All for Jesus

When My Thoughts Found a Voice 

 

Dear Diary

Wednesday, April 2nd, 1956

This morning started off mild, just touching into the forties, with a silvery kind of light that only early April seems to carry. Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and I walked to church together along the familiar gravel road, past the budding branches and puddles left behind by yesterday’s rain. The walk was quiet, with the sounds of birdsong and the occasional snap of twigs underfoot.

We arrived early—early enough that the church was still cold and a little damp. As usual, the old wood stove up front needed kindling, so Robert got it going with some pinecones and a few of the dry sticks he keeps tucked behind the confessional. We sat close to the warmth on the front pew—Sister Mary Claire to my left, Robert to my right, and Mini curled up beneath the bench like she knew this was her place too.

Sister Mary Claire opened the meditation book and read to us quietly before Mass began. Today’s was The Scourging at the Pillar, and her voice trembled just a little as she read about our Lord’s sufferings. I closed my eyes and pictured the courtyard, the pillar, and Jesus standing bound in silence. The words from the meditation clung to me like fog.

When Father Leroy stepped up for his homily, I already knew it would follow the meditation. He always uses the same little black book. His voice was low and steady as he spoke of how Jesus, though innocent, suffered willingly—out of love, not just for the world, but for each soul. He said it was the silence of Jesus that strikes the heart the most. “What love is this,” Father asked, “that would endure such cruelty and not speak a word to resist it?”

On the way home, as we passed Robert’s carved sign by the birch trees, I read it again: “April prayers fall soft and true…” and thought of how gently those words rest in the heart after such a heavy homily. Robert didn’t say anything, but Sister Mary Claire nodded toward the sign and said, “It’s true, isn’t it? The prayers we whisper now may bloom into courage later.” I held onto those words.

At home, I tried not to let my mind return to the more sorrowful parts of the meditation, though I did think of the holy cards in Sister Mary Claire’s scrapbook—the ones showing Jesus scourged and bleeding. But I shook those away and instead imagined the Holy Family—Jesus as a boy, helping Joseph in the workshop, smiling up at Mary with dusty hands and a happy face.

This afternoon, Mini and I walked down to Indian Creek. I brought a carrot for Shaggy Coat, just in case he was nearby. We didn’t go into the cave, but we lingered by the edge of the water. The sun was sinking behind the trees and casting everything in gold. I think we’ll return tomorrow and go a little deeper in.

Dearest Jesus,

You stood in silence at the pillar, bearing pain You did not deserve.
Help me, in my little ways, to bear things patiently for love of You.
When I am tempted to speak sharply, or to complain, remind me of Your silence and Your strength.

Let my prayers fall softly, like April rain, and may my heart bloom with love by the time May comes.

Bless Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and little Mini.

Amen.