Mary Magdalene's Love for Jesus

 
April 30

Dear Diary

This morning started out just like most good mornings do—standing out at the mailbox with Sister Mary Claire and Mini while we waited for Robert. He waved real big when he turned up the lane in his pickup, and Mini gave a tiny bark and jumped right in. I brought my diary along in case I had a chance to write something after Mass.

At St. Mary’s, it was peaceful and still. The candlelight flickered a little, and I could smell the wax and pine from the pews. Before Mass began, Sister read a piece from Our Meditation Book—about how Mary Magdalene ran to the tomb and found it empty. Father LeRoy talked about that, too, and how much love Mary Magdalene had for Jesus. I thought about what it must have felt like to find the stone rolled away and to be the very first to know He had risen. It made me feel like I was there.

After chores in the afternoon, I added fresh straw in the nests at the henhouse. Omelette clucked her thanks, I think. Then Mini and I took the path down to the cave. The air felt cool and a little sweet, like it had just rained even though it hadn’t. We stopped at the little grotto where the statue of Mary stands, with her hands folded and her face so gentle and kind. I knelt in front of her and said a quiet prayer I’d found in an old prayer book we keep by the side table.

Here it is:

A Prayer to Our Blessed Mother at the Grotto

Dear Mother Mary,

I come with a heart full of small things—just like wildflowers gathered in a field.

Please carry my little prayers to Jesus and help me to love Him like you do.

Make my heart soft like yours, full of trust and always ready to say yes.

Amen.

Now it’s getting dark outside. The frogs are starting up in the creek and the hens are settling in. Mini’s curled up on my feet under the table as I write.


Dear Jesus,

Thank You for today—for Mass, and for Mary Magdalene, and for Mama Mary who always listens to me.

Watch over us tonight and help me wake up ready to love You again tomorrow.

Amen.




Love,

Kathy

Seeking the Risen Christ

Dear Diary,

Today was one of those peaceful, quiet days at Littlemore Farm. Sister Mary Claire and I went to morning Mass, and Father LeRoy’s homily was all about the Resurrection, just like the meditation we had planned to read later on.

After chores were finished, Sister and I snuggled up under our patchwork quilt, and we read today’s meditation together. I saved  it here in my diary because it was so beautiful.

MEDITATION FOR TUESDAY

The Angels Instruct the Holy Women Concerning the Resurrection of the Lord

"And the angel answering said to the women: 'Fear not you; for I know that you seek Jesus Who was crucified. He is not here: for He is risen as He said. Come, and see the place where the Lord was laid'" (Matt. 28, 5-6).

First Prelude: Picture the angel in shining apparel speaking to the holy women at the sepulchre.

Second Prelude: Grant me grace, O Jesus, ever to seek Thee, the Crucified, that I may render myself worthy of Thy pleasure and Thy grace.

First Point

The Holy Women Come to the Sepulchre

With fear and trembling they beheld the angel, who had rolled back the stone and had seated himself on it. But the heavenly messenger, whose apparition had hurled the guards to the ground and put them to flight, soon ended their consternation, when he said: "Fear not, for I know that you seek Jesus of Nazareth!" All who seek Jesus crucified have nothing to fear; neither in this world nor in the next; neither from the good angels who protect, comfort, and encourage, nor from the evil spirits who are powerless in their regard. Such is the compensation with which God rewards all that seek Him with perseverance, zeal, and love. Peace, calmness and true joy of spirit shall be their portion, while those who seek themselves or anything outside of God, shall find naught but unrest, fear, and trouble.

Let us, therefore, diligently seek Jesus, by not fleeing the cares and hardships of our vocation. Animated by a fervent desire, let us cheerfully accept, and patiently bear, whatever is repugnant. May I always be able to say in truth: I seek Jesus, the Crucified; for love of Him I will bear the cross, will persevere with Him, die with Him on the cross.

Why else have I chosen the religious state, whose aim it is to crucify the old man constantly? Why have I joined the ranks of apostolic souls, if not that besides carrying my own cross I may help others carry theirs?

Second Point

The Angels Announce the Resurrection of Christ

The angel having dispelled their fear, the holy women entered the sepulchre, but found not the Body of the Lord. Two other angels appeared to them, who said: "Why seek you the living with the dead? He is not here, but is risen. Remember how He spoke unto you, when He was yet in Galilee, saying: 'The Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified and the third day rise again'" (Luke 24, 5-8).

How great must have been the joy of these holy women, to know that their Master lives and that they failed to see His Body because He was risen from the dead. Happy women, who were the first to hear of the resurrection from angels' lips! They had merited such happiness by following the Saviour, not only when He revealed His power by astounding miracles, but also when, laden with the cross, He walked the painful road to Calvary, and again now, when they were about to bestow marks of faithful love on Christ in the sepulchre.

The words of the angel, however, savored also of a slight reproach; how often had Jesus told His own, that He would rise again on the third day, and still they forgot such a glorious, consoling promise. The enemies of Jesus, the pharisees, thought of it, nevertheless, and sought for means to hinder the accomplishment of His prophecy; the friends of Jesus, on the contrary, must be reminded of it, even on finding the sepulchre open and empty on the third day.

Just so superficially do we consider incidents in the light of faith, in the time of tribulation. While we forget what there is to hope for with reference to our future resurrection, to fear, or to lose, the children of the world endeavor studiously to ward off a temporal disaster or to secure an earthly advantage. Let us frequently call to mind the great promises given us by our Lord. Let us heed the admonitions of the holy angels. How much more easily shall we then shoulder the burdens of life and how much more merit shall we acquire?

Affections:

The holy women seek Thee, O Jesus; as the Crucified I, too, can find Thee only on the way of constant crucifixion of perverted nature, dying to self, to rise with Thee to a glorious life like Thine,—a new, divine life, by noble and pure sentiments,—an immortal life, by perseverance in good.
Do Thou effect such a happy transformation in me, O my God! Grant that I may never cease to seek Thee, how hidden soever Thou mayest be. Grant that I may always find Thee, through the cross, O my beloved Bridegroom, that thereby I may render myself more and more worthy of Thy grace and Thy glorious promises.

Resolution:

I will perseveringly seek my Saviour by leading a mortified, humble, and hidden life.

