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
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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