jesus’ hands, trusting Him completely. The dove didn’t try to steer the boat or flutter about in worry. It simply remained close to Him.

I want to be like that dove—letting Jesus guide me, not anxiously searching for my own way, but staying near Him, knowing He is leading me to the safest harbor of all.

Jesus, my Divine Pilot, let me rest in You as the little dove rests in Your lap. When I am afraid or uncertain, help me stay close and trust that You are guiding me safely home. Amen.

Goodnight, dear Diary.

Lead Me, Lord

March 3, 1956

Dear Diary,

Another quiet day of resting—this cold is surely one of the worst I’ve ever had. Sister says I am getting better, but I still feel weak and tired. Mini stayed by my side again, her warm little body pressed against me, as if she knows I need her close.

Lately, I’ve gotten into the habit of opening my big book and letting an image speak to me. Today, the page fell open to a picture with the words: “Lead me, Lord, and I will arrive at Your sanctuary.” I stared at it for a long time. The image showed the Sacred Heart shining above, with streams of grace flowing down like a path, and doves gathering toward it.

I thought about those little doves—so small, yet they keep moving forward, drawn by the light of His Heart. They don’t question, they just follow where He leads. And isn’t that what I should do? Even now, when I’m too sick to do much of anything, I can still let Him lead me. Maybe this time of rest is part of the journey, too. I don’t have to know exactly where He is taking me—I just have to trust that if I follow, He will bring me to His sanctuary, His Heart.

So today, I offer Him my little steps—waiting, resting, trusting. And I know that, even in this quiet time, He is leading me.

Dear Lord, lead me always, even when I feel weak and uncertain. Let my heart follow You like the little doves, trusting that You are bringing me closer to You. Thank You for this quiet day, for Mini’s comfort, and for the peace of knowing You are near. Amen.

Goodnight, dear Diary.

Love, Kathy

Safe in Mary's Arms

March 2, 1956

Dear Diary,

I missed Holy Mass again today. Sister Mary Claire thought I needed more time to recover from this bad cold, though I feel much better than before. Mini has been curled up beside me all day, never leaving my side, as if she knows I need her close.

I spent the morning by the fire, wrapped in my scarf, looking at my book. I stopped on a picture of Our Lady holding the Child Jesus. Her face is so gentle, her arms wrapped securely around Him. Jesus leans against her as if He knows there is no safer place. I thought about how, even though I wasn’t at Mass, I could still be close to Him—just by resting in Mary’s arms like He did.

I whispered a little prayer, asking her to hold me too, just like she held Jesus. And somehow, I felt warm inside, like I wasn’t missing anything at all.

Evening Prayer:

Sweet Mother, keep me close to you. Let me rest in your arms as Jesus did, and teach me to love Him more. Amen.

Goodnight, dear Diary.


Love Kathy

Saxred Heart of Mary, be my salvation

Resting with the Sacred Heart of Mary

I woke up early today and took Mini for her walk, but I could barely make it home—I was so stiff and achy. As soon as I got back, Sister told me to go straight to bed and rest for the day. She said that the meditation she had planned would be too much for me and that instead, I should look at a picture of the Sacred Heart of Mary and make a little meditation of my own.

So, as I lay in bed, I looked at the holy picture of Our Lady and tried to quiet my heart. Her eyes are so gentle, full of love, like she is listening to me even though I don’t have the strength to say much today. Her hands point to her heart, and I think about how much love she has—how her heart burns with a fire that never goes out. It is a mother’s heart, always open, always ready to hold me close, especially when I don’t feel well.

I think of how she must have been tired sometimes too—after long days of caring for Jesus, walking from place to place, always watching over Him. Maybe she felt weak like I do now, but she never stopped loving. And even now, she still loves, still watches, still holds us close in her heart.

I place myself there, in her heart, where it is warm and safe. I tell her, “Dear Mother, I can’t do much today, but I give you my little sufferings. Keep me close to you, and help me love Jesus as you do.”

And then, I close my eyes and rest, knowing she is near.

Evening Prayer:

Sweet Mother, I place myself in your heart tonight. Hold me close, and teach me to love Jesus more and more. Amen.

Goodnight, dear Diary. Love Kathy