Spiritual Bouquet:

 "Fear not; for I know you seek Jesus, Who was crucified."

Prayer

Dear Jesus,

Please help me to always seek You with all my heart, like the holy women did.
Even when I’m scared or things seem heavy, help me remember Your angel’s words: "Fear not."
I want to stay close to You, no matter what, and trust that You are always alive and with me.
Thank You for loving me so much.
I love You, too.

Amen.

The Holy Women

Before Mass this morning, Sister Mary Claire and I found our place in the front pew at St. Mary’s. The church was still and peaceful, with the soft glow of the candles lighting the way. We opened our meditation book and read about the holy women who loved Jesus so much that they went to His tomb early in the morning, even though they didn’t know how they would roll the stone away. As we read, I felt so close to Sister and to Our Lord, like our hearts were trying to be just as brave and loving as those holy women. It was a quiet, tender way to begin the day, and I tucked the words into my heart as we waited for Mass to begin.

THE HOLY WOMEN GO TO THE SEPULCHRE

“And when the Sabbath was past, Mary Magdalen, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought sweet spices, that coming, they might anoint Jesus. And very early in the morning, the first day of the week, they come to the sepulchre, the sun being now risen. And they said to one another: ‘Who shall roll the stone back from the door of the sepulchre?’” (Mark 16, 1-3).

First Prelude: Picture the holy women, early in the morning on their way to the sepulchre to anoint the Body of their Lord with precious ointments.

Second Prelude: Inflame me, O Lord, with Thy holy love, that I may be generous and fervent in the discharge of my duties.

FIRST POINT

THE ZEAL OF THE HOLY WOMEN

Before daybreak after the Sabbath, the holy women started out for the sepulchre, to anoint the Body of the Lord. How ardently they loved Jesus! They knew well that Joseph and Nicodemus had already anointed the sacred Body, but on account of the Sabbath it had to be done hurriedly. What satisfied the demands of strict necessity did not satisfy their love. They felt an eager longing to lavish on the sacred Body of their beloved Master the last honors with all care and solicitude. How are we forced to admire their zeal and fearlessness! Alone, and before break of day they leave the city, ascend Calvary, and go straightway to the sepulchre. Such is the work of charity that knows no bounds, fears no obstacles, and recoils from no difficulty or danger.

How much could we do for the honor of God and the salvation of souls if we were inflamed with similar love! With what fervor should we then perform our spiritual exercises, comply with the obligations of our holy state and advance in perfection! What progress would we make in perfection! Love, which never thinks it has done enough, would sweeten all our difficulties.

Ought not our zeal surpass that of the holy women? They honored the Body of the Saviour after His death, but we may hasten to His Tabernacle in which He reposes under the form of bread, — may receive His glorified Body in Holy Communion. We have the happiness of serving members of our Lord’s mystical body in the poor, the sick, and the children entrusted to our care. Oh, how great is our happiness, how sublime are the obligations of our holy vocation! Alas, why are we not animated by a more lively faith, a more ardent love, a more intense desire?

SECOND POINT

THE WORDS OF THE HOLY WOMEN

“Who shall roll back the stone?” asked the holy women, when they were well under way. Now they recalled the insurmountable obstacle that barred the way to the achievement of their undertaking. Though they realized that their strength was insufficient to overcome it, they did not turn back, but rather continued their way, intent upon rendering the last services to their beloved Master. Let us admire their great steadfastness and implicit trust, grounded in the love of Jesus. How often do we lack courage and confidence, when God demands a work of piety of us! We forget that at the same time He imparts the means to overcome all obstacles. In imitation of the example of the holy women we will proceed courageously, blindly trusting in the Lord. If, like the holy women, we do our share, God will do His, and we can do all things in Him, Who strengtheneth us.

How great was the amazement of the holy women, when, on reaching the grave, they saw the stone rolled back. God had anticipated their confidence, had sent an angel to aid them, and in a single moment, removed the insurmountable barrier. How often have we experienced the powerful and benign assistance of almighty God! How often has Divine Providence lovingly aided our constancy, our trust, and to our great astonishment disposed all things in a manner surpassing our expectations!

Affections: O my God, inflame in my cold heart the fire of the strong, self-sacrificing love I admire in these holy women. How weak and inconstant am I in the face of difficulties, in the discharge of my duties! May I never forget that I, too, serve a Lord Who has power to remove every hindrance, Whose goodness sustains me with His grace, Who sends His angel to protect me. Quicken my confidence, O Lord, let my courage wax strong in the struggle with my passions, that I may say with the Apostle: “For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor things present, nor things to come, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate me from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus, our Lord” (Rom. 8, 38-39).

Resolution: I will perform all my actions with renewed zeal and love.

Spiritual Bouquet: “I can do all things in Him, Who strengtheneth me.”

Prayer: Take, O Lord…

When Jesus Stands Beside Us

April 27, 1956

Dear Diary,

This morning started out early and beautiful. Sister Mary Claire and I were all ready when Robert pulled up to the mailbox in his pickup to take us to Holy Mass. Mini hopped right up next to me, and I tucked my little diary under my arm so I could write in it after Mass.

Once we got to church, Sister Mary Clare opened her meditation book and smiled, saying today’s meditation was about Jesus appearing to the Apostles after His Resurrection — even though the doors were shut tight for fear of the Jews. She read it quietly to me while we waited for Mass to begin.

It made me think how often I let fear or discouragement creep into my own little heart, just like the Apostles did. But Jesus didn’t scold them when He appeared — He said, “Peace be to you.” Sister explained that Jesus always comes to us kindly, even when we are scared or unsure. His Sacred Heart is full of patience and love. Robert said after Mass that Jesus still carries His wounds as proof of His love for us, and when we see them someday in Heaven, they will be like a kiss of peace for our own souls.

I thought about how Jesus told the Apostles not to be afraid, and how He gently showed them His hands and feet. I want to remember that whenever I feel unsure or timid — Jesus is always near, whispering, “It is I; fear not.”

Now that we’re home again, I feel like my heart is full of quiet joy. I’m going to try to be more patient with little troubles and remember how much Jesus loves even the smallest faith in Him.

