March 14, 1956
Dear Diary,
This morning, Sister Mary Claire had a mission. I could tell by the way she walked—not just fast, but with purpose, as if she had something important to do before Robert arrived. I had to hurry to keep up with her.
"You're in an awful rush, Sister," I said, but she only smiled and pressed on.
When we reached the mailbox, she pulled out her Stanley thermos, checked the cork, and tucked it inside. Then, with just as much care, she added three cups—one for her, one for me, and one for Robert. With a satisfied nod, she shut the mailbox firmly, as if sealing up a little secret for later.
"It will be waiting for us when we return," she said.
It was a cold morning—forty degrees, my fingers already chilled—and I thought it odd to leave behind a perfectly good thermos of hot cocoa. But I knew better than to question Sister’s little ways.
Robert’s truck came rattling up the road, and soon we were bouncing along the familiar route to our discussion group. When we arrived, Father LeRoy was already there, his meditation book open in his hands.
"Today’s meditation is on Peter’s zeal," he began, and I felt a small rush of surprise—Sister and I hadn’t read it yet. "Peter had great love for Christ, but oh, how he rushed ahead! He didn’t wait, didn’t think—just acted. He saw danger and reached for his sword. But what did Jesus do? He told him to put the sword away and healed His enemy instead."
As Father spoke, I had to hide a little smile. He might as well have been describing himself. He has that same eager energy, always ready to take action, always moving. I sneaked a glance at Sister Mary Claire, and I could tell she thought the same thing—her hands were folded neatly in her lap, but there was the tiniest flicker of amusement at the corners of her lips.
"Zeal is a gift," Father went on, "but it must be tempered with wisdom. How often do we rush in, convinced we are doing right, when what God asks of us is patience, trust, and surrender?"
I thought of the engraving in my scrapbook—the torches blazing, Judas pressing his kiss upon Jesus, Peter striking Malchus in a fit of righteous fury. He thought he was protecting Jesus, but Jesus didn’t need protecting. He was already in control.
On the way home, I let my thoughts settle. How often have I, like Peter, been too quick to act? Too quick to assume I know what needs to be done, when really, God asks me to wait?
When Robert pulled up to the house, Sister Mary Claire hopped out of the truck and turned back to us. "Just wait here,"she said with a little grin. "I have something to get."
Robert and I watched as she walked to the mailbox, opened it, and pulled out the thermos and the three cups. She held them up triumphantly and came back to the truck.
"A little reward for patience," she said as she poured the cocoa, steam curling into the crisp air.
Mini sat by my feet, looking up with bright, expectant eyes. Sister reached into her apron pocket and pulled out another little surprise—a bit of buttermilk in a small jar. She poured a little into a dish, and Mini lapped it up happily, her little bottom wiggling in delight.
Now, the day is ending, and Sister decided to make another batch of hot cocoa. "We can’t have the day ending without a warm cup in hand," she said, whisking the milk and cocoa together in a pot on the stove. Soon, the rich, familiar scent filled the air, and before long, I had another steaming cup in my hands.
Mini is curled beside me, completely content, her nose tucked under her paw. The fire crackles softly, its glow making everything feel safe and warm.
Peter made mistakes, but Jesus never gave up on him. Put up thy sword into the scabbard. The real battle isn’t fought with force, but with trust.
O Lord, make me zealous in love, but patient in spirit. Teach me to trust, to wait, to remember that You are in control even when I do not understand. May I always seek Your will before my own. Amen.
Goodnight, dear diary.
This morning, Sister Mary Claire had a mission. I could tell by the way she walked—not just fast, but with purpose, as if she had something important to do before Robert arrived. I had to hurry to keep up with her.
"You're in an awful rush, Sister," I said, but she only smiled and pressed on.
When we reached the mailbox, she pulled out her Stanley thermos, checked the cork, and tucked it inside. Then, with just as much care, she added three cups—one for her, one for me, and one for Robert. With a satisfied nod, she shut the mailbox firmly, as if sealing up a little secret for later.
"It will be waiting for us when we return," she said.
It was a cold morning—forty degrees, my fingers already chilled—and I thought it odd to leave behind a perfectly good thermos of hot cocoa. But I knew better than to question Sister’s little ways.
Robert’s truck came rattling up the road, and soon we were bouncing along the familiar route to our discussion group. When we arrived, Father LeRoy was already there, his meditation book open in his hands.
"Today’s meditation is on Peter’s zeal," he began, and I felt a small rush of surprise—Sister and I hadn’t read it yet. "Peter had great love for Christ, but oh, how he rushed ahead! He didn’t wait, didn’t think—just acted. He saw danger and reached for his sword. But what did Jesus do? He told him to put the sword away and healed His enemy instead."
As Father spoke, I had to hide a little smile. He might as well have been describing himself. He has that same eager energy, always ready to take action, always moving. I sneaked a glance at Sister Mary Claire, and I could tell she thought the same thing—her hands were folded neatly in her lap, but there was the tiniest flicker of amusement at the corners of her lips.
"Zeal is a gift," Father went on, "but it must be tempered with wisdom. How often do we rush in, convinced we are doing right, when what God asks of us is patience, trust, and surrender?"
I thought of the engraving in my scrapbook—the torches blazing, Judas pressing his kiss upon Jesus, Peter striking Malchus in a fit of righteous fury. He thought he was protecting Jesus, but Jesus didn’t need protecting. He was already in control.
On the way home, I let my thoughts settle. How often have I, like Peter, been too quick to act? Too quick to assume I know what needs to be done, when really, God asks me to wait?
When Robert pulled up to the house, Sister Mary Claire hopped out of the truck and turned back to us. "Just wait here,"she said with a little grin. "I have something to get."
Robert and I watched as she walked to the mailbox, opened it, and pulled out the thermos and the three cups. She held them up triumphantly and came back to the truck.
"A little reward for patience," she said as she poured the cocoa, steam curling into the crisp air.
Mini sat by my feet, looking up with bright, expectant eyes. Sister reached into her apron pocket and pulled out another little surprise—a bit of buttermilk in a small jar. She poured a little into a dish, and Mini lapped it up happily, her little bottom wiggling in delight.
Now, the day is ending, and Sister decided to make another batch of hot cocoa. "We can’t have the day ending without a warm cup in hand," she said, whisking the milk and cocoa together in a pot on the stove. Soon, the rich, familiar scent filled the air, and before long, I had another steaming cup in my hands.
Mini is curled beside me, completely content, her nose tucked under her paw. The fire crackles softly, its glow making everything feel safe and warm.
Peter made mistakes, but Jesus never gave up on him. Put up thy sword into the scabbard. The real battle isn’t fought with force, but with trust.
O Lord, make me zealous in love, but patient in spirit. Teach me to trust, to wait, to remember that You are in control even when I do not understand. May I always seek Your will before my own. Amen.
Goodnight, dear diary.
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