Take a Deep Dive into Peter's Repentance
March 22, 1956
Dear Diary,
This morning at Mass, Father LeRoy gave such a heartfelt homily on the repentance of Peter. I had read ahead last night and so I thought I knew what to expect, but when he spoke about how Jesus turned and looked at Peter—and how that one look, full of sorrow and love, broke Peter’s heart wide open—I felt something move inside me. Sister and Robert and I talked about it all the way home, especially at the mailbox where we stopped for quite a while. Robert said he thought that moment was one of the most tender in all of Scripture, and Sister nodded and said it was love that broke Peter's pride.
Later in the afternoon, I decided to take my scrapbook down to the cave. I needed quiet. The kind of quiet that wraps around you like a warm shawl, the kind that makes you feel like your imagination can actually work.
I snuck past Shaggy Coat at the edge of Indian Creek. He was hard at work patching something near his lodge and didn’t even glance up at me. I didn’t want to disturb him anyway. Once I slipped into John Hathaway’s room and closed the door, I lit the little candle and sat cross-legged on the rug with Mini pressing against my leg. Her fur always warms that one side of me like a faithful little stove.
Then I opened the scrapbook and looked again at the image of Peter—his eyes turned upward, hands clasped, sorrow all over his face. It was the strangest thing. I felt like I could almost time-travel into the image. I wasn’t myself anymore but someone standing in the shadows watching St. Peter weep. I didn’t speak, I just looked. The picture is really only pasted into the scrapbook, but it felt more like a window. I stared for a long time.
Next to it, I had placed the page from John Hathaway’s prayer book that spoke of sorrow and love and strength in repentance. I read that too. Time passed faster than I expected and the candle was nearly out. I kissed my fingers and touched the page before blowing the flame out. On the way back, Shaggy Coat was gone, back inside his lodge I suppose. And now I’m here, writing in bed.
O Lord, I do not deserve Your look of love,
But let it find me like it found Peter.
When I forget, remember me.
When I fall, raise me up.
When I cry, let it be for love of You.
Jesus, my Savior, cast Your merciful eyes on me.
And let me follow You—quietly, truly, always.
Love, Kathy
This morning at Mass, Father LeRoy gave such a heartfelt homily on the repentance of Peter. I had read ahead last night and so I thought I knew what to expect, but when he spoke about how Jesus turned and looked at Peter—and how that one look, full of sorrow and love, broke Peter’s heart wide open—I felt something move inside me. Sister and Robert and I talked about it all the way home, especially at the mailbox where we stopped for quite a while. Robert said he thought that moment was one of the most tender in all of Scripture, and Sister nodded and said it was love that broke Peter's pride.
Later in the afternoon, I decided to take my scrapbook down to the cave. I needed quiet. The kind of quiet that wraps around you like a warm shawl, the kind that makes you feel like your imagination can actually work.
I snuck past Shaggy Coat at the edge of Indian Creek. He was hard at work patching something near his lodge and didn’t even glance up at me. I didn’t want to disturb him anyway. Once I slipped into John Hathaway’s room and closed the door, I lit the little candle and sat cross-legged on the rug with Mini pressing against my leg. Her fur always warms that one side of me like a faithful little stove.
Then I opened the scrapbook and looked again at the image of Peter—his eyes turned upward, hands clasped, sorrow all over his face. It was the strangest thing. I felt like I could almost time-travel into the image. I wasn’t myself anymore but someone standing in the shadows watching St. Peter weep. I didn’t speak, I just looked. The picture is really only pasted into the scrapbook, but it felt more like a window. I stared for a long time.
Next to it, I had placed the page from John Hathaway’s prayer book that spoke of sorrow and love and strength in repentance. I read that too. Time passed faster than I expected and the candle was nearly out. I kissed my fingers and touched the page before blowing the flame out. On the way back, Shaggy Coat was gone, back inside his lodge I suppose. And now I’m here, writing in bed.
O Lord, I do not deserve Your look of love,
But let it find me like it found Peter.
When I forget, remember me.
When I fall, raise me up.
When I cry, let it be for love of You.
Jesus, my Savior, cast Your merciful eyes on me.
And let me follow You—quietly, truly, always.
Love, Kathy
No comments:
Post a Comment