Dear Jesus,

Thank You for showing me today that You never leave me, even when I am afraid. Please help me stay close to You, and whisper Your peace to my heart when I need it most. I love You, dear Jesus.

Amen.

Love, Kathy

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When Mary Smiled Again

Dear Diary,

Mini is laying right next to me while I write. I’ve been thinking about how happy Mary must have been to see Jesus again—really see Him, alive and full of glory. Even though the Bible doesn’t say so, I just know He appeared to her first. She had been with Him through everything—standing by the cross with her heart aching and breaking. So how could He not go to her first, after He rose?

She must’ve waited and waited, loving Him so much, even through the silence and sadness. And then suddenly, He was there—not bleeding anymore, not suffering, but glowing with light. Her Son. Her joy. Her God. I think her heart must’ve burst wide open, not with sorrow anymore, but with the biggest joy ever.

I bet she touched His face, heard His voice again—not like on Good Friday, but warm and strong and full of life. Oh, how she must’ve loved Him in that moment! I want to love Him like that too. And I want to stay close to Mary, because her love helps me learn how.

O Mary, my Heavenly Mother, help me to be full of joy and love, just like you were when you saw Jesus again. Let me always be your child.

Love,

Kathy

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Friday of Easter Week

Dear Diary, 

It was 45 degrees this morning, with a damp chill in the air that made me pull my sweater tight. Sister Mary Claire stood beside me at the mailbox, holding her meditation book close to her chest like it was something precious. The sky was all overcast and still, and I could see my breath while we waited.

Robert’s pickup came rolling up to the mailbox, warm and humming like always. As soon as he opened the door, Mini jumped in ahead of us and made a beeline for the heater. She sniffed around for a second, then hopped up into my lap with a satisfied little huff. Her ears flattened as I held her close while we rode.

Sister opened her meditation book and began to read as we drove. It was about the sacred wounds of Jesus—how He kept them even after He rose from the dead, and how they shine now with glory and love. The book said His wounds are like places of shelter, where we can go when we’re hurting or tired. It even said we should enter into His wounds, like they’re holy places full of comfort and peace.

I thought about that all through Holy Mass. Father LeRoy gave his homily on the same thing, speaking gently about how Jesus didn’t erase His wounds after the Resurrection. Instead, He kept them so we could always see His love written right on His body. He said they’re not just signs of pain—they’re victories. Signs that Jesus has overcome everything, even death.

Later in the day, I went down to the cave. I knew I needed to be there. Mini ran ahead stopping once to look back at me to make sure I was still coming.

When I stepped through the cave entrance, I thought of Jesus’ side—how the soldier pierced it and how the meditation said His wounds are safe places for us. The cave is dark and hidden, and I always feel wrapped up and protected inside it. Maybe that’s why I go there so often—it reminds me of being held inside something sacred. Like His love itself.

I lit my candle and sat for a while in the quiet of my secret room. It felt like I had stepped inside that very love, just like the meditation talked about. A place where all the hard parts of life are understood and gently held.

It was nearly dark when I blew the candle out, and Mini and I made our way back to the house. Supper was tomato soup with saltine crackers and slices of Sister’s homemade Wonder bread—soft and warm with a pad or two of Kalona butter.

Now I’m in bed, the window cracked just a little to let in the cool night air, and Mini curled up taking a good share of my pillow.

Dear Jesus, thank You for keeping Your wounds so I can always remember Your love. Let me find comfort in them when I’m tired, and strength when I’m afraid. Let me rest in Your side like a little cave of peace. Amen.

Love, Kathy

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The Promise of Rising

Thursday of Easter Week, 1956

Dear Diary, 

Oh what a morning! I woke up bright-eyed and wide awake like I had never even gone to sleep. I was out of bed and dressed in five minutes flat—ready to go to Holy Mass. Ha! But Sister Mary Claire said, “Slow down, little one,” and handed me my tooth brush. So I had to brush my teeth and comb out my braids all tidy. I gave Mini her breakfast—just a scoop of oats and cream, and she wagged her bottom like always.

We met Robert at the mailbox, and he had that happy grin of his, like he was glad to see us. Sister had her meditation book tucked under her arm, and once we were settled in the pickup, she opened it to the Thursday meditation. It was all about Jesus’ Resurrection—not just how He rose, but how His Resurrection is a promise for our own someday, too.

Sister said it’s like a pledge—Jesus rising from the dead means we really will rise too, if we live close to Him. She said heaven is worth every little hardship we bear, because we’re meant for joy that doesn’t end. Robert added that when you're tired or worried, just think of how the saints carried their crosses, trusting God’s promise all the way to the end. I liked that a lot. Then Father LeRoy, during his homily, said the Resurrection isn't just about Jesus coming back to life, but about Him giving us life—eternal life—and that makes every little sacrifice worth it. It made me want to try even harder to love Jesus back.

After Mass, we all went to the Breakfast Club, and Sister Mary Claire treated us! I got a hot waffle with golden butter and real maple syrup. What a treat! Then came the biggest surprise of all—Caleb brought out a dessert waffle just for me, with strawberries and a big dollop of whipped cream from Kalona Dairy. It tasted like springtime and feast days all at once. I didn’t even ask, but Sister smiled and said, “Yes, you may,” before I’d opened my mouth.

The ride home was quiet. Even Mini curled up and napped on my lap. Once we got inside, I yawned and said, “I think I’m all ready for a nap,” and Sister just chuckled and said, “So am I.”

The rest of the day was still and gentle, like Easter week knows how to hush the hours. I helped with a few little things around the house and read a bit, but mostly I thought about how lucky I am to be so loved—by Jesus, by Sister, by everyone He’s put around me.

Dear Jesus,
Thank You for rising from the grave so that I can rise too. Help me to be brave in little things and joyful in quiet ones. Thank You for waffles and sunshine and people who teach me about You. I want to live in a way that makes You smile. Please help me grow into someone You’ll be proud to call Your own.
Amen.

Love,
Kathy

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Rising With Him

 

 

Dear Diary,

It was 58 degrees this morning, with heavy clouds hanging low, but no rain just yet. Sister Mary Claire and I stood by the mailbox waiting for Robert. She was holding her meditation book, and Mini kept close, sniffing the grass and watching the road. Soon Robert’s pickup rumbled up and we climbed in for our ride to St. Mary’s.

