March 15, 1956
Dear Diary,
This morning, Robert dropped us off at the end of the driveway after Mass and hurried home to tend to his chores. The air was crisp, the gravel crunching beneath our boots as Sister Mary Claire and I made our way back to the house. Mini trotted beside us, her ears perked up and nose to the ground, sniffing at the morning breeze.
Once inside, I settled at the table, eager to work on my scrapbook. The house was quiet except for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional crackle from the fireplace. I had found a beautiful image of the Sorrowful Mother, and as I carefully smoothed it onto a page, Sister Mary Claire came to stand behind me, looking over my shoulder.
"That is a perfect image for today," she said softly.
I glanced up at her. "Because of the meditation?"
She nodded. "Yes. Today we reflected on how all the Apostles fled from Jesus at His arrest. They were afraid. Even Peter, who had sworn he would never leave Him, ran away. But Mary..." She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Mary never left Him. The Sorrowful Mother was always with Jesus, from the manger to the Cross. She never turned away, never abandoned Him, not even when her heart was pierced with sorrow."
I looked down at the image in my scrapbook, the gentle, grieving face of Our Lady gazing back at me. "And she's always with us too," I murmured.
"Yes," Sister Mary Claire said. "She is always with Jesus, and because we belong to Him, she is always with us too. No matter how dark things seem, we are never alone."
I traced the edge of the picture carefully, thinking of how much love Mary had for Jesus, how much love she has for us. While the Apostles, in their weakness, had fled, she had stayed. Faithful, steadfast, sorrowful but unshaken.
The afternoon passed in quiet reflection. Mini rested at my feet, and Sister Mary Claire eventually sat down with her own book, letting me work in peace. As the sun began to set, she stood and stretched. "Shall we make another batch of cocoa?" she asked with a smile.
Later, by the fireplace, I sat with my warm cup in hand, Mini curled beside me. I looked at my scrapbook once more, the image of the Sorrowful Mother now fixed firmly in place.
O Blessed Mother, you never left Jesus, even in His greatest suffering. Stay with me, too, and help me never to leave Him. Teach me to be faithful, to trust, and to love with a heart like yours. Amen.
Goodnight, dear diary.
This morning, Robert dropped us off at the end of the driveway after Mass and hurried home to tend to his chores. The air was crisp, the gravel crunching beneath our boots as Sister Mary Claire and I made our way back to the house. Mini trotted beside us, her ears perked up and nose to the ground, sniffing at the morning breeze.
Once inside, I settled at the table, eager to work on my scrapbook. The house was quiet except for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional crackle from the fireplace. I had found a beautiful image of the Sorrowful Mother, and as I carefully smoothed it onto a page, Sister Mary Claire came to stand behind me, looking over my shoulder.
"That is a perfect image for today," she said softly.
I glanced up at her. "Because of the meditation?"
She nodded. "Yes. Today we reflected on how all the Apostles fled from Jesus at His arrest. They were afraid. Even Peter, who had sworn he would never leave Him, ran away. But Mary..." She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Mary never left Him. The Sorrowful Mother was always with Jesus, from the manger to the Cross. She never turned away, never abandoned Him, not even when her heart was pierced with sorrow."
I looked down at the image in my scrapbook, the gentle, grieving face of Our Lady gazing back at me. "And she's always with us too," I murmured.
"Yes," Sister Mary Claire said. "She is always with Jesus, and because we belong to Him, she is always with us too. No matter how dark things seem, we are never alone."
I traced the edge of the picture carefully, thinking of how much love Mary had for Jesus, how much love she has for us. While the Apostles, in their weakness, had fled, she had stayed. Faithful, steadfast, sorrowful but unshaken.
The afternoon passed in quiet reflection. Mini rested at my feet, and Sister Mary Claire eventually sat down with her own book, letting me work in peace. As the sun began to set, she stood and stretched. "Shall we make another batch of cocoa?" she asked with a smile.
Later, by the fireplace, I sat with my warm cup in hand, Mini curled beside me. I looked at my scrapbook once more, the image of the Sorrowful Mother now fixed firmly in place.
O Blessed Mother, you never left Jesus, even in His greatest suffering. Stay with me, too, and help me never to leave Him. Teach me to be faithful, to trust, and to love with a heart like yours. Amen.
Goodnight, dear diary.
Love, Kathy
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