Dear Diary,
Robert pulled the pickup to a stop at the end of the driveway, as usual, and let the engine idle as we lingered inside, continuing our conversation. Father LeRoy’s homily still weighed on my heart, and I could tell Sister and Robert were thinking about it too.
“‘Whom seek ye?’” Robert repeated, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Jesus asked them twice, and the moment He said, ‘I am He,’ they fell to the ground.”
I looked down at Mini, who was curled up on my lap, her little ears twitching. “Just His words made them fall,” I murmured. “They had no power over Him.”
“But they still got back up,” I added, my throat tightening. “And now He’s going to be scourged.” The thought sent an ache deep into my chest. Jesus—my Jesus—bound and beaten. How could anyone do such a thing to Him?
Sister reached over and smoothed my braid. “Yes, Kathy, they took Him, and He suffered terribly. But remember what Father LeRoy said—Jesus wasn’t captured because they overpowered Him. He gave Himself freely. Every blow He endured, every wound, was out of love.”
Robert nodded. “And He wasn’t just thinking about those men there. He was thinking about all of us. He was thinking about you.”
I bit my lip and turned my gaze to the gravel road ahead. Mini nuzzled my hand and licked my fingers, as if she could sense my sadness. I stroked her soft fur and sighed. “It’s just hard to think about,” I admitted.
Sister gently squeezed my hand. “Yes, it is. But love is stronger than suffering. You’ll see, Kathy.”
Robert finally put the truck in park and rested his hands on the wheel. “Well,” he said, “I’ll see you both on Sunday.”
I climbed down carefully, making sure Mini was secure in my arms before setting her on the ground. She shook herself off and trotted beside us as we started up the long driveway toward home.
Inside, Sister made us a simple breakfast—she poached an egg for each of us and placed them on warm toast with a little butter. Mini sat patiently by my chair, waiting for a little taste, which I couldn’t help but give her. The house was quiet, but it felt peaceful, like a still moment between sorrow and hope.
That evening, after finishing my chores, I settled onto my bed with my scrapbook. Mini curled up beside me as I turned to the image of Jesus being scourged at the pillar. The cruel whips, the pain on His face—it hurt to look at, but I didn’t turn away.
Sister sat beside me, watching quietly. “Kathy,” she said softly, “Jesus saw you, even then. He endured all of this with you in His Sacred Heart.”
I closed my scrapbook and folded my hands in prayer. “O Jesus, let me love You more, and never turn away from You.”
Sister lit a small candle, and together, we ended the day in evening prayer, lifting our hearts to the One who gave everything for us.
O Sacred Heart of Jesus, I place my trust in Thee.
Love, Kathy
“‘Whom seek ye?’” Robert repeated, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Jesus asked them twice, and the moment He said, ‘I am He,’ they fell to the ground.”
I looked down at Mini, who was curled up on my lap, her little ears twitching. “Just His words made them fall,” I murmured. “They had no power over Him.”
“But they still got back up,” I added, my throat tightening. “And now He’s going to be scourged.” The thought sent an ache deep into my chest. Jesus—my Jesus—bound and beaten. How could anyone do such a thing to Him?
Sister reached over and smoothed my braid. “Yes, Kathy, they took Him, and He suffered terribly. But remember what Father LeRoy said—Jesus wasn’t captured because they overpowered Him. He gave Himself freely. Every blow He endured, every wound, was out of love.”
Robert nodded. “And He wasn’t just thinking about those men there. He was thinking about all of us. He was thinking about you.”
I bit my lip and turned my gaze to the gravel road ahead. Mini nuzzled my hand and licked my fingers, as if she could sense my sadness. I stroked her soft fur and sighed. “It’s just hard to think about,” I admitted.
Sister gently squeezed my hand. “Yes, it is. But love is stronger than suffering. You’ll see, Kathy.”
Robert finally put the truck in park and rested his hands on the wheel. “Well,” he said, “I’ll see you both on Sunday.”
I climbed down carefully, making sure Mini was secure in my arms before setting her on the ground. She shook herself off and trotted beside us as we started up the long driveway toward home.
Inside, Sister made us a simple breakfast—she poached an egg for each of us and placed them on warm toast with a little butter. Mini sat patiently by my chair, waiting for a little taste, which I couldn’t help but give her. The house was quiet, but it felt peaceful, like a still moment between sorrow and hope.
That evening, after finishing my chores, I settled onto my bed with my scrapbook. Mini curled up beside me as I turned to the image of Jesus being scourged at the pillar. The cruel whips, the pain on His face—it hurt to look at, but I didn’t turn away.
Sister sat beside me, watching quietly. “Kathy,” she said softly, “Jesus saw you, even then. He endured all of this with you in His Sacred Heart.”
I closed my scrapbook and folded my hands in prayer. “O Jesus, let me love You more, and never turn away from You.”
Sister lit a small candle, and together, we ended the day in evening prayer, lifting our hearts to the One who gave everything for us.
O Sacred Heart of Jesus, I place my trust in Thee.
Love, Kathy
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