We got there early enough for Sister to read the day’s meditation to me. It was about how Jesus rising from the dead shows us how to rise, too—not just at the end of our lives, but every day, in little ways, through grace. The part that stuck with me most was the question: What stone weighs down your heart? I’m still thinking about that.

Father Leroy’s homily helped. He talked about how spiritual resurrection means turning away from sin and tepidity and starting again with zeal. I liked that word—zeal. He said Jesus didn’t just leave the tomb behind, but also the wrappings that bound Him, and we have to do the same with the things that keep us from loving God fully.

This afternoon it warmed up to 74 degrees, so I went down to the cave. I brought nothing but found my All for Jesus book waiting for me on my pillow. I read a little and must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, Mini was tugging at the quilt. It was getting dark, and we ran up the hill just in time. Supper was ready—macaroni and cheese just out of the oven.  

Dear Jesus,
Help me rise with You. Roll away anything in my heart that keeps me from living for You with joy and trust. Amen.

Love,
Kathy

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Radiance Through the Wounds

April 22, 1956,

Dear Diary,

This morning felt like a gift. The sky was all golden and pink when I opened the curtain, and I could smell the wet grass through the window. It was already nearly 60 degrees when Robert, our good neighbor, pulled up at the mailbox in his pickup. Mini scrambled into my lap before I could even get the door shut—she was all wiggles and excitement to be going to Holy Mass. My tummy, which had given me so much trouble yesterday, felt completely better, and I was glad for that. Sister Mary Claire had her meditation book tucked under her arm, and her smile said it all. She said, “It’s really Easter now, Kathy,” and I knew just what she meant. There was something in the air—like everything had softened and brightened all at once.

We got to church early enough to read from the meditation before Mass. Today it was about the Beauty of the Body of the Risen Saviour. I tried to picture Jesus as the meditation described Him—His body radiant with heavenly glory, His wounds shining like suns. Sister said St. Teresa saw only a hand of the Lord in a vision and never wanted to look at anything else in the world again. I understand that feeling. When I think of Jesus risen, so full of beauty and peace, it makes me want to love Him more, and to never be distracted by things that don’t matter.

Father LeRoy’s homily brought the whole meditation into real life. He said the body of Jesus, even in glory, still carries the marks of His love for us—proof that suffering, when done in love, can become something radiant. After Mass, the ride home was quiet at first, then full of talk. Sister said springtime makes her think of Easter more than any other season—everything waking up, blooming, becoming what it was always meant to be. Robert said that’s why he likes the mornings best, when the mist rises and everything is clean. I looked out the window and nodded. It all fit together—glory, beauty, and the quiet hope of things to come.

Mini stayed close to my feet all afternoon, just happy to nap near the sunlight. Sister made tea and we talked a little more about heaven. She said the wounds of Jesus in heaven are not sad at all—but full of light. I think I’ll try to remember that when something hurts. Maybe it’s on its way to becoming something beautiful.

Dear Jesus,

You are so beautiful in Your risen glory. Let me never forget that the light of heaven shines even through wounds. Thank You for today—for my health, for spring, for Sister, for Robert, and for Mini. Help me to love You more each day, and to keep my heart turned toward the brightness of Easter. Amen.

  

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Road to Emmaus

Easter Monday, 1956

Dear Diary,

I woke up with a bit of a stomach ache this morning, so Sister Mary Claire thought it was best if I stayed home and rested while she went to Holy Mass. I think I must have eaten too much of the ice cream we made in the old White Mountain freezer yesterday. Maybe it was turning the crank that wore me out, or maybe it was sneaking too many little spoonfuls. It sure tasted good, but I sure didn’t feel so good this morning.

While Sister was away at church, Mini stayed with me the whole time. She curled up right next to my bed and never left my side, not even once. I think she knew I wasn’t feeling well. She’s such a good little dog—always watching, always knowing just what to do. Her warm little body pressed against my leg made me feel comforted, like she was saying, “I’m here.”

Sister Mary Claire came back just before noon, and after she checked on me and gave Mini a little scratch behind the ears, she pulled a chair up beside my bed and read today’s Easter Monday meditation out loud. It was all about Jesus appearing to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. They were walking along so sad and troubled, trying to make sense of all the awful things that had just happened, and Jesus came right up beside them—but they didn’t know it was Him.

Sister said Father LeRoy spoke about that in his homily. He said that we can be just like those disciples, not seeing Jesus when He’s right there beside us, especially when we’re feeling down or afraid. But He listens, and He stays with us until we’re ready to know Him again. That part made me feel warm inside, because maybe that’s how He is with me, too.

The meditation said, “Jesus takes pleasure in the humble avowal of our faults and weaknesses,” and Sister said she underlined that part in her book. I liked it, too. It means I can talk to Him about anything—even my silly stomachache or how I always want one more bite of dessert.

I had a little banana and oatmeal for lunch, just enough, and I put a spoonful of brown sugar on top. That tasted really good. I didn’t do much after that except nap. Mini stayed close the whole afternoon, never more than a few feet away. She really is the best dog in the world.

Now it’s evening, and Sister just helped me get tucked in. She sang Immaculate Mary while folding the laundry, and the whole house feels quiet and gentle. I’m already sleepy again.

Dear Jesus,

Thank You for walking with me today, even when I didn’t feel well. Help me remember You are always near, even when I don’t see You. Like the disciples, let my heart burn with love when I hear Your voice. Amen.

Love,

Kathy 

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Hi is Risen

 

 

Easter Sunday, 1956

Dear Diary,

This morning I wore my Easter dress—the one with the tiny rosebuds—and Sister Mary Claire tied my bonnet just right beneath my chin. We waited out by the mailbox for Robert to come pick us up for 10:30 Mass. It was already 50 degrees by then, and a soft spring breeze was brushing my cheeks and stirring the grass. Robert waved when he pulled up, and I could tell he was just as glad to see Easter morning as we were.

Church was filled to the brim, even the side pews. Father LeRoy looked so happy—his vestments were white with gold trim, and his face was bright with joy. His homily was all about the glory of the Risen Savior. He said that Easter morning was the answer to all the sorrow of Holy Week. That the empty tomb is the proof of God’s promise—that Jesus conquered death not only for Himself, but for all of us. He spoke gently, but his voice filled the whole church. He said, “This is not just a story from long ago—it is the beginning of forever.” That part gave me goosebumps.

