When My Thoughts Found a Voice
Monday, 1956
Dear Diary
This morning, Robert, Sister Mary Claire, and I walked to church. The fields were damp with thaw, and the gravel road was soft underfoot. A few patches of snow still clung to the shaded ditches, but the rest of the landscape was waking up—muddy, misty, and full of that good, clean smell that only comes when winter’s almost gone.
Robert was quiet, thoughtful as ever, as we made our way back. His long stride led the way, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. I could tell he was still carrying Father’s homily with him—just like I was. Sister Mary Claire walked beside me, her veil catching the breeze now and then. She didn’t say much either, but there was peace in her quiet.
We’d read the meditation together before Mass—about Pilate and how he declared Jesus innocent, yet lacked the courage to act on that truth. Father spoke of the same. He said that it isn’t always ignorance that leads people to sin—it’s weakness. Cowardice. Pilate feared the crowd more than he feared God, and I think that’s what hurts the most in that story: knowing the truth and still stepping aside.
I kept wondering if I’ve ever done the same. I probably have. It’s easy to be bold in your heart and quiet with your words. I prayed then, as I do now, that I’ll never be afraid to stand with Jesus.
The birch trees were blushing pink at their tips. I love how they always seem to know what’s coming. The wind was soft and smelled of woodsmoke and thawing fields. Even Mini seemed more thoughtful than usual, padding along near my boots, never straying too far.
O Saviour of the world, to what shame and bitterness have my sins reduced Thee! They are the cause of Thy death. Oh, vouchsafe me Thy almighty grace, that my sins may be nailed to the cross with Thee, according to the words of the Apostle: “Our old man is crucified with Him, that the body of sin may be destroyed.
Please, dear Jesus, give me strength to be Yours—loudly and without hesitation.
Love,
Kathy
This morning, Robert, Sister Mary Claire, and I walked to church. The fields were damp with thaw, and the gravel road was soft underfoot. A few patches of snow still clung to the shaded ditches, but the rest of the landscape was waking up—muddy, misty, and full of that good, clean smell that only comes when winter’s almost gone.
Robert was quiet, thoughtful as ever, as we made our way back. His long stride led the way, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. I could tell he was still carrying Father’s homily with him—just like I was. Sister Mary Claire walked beside me, her veil catching the breeze now and then. She didn’t say much either, but there was peace in her quiet.
We’d read the meditation together before Mass—about Pilate and how he declared Jesus innocent, yet lacked the courage to act on that truth. Father spoke of the same. He said that it isn’t always ignorance that leads people to sin—it’s weakness. Cowardice. Pilate feared the crowd more than he feared God, and I think that’s what hurts the most in that story: knowing the truth and still stepping aside.
I kept wondering if I’ve ever done the same. I probably have. It’s easy to be bold in your heart and quiet with your words. I prayed then, as I do now, that I’ll never be afraid to stand with Jesus.
The birch trees were blushing pink at their tips. I love how they always seem to know what’s coming. The wind was soft and smelled of woodsmoke and thawing fields. Even Mini seemed more thoughtful than usual, padding along near my boots, never straying too far.
O Saviour of the world, to what shame and bitterness have my sins reduced Thee! They are the cause of Thy death. Oh, vouchsafe me Thy almighty grace, that my sins may be nailed to the cross with Thee, according to the words of the Apostle: “Our old man is crucified with Him, that the body of sin may be destroyed.
Please, dear Jesus, give me strength to be Yours—loudly and without hesitation.
Love,
Kathy
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