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
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
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