Sister Mary Claire followed along in her meditation book, underlining things softly with her pencil. I saw she circled the line that said, “Rejoice, O my soul, in the glorious victory of your risen Savior.” I smiled because I felt it, too. I could just picture Jesus stepping out into the morning light, His wounds shining with love, the stone rolled away, and the world never the same again.

After Mass, we all went down to the church basement. The Breakfast Club had laid out such a nice reception—eggs, rolls, cakes, and lots of good strong coffee for the grown-ups. Mini came with us and made fast friends with two other farm dogs. She sniffed everything, wagged like mad, and even got a little piece of sausage from one of the ladies. I think she was just as joyful as the rest of us.

There was so much to eat and so many happy voices that Sister Mary Claire and I decided to save the ham we had planned for dinner. We came home full and a little sleepy from all the sunshine and celebration.

Now I’m tucked in bed, writing by lamplight while Mini snores on the rug beside the bed. We each had a little slice of that ham on Sister’s homemade bread—just enough—and I think we’ll have the rest tomorrow.

Dear Jesus, Risen and Glorious, thank You for this day of light and joy. Let me never forget that You are alive, and that You love me forever. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

 

Jesus is Laid in The Tomb

April 19, 1956

Dear Diary

This morning came in fast and loud. Rain and slush slammed against the windows, and then, just as quickly, it turned to snow. It was one of those short storms that makes you feel like the sky is in a hurry. But Sister Mary Claire said, “No worries,” since Holy Saturday Mass isn’t until tonight.

By evening, the world had quieted again. Robert pulled up to the mailbox just like he said he would. Mini and I hopped in, and Sister slid next to me with her book. The roads were still wet, and it was cold enough to keep my coat buttoned all the way.

Mass tonight wasn’t like other nights. It was slower, quieter. No singing, no bells. Just prayers. Father Leroy talked about how Jesus was laid in the tomb. As he spoke, all I could think about was the gash in Jesus’ side—from yesterday. That open wound, the one the soldier made. I couldn’t stop seeing it in my mind.

Jesus didn’t even flinch when they did it. His Heart had already poured everything out. And now tonight, He’s lying in a tomb. Still. Cold. Alone.

I imagined Mary, His mother, kneeling near the rock that sealed the entrance. I wanted to be there, too. I wanted to hold her hand and not say a word. Just sit in the silence with her. Maybe we’d both have our eyes closed. Maybe we’d both be trying to breathe through the pain.

It’s hard to know how to love someone so much and not be able to do anything for them. That’s how I felt tonight—like my love didn’t know where to go. So I just let it stay in my heart and hoped Jesus could feel it.

The ride home was windy, and the snow had made the roads crunchy. Robert didn’t stop at the mailbox this time—he pulled right up to the house. “You girls get inside now,” he said kindly. Sister thanked him, and Mini gave a quick shake as she jumped down. We said our good nights.

Now I’m in bed, and I keep thinking of the tomb. It’s not just a place of death. It’s a place where love waited. And so I wait, too.

Dear Jesus,

Tonight You are still. You are hidden.
I imagine You lying there in the stone-cold tomb.
But I believe You are not gone.
You are resting. Waiting.
And I will wait with You.
Let my heart be like that tomb—quiet, empty of myself,
and ready to hold You with love.
Comfort Mary, Your mother.
And hold me close, too.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy

A Heart Full of Jesus

Good Friday, 1956

Dear Diary

Tonight was Good Friday Communion service at St. Marys, and I think my heart will never be quite the same.

Robert picked us up at the mailbox just as the sun was beginning to slip behind the bare trees. Sister Mary Claire was holding the meditation book, and Mini jumped into the pickup like she knew it was an important day. There was a chill in the air, the kind that makes you wrap your sweater tighter, but it felt right somehow. Chilly, still, and a little bit heavy—like the earth itself knew today was the day our Savior died.

When we got to church, even though we were early, the pews were already filled. Everyone seemed quieter than usual. No greetings, no whispers. Just a kind of hushed sorrow. Father had fixed the stove, and Sister, Robert and I sat in our usual spot near it with Mini curled at our feet. We opened the meditation and read it quietly to ourselves.

Jesus said, “It is finished,” and bowed His head and died.

The words on the page felt heavier than normal. Not like a story—but like something real that was happening all over again, right there inside my heart. The meditation said Jesus didn’t die because death was stronger than Him, but because love made Him choose to die. He gave Himself, like a lamb, silent and willing, for me.

I could hardly breathe when I read the part about how His arms stretched out on the cross were saying, “I love you.” And how His whole Passion speaks the language of love. I think I read that line three times. Sister glanced at me and nodded slowly. She knew.

We received Holy Communion at the service, and even though there was no Mass, I felt the Lord come into my heart just the same. I knelt down after, and it was like everything in me was quiet. No words. Just full. I couldn’t explain it even if I tried. My heart felt like it was holding Jesus Himself.

On the ride home, I didn’t say much. None of us did. Mini rested her chin on my knee. Sister stared out the window, and Robert just drove, careful and slow like always. I just kept thinking about His Sacred Heart—how it was opened even after He died, so there’d be room for me to come close. I wanted to stay there forever.

It was hard to read the part about my own sins and how often I take back the heart I say I gave to Jesus. But tonight I meant it. I gave it again, and I want Him to keep it this time.

Dear Jesus,
Tonight I don’t have many words. Just my heart.
You died for me. You gave everything for me.
Let me never forget that kind of love.
Keep me near Your cross, near Your open side.
Let Your Precious Blood wash me clean and give me strength to love You back.
Thank You for giving Yourself to me in Communion, even on this sorrowful day.
I believe You are truly in my heart, and I want to stay in Yours.
Please help me live for You always.
I love You, Jesus.
Amen.

Love,
Kathy

The Night Love Knelt Down

April 17, 1956

Dear Diary

This morning, Sister Mary Claire and I read from John Hathaway’s Book on Prayer and Devotion. It’s one of those books that makes you quiet inside. Sister read aloud the part about how even though Jesus prayed for us and gave His life for us, it won’t truly change us unless we pray, too. That stayed with me all day. John Hathaway must’ve understood that well—how prayer is the way we open the door to everything God wants to give us.

Tonight we went to Holy Thursday Mass. Robert picked us up, and the church felt so still and sacred. Father LeRoy washed the feet of twelve parishioners, just like Jesus did. I watched the water spill and the towels being folded, and I thought, This is what love looks like—kneeling, not standing tall.

Then came the most beautiful part—when Father raised the Host and said, “This is My Body.” It gave me chills. Sister whispered that this is the night Jesus gave us the Blessed Eucharist, the very first Mass with His Apostles. I imagined myself there, leaning close like St. John, wanting to remember everything.

After Mass, I knelt for a long time. I thought about what I’d read this morning in John Hathaway’s book—that prayer pulls up the weeds and makes room for virtue to grow. I want to pray like that. I want to let Jesus wash my heart, like He washed their feet.

So tonight, before bed, I’ll kneel by the window and pray—not just with words, but with love.

Dear Jesus, let me stay close to You tonight and always—like St. John at Your side, and like John Hathaway in his quiet cave, praying for a heart full of You.

Love, Kathy

Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me?

April 16, 1956

Dear Diary,

Robert said he’d come by early this morning—twenty minutes early, to be exact—so that we could all read the daily meditation together before Mass. And sure enough, there he was, grinning through the truck window as we waited by the mailbox. The morning was cold, but little Mini didn’t mind. She bounced right into the pickup like she knew the plan.

We got to church with time to spare and opened our meditation book to today’s reflection: The Last Words of Jesus on the Cross. Just as we began reading about those sacred words—how Jesus cried out, “My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?”—the sacristy door opened and in came Father, setting up for Mass. And wouldn't you know it, Mini made a dash up to the altar and greeted him like he was an old friend. Father gave her a gentle pat on the head and said, “Well, good morning, Miss Mini!”

Mass began not long after, and Father’s homily... it echoed everything we had just read. His words followed right along with the meditation book. Sister Mary Claire always says that’s no coincidence—he reads and prays with the same book we do, and that helps us understand things so much better. I could feel the sadness in Mary’s heart as she heard her Son cry out from the cross. And I thought about all the people who feel forgotten, like Jesus did, and how His suffering gives meaning to theirs—and to mine, too, in my small little ways.

In the afternoon, Mini and I carried a small box of prayer cards, old Mass bulletins, and holy mementos down to the cave. I thought maybe if I sat down in my secret room, it would inspire me to begin a new page in my scrapbook. But after pasting only two little cards and trimming a corner just right, I began to feel sleepy. Like Goldilocks, I curled up on the bed with Mini. When I opened my eyes again, the shadows had grown long across the stone walls, and Mini was tugging at the bedspread trying to say, “Time to go, supper’s waiting!”

And so, we climbed back up to the house, quiet and a little chilly, but grateful for the day.

Dear Jesus, thank You for loving us so much that You stayed on the Cross even when You felt all alone. Help me remember that even when I feel forgotten, You are with me. Let me serve You with all my heart. Amen.

Love,
Kathy

 

Love in the Midst of Mockery

Dear Diary

Tuesday of Holy Week

Robert picked us up for church this morning, but he was running late, so there was no time to read the meditation ahead of Mass like we usually do. We just barely made it into the front pew as the bells were ringing. Mini nestled down beside Sister Mary Claire, and I tried to settle my thoughts too.

Father Leroy’s homily was all about Jesus being mocked on the cross—how even while suffering such pain and shame, He still prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Sister had shown me last night that this was exactly what the meditation was about today, and hearing Father say it from the pulpit made it feel like Jesus really wanted us to think about it.

When Mass was over, Robert dropped us at the mailbox. We lingered a bit, still talking about the homily. I asked Sister if we might’ve mocked Jesus too, if we were there. She didn’t say anything right away, just shook her head slowly and whispered, “We do it still, Kathy… every time we choose pride over love.”

For lunch, we had grilled cheese sandwiches and applesauce. Just simple food, but warm.

Later in the afternoon, I brought Sister’s meditation book down to the cave. Mini came along, as always. I read about how Jesus’ Sacred Heart was pierced not just by nails and thorns, but by cruel words, by ridicule, by people who should’ve known better. It said His Heart was satiated with opprobrium. I had to look that up—Sister told me it meant shame and disgrace.

I must’ve cried a little without realizing it, and then I fell asleep, still holding the book. Mini curled at the foot of the bed. When I woke up, the lantern was almost out and the chill had crept into the cave. I hurried back up the path with the meditation still in my heart—and the image of Jesus looking down from the cross, eyes full of love, not anger.

Dear Jesus,

You hung on the cross for love of us,
and even while they mocked You,
You prayed for their forgiveness.
Help me to remember that when I feel hurt or misunderstood.
Teach me to be quiet when I am tempted to speak in pride,
and to be merciful when I want to turn away.
Let me be like You, who loved even the unloving.
I want to be small and humble and full of forgiveness.

Amen.

Love, Kathy 

Treasury of Prayer

 

Dear Diary

April 14, 1956

Today was too big to squeeze into these few little pages, so I’m going to write about just one part—the best part—the discovery in the cave this afternoon. It’s still hard to believe, but it really happened, and Mini was right there with me when it did.

We hadn’t been down to the cave for a couple of days, and since it was such a beautiful day, Mini and I made our way up the bluff from the creek side. She was in her usual detective mode, chasing breezes and sniffing at rocks as we climbed. Everything smelled like spring, and the creek below was talking in its little splashing voice like it always does.

When we got inside, I lit the little lantern and stepped into my secret room. The glow flickered across the walls like it was dancing with excitement. I was just tidying a few things when I decided to poke through an old wooden box near the back corner. I had seen it before, but never really dug all the way down.

And there it was—tucked away at the very bottom, wrapped in a piece of old linen—clean and dry and protected like it had been waiting for me. I unwrapped it carefully, and my breath caught in my throat. It was a book—Several Methods and Practices of Devotion—and right on the title page, it said the author was John Hathaway. Yes! My very own friend from heaven. The same John Hathaway who carved out this cave a hundred years ago, who built it into a chapel and a home.

I sat down on my wooden stool and started to read. The very first part was all about prayer. It said prayer is the key to all of God’s heavenly treasures. That it’s how we climb up to Him, and how He climbs down to us. It said prayer is the richest treasure of all—the one that carries all the other blessings inside it. And the line that made me stop and whisper it again and again was this: prayer brings a person to the very perfection God calls her to. I closed my eyes and tried to feel what that meant.

Mini curled up beside me, like she could tell this was a holy moment. I whispered some of the words out loud to her. It was like the walls of the cave were listening, too. I could almost feel John Hathaway smiling down from heaven, glad his book had been found.

When it started getting late and a bit chilly, I turned down the lantern and wrapped the book back up in the linen. I slipped it into one of my pillowcases and hugged it close as Mini and I climbed back up the hill, running the last stretch to the house.

I burst through the kitchen door and showed Sister Mary Claire. Her eyes got wide and she put her hand gently on my shoulder. “Well,” she said softly, “he didn’t just leave you a room full of books, did he? He left you one he wrote himself.” I nodded—and I think a little tear ran down my cheek. I didn’t even brush it away. I just held the book a little closer. I think that tear might’ve even stained the page. I think I’ll sleep with it beside me tonight.

Dear Jesus, thank You for the gift of prayer, and for letting me find John Hathaway’s book. Please help me love You more every day and use prayer the way You want me to—as a way to grow close to You and carry Your light in my heart. Amen.

Love,
Kathy

The Triumphal Entry

🌿When my words found a voice🌿

April 13, 1956

Dear Diary 

This morning at the mailbox, it was 51°, and spring was truly in the air. The sun was already warming the gravel under our feet, and the birds had so much to say that it felt like a real springtime concert. Sister Mary Claire stood beside me holding her meditation prayer book close, like she didn’t want to let go of the peace it brought. Mini was busy inspecting the old culvert under the driveway—she was absolutely certain something lived in there, and I didn't have the heart to tell her it was probably just a toad.

Robert’s pickup came rattling up, and we all piled in. He had his sleeves rolled up today. That’s how you know it’s officially spring.

We got to church early—just enough time for Sister Mary Claire to read me the first part of the meditation for Palm Sunday. She read the Scripture about the great crowd gathering, how they waved palm branches and cried out “Hosanna!” when Jesus entered Jerusalem. I could see it all in my mind, almost like I was there. Jesus, so humble but majestic, riding the little donkey, people throwing their cloaks and palms before Him—and all the while, knowing in His heart what lay ahead. It gave me goosebumps.

Father had the blessed palms laid out in the back of the church, each one fanned out and soft to the touch. He explained what Palm Sunday means and gave the blessing with a calm and reverent voice. The church was full but not packed, and there was a kind of peaceful excitement in the air.

This afternoon, it really warmed up—into the 60s, maybe even 70. Sister said it was a perfect day for fresh air, so Mini and I went down to the cave, our usual little trek. Shaggy Coat, our clever beaver friend, was working away at his lodge just below the cave, right at the edge of Indian Creek. You could hear the water trickling fast today, shiny and clean over the stones. I watched Shaggy for a minute, then made my way up the bluff to the entrance.

The cave sits high above the creek, carved right into the bluff by a glacier ten thousand years ago. That’s why it always stays so dry and pleasant inside—it’s like the earth made a promise to keep it safe. The heavy door creaked a little when I pushed it open, but it still works just like it did over a hundred years ago when John Hathaway built it. He must have come well prepared, because the hardware he used—those thick hinges and bolts—was strong as anything. I’ve oiled the hinges a couple of times, and just last week I gave the whole door a rub with olive wood oil. Now it looks deep and rich again, almost like new. Sometimes I think the door is like a handshake from John Hathaway himself, sturdy and full of good intentions.

Inside my little room, I sat for a bit, looking out at the slant of the afternoon sun through the cave opening. It lit up the old boxes and my books, and I just sat there thinking about Jesus, how He went right into Jerusalem knowing everything that was going to happen. He still let the people cheer. He still let them wave their palms and shout “Hosanna.” That’s what real love must look like.

Dear Jesus, You rode into Jerusalem with courage and kindness, knowing all the pain that waited for You. Thank You for loving us so much. Please help me be like You—brave, gentle, and willing to do what's right, even when it’s hard. Amen.

Love,
Kathy 

The Soldiers Cast Lots

🌿When my words found a voice🌿

 
April, 12, 156

Dear Diary,

It was 50 degrees when Robert picked Sister Mary Claire and me up at the mailbox. Sister had her meditation book with her, of course, tucked under her arm like always. The drive to church was real nice this morning. We passed a couple of farmers already out in their fields. The sun made everything look bright and hopeful again. Mini could hardly wait—she leapt out of the pickup and bounded straight to the door of the church like she had a job to do. No one else was there yet, so Robert led the way inside and added a few pinecones to the stove to warm up the church just a little.

Our pew up by the stove was waiting for us. Sister opened her book and read the meditation aloud. It was about the soldiers casting lots for Jesus’ garments. Just the thought of it made me quiet inside. Jesus, hanging on the cross, stripped even of the last things He owned in this world. And still, they treated His garments like something to be won in a game. Sister read how His coat was seamless, woven from the top throughout, like it had a special purpose all its own. And when she said the part about the coat being “dyed with the Blood of the Lamb,” I felt a kind of ache in my chest.

Father came in quietly while we were still talking about it and joined our conversation. He said maybe Jesus wanted to be stripped of everything—to show us something about how little worldly things really matter. That even His very clothing wasn’t worth holding on to, because He was giving up everything out of love. Even the smallest piece of Him had meaning, and even that was taken away. But He didn’t fight it.

In the afternoon, Mini and I walked down to the creek, and the water was running clear and quick. We entered the cave, and I went into my secret room—the one tucked deep inside where John Hathaway once stayed so long ago. He had been crossing the prairie on his way to the gold fields in South Dakota when a bad storm left him stranded here on the banks of Indian Creek. He found this cave and made it his home, turning part of it into a little shelter with his covered wagon and storing the books he had brought along. They’re still there—his old boxes of books stacked beside the wagon, like he meant to come back someday.

I sat there for a while with a candle lit, thinking about Jesus and how He gave up everything, and how John Hathaway had to give up so much, too—but found something different here. Sometimes just being in that quiet space helps me think better. And pray better, too.

After supper, we made ready for bedtime prayers. Mini is already tucked under the bed.

Dear Jesus, may I never cling to things more than I cling to You.

Love,

Kathy

At The Foot of The Cross With Mary

🌿When my words found a voice🌿

 

April 11, 1956

Dear Diary,

This morning started out chilly again, the kind that sneaks through your sleeves and makes your shoulders hunch up. We were standing by the mailbox waiting for Robert, who was a little late in his pickup. I noticed the cold more than usual today. Sister Mary Claire had her meditation book tucked under her arm and her hands tucked into her sleeves. Mini was busy investigating an old culvert nearby—something inside must’ve caught her nose because she wouldn’t leave it alone.

When Robert finally pulled up, we climbed in and were off to church. The pickup was warm, and Sister sat with her book in her lap, already opened to today’s meditation: Mary at the Foot of the Cross. It felt quiet on the drive. Maybe we were all thinking about what that really meant.

We got there a little early. Robert tossed some pinecones and a small log into the stove, just enough to take the edge off the cold without making it too hot since the day would warm up. Then we sat together in one of the pews, and Sister read aloud. The meditation said Mary stood there without comfort or relief, hearing Jesus cry out in thirst and unable to help Him. She was pierced by sorrow, just like Simeon said she would be. Her heart was like no other heart on earth, full of the kind of love that suffers deeply. I tried to imagine how she felt, and for a moment, I could.

Father Leroy’s homily followed the very same meditation. He read from Lamentations: “To what shall I compare thee, O daughter of Jerusalem?” It felt like he was describing a sorrow so wide and deep that no words could hold it. I looked over at Sister and Robert. We didn’t say much—just listened.

Later this afternoon, I walked down to the cave with Mini and my little scrapbook. I stepped past the grotto and into my hidden room—the one I call mine. I laid down for just a minute, with my scrapbook beside me, and before I knew it, I had fallen fast asleep. When I woke up, my candle had burned out and the light was soft and dim. Mini gave a quiet yip, and we hurried back up to the house before supper.

O Mary, teach me to stand with you in love and sorrow at the foot of His Cross. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

The Weight of The Nails

🌿When my words found a voice🌿

April 10, 1956

Dear Diary,

This morning Sister Mary Claire and I waited at the mailbox for Robert to come along in his pickup. It was just 40 degrees, and the snow was melting in big, wet patches. The grass down in the ditch was starting to turn green like it had just remembered how. Sister Mary Claire was holding her meditation book open to Thursday’s reading—Jesus is Nailed to the Cross. She kept it pressed against her coat while we waited, flipping through quietly, lips moving in prayer. I leaned over and read the first prelude: “Behold Mount Calvary, our Divine Saviour, Who willingly extends Himself on the cross and the executioners…”

We all knew Father Leroy would be using the same meditation during Mass, and we wanted to be ready—ready to understand better. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to. The thought of Jesus nailed, His arms stretched violently under the hammer, His sacred blood streaming down the tree of the cross… it made my chest feel like it was breaking. I looked down the road instead, until Robert’s truck came into view.

We climbed in—me in the middle with Mini on my lap—and rode to church without much noise, just the heater humming and Robert’s hand occasionally tapping the wheel. We got there early, like always, and the pew was cold when I sat down. Mini nestled under and rested her head right on my foot. That’s her way. She always knows when I’m struggling, and her little weight gave me more comfort than anything.

The homily was beautiful, but it was torturing, too. Father spoke about Calvary—the stripping of Jesus, the pain of the reopened wounds, the hammer crashing into bone, the muscles contracting, the blood running down the wood. He said Jesus adjusted Himself in compliance with the will of His executioners. That image alone nearly undid me. I tried to look at the altar, but it shimmered.

Afterward, we were already back in the pickup before I could speak again. I just stared out the window, listening to Sister Mary Claire and Robert talking softly about what they’d heard and read. I was quiet. I needed to be.

After lunch, Mini and I walked down to Indian Creek. We followed the bank and crossed the stones, winding our way through to the sanctuary cave. Inside, it was cool and still. The old prayer books John Hathaway left behind were just where I’d stacked them, and the covered wagon he’d taken apart and rebuilt—his way of making a home—was the same. I sat at his little desk, my fingers resting on the worn edge.

I thought about him. Did he reach gold fields of South Dakota? Did he miss this place? Did he remember the books he prayed with, the desk he used, the heavy silence of this cave? It’s strange, but I like to think he left it all behind for someone like me—someone whose faith might’ve matched his, even across a hundred years.

But it was all a bit too much to think about, today of all days. The image of Jesus on the cross stayed with me—the hammer, the love, the pain. When the candle burned low, Mini and I made our way back home.

Prayer:

O Jesus, by the love with which You offered Your pierced hands and feet, strengthen me to bear the crosses I do not yet understand.

Love,

Kathy

Carrying the Cross Together

🌿When my words found a voice🌿

Dear Diary,

The day began at just 40 degrees, and I could see my breath in the air as Sister Mary Claire and I walked to the mailbox. We didn’t have to wait long—Robert rolled up in the pickup with a big grin and called out, “Want a ride?” We all laughed, and of course Mini hopped right in too.

We made it to Mass early, just as we hoped. Sister brought her meditation book, and we began quietly reading about Simon of Cyrene. Father must have been reading the same one, because his homily brought it to life in such a moving way. Between him, Sister, and Robert on the ride home, I felt like my heart had really walked beside Jesus. I could almost feel the wood of the cross and the dust of the road to Calvary.

Later in the afternoon, I took my diary and a little crucifix down to the cave. Mini trotted beside me, her ears alert. I spent time in John Hathaway’s room, flipping through my scrapbook I’d left there last time. The light in the cave was soft and warm. I sat for a while at the grotto, then just as I was heading out, Shaggy Coat slapped the water with his tail. It startled Mini, but made me laugh. That was his way of saying hello—or maybe goodbye.

I whispered a prayer before heading back.

O Jesus, help me carry even the littlest crosses with love.

Love, Kathy