When My Thoughts Found a Voice
April 1, 1956
Dear Diary,
The morning air was soft and kind, about 44 degrees when we started out for church. The road looked just as familiar as ever, like it had known our footsteps for years. Sister Mary Claire and I had our scarves on, and Robert walked quietly beside us with his hands in his pockets. The birds were back—though only a few—and Mini trotted happily at our side, sometimes going ahead, then circling back.
Father LeRoy gave a homily that followed the meditation we had read before Mass. It centered around Pilate’s haunting question, “What evil hath He done?” And it stayed with me, all the way home. It’s true—Jesus had done only good. He had healed and blessed and forgiven, and still they shouted for His death. Pilate’s cowardice pierced something in me today. Not because I judge him, but because I fear I might sometimes be like him—choosing to stay silent when I should speak.
As we walked back, Robert pointed to the little wooden sign he’d carved and posted just beyond the bend. It reads: “Morning prayers and waking skies lift our hearts and clear our eyes.” Sister Mary Claire smiled and tapped the top of the post gently with her mittened hand. “It’s what prayer does,” she said. “It clears us, so we can see what is true and stand with it—no matter what.”
Robert nodded. “If only Pilate had prayed that morning.”
We all went quiet for a bit after that. Not heavy silence, just thoughtful. Mini kept close to my feet, her little ears alert as ever.
Later in the day, I went to the cave. There was a peaceful hush there, as though the stones themselves had absorbed the morning’s Gospel. I worked in the scrapbook—just a few little additions and a pressed violet I had saved in wax paper.
I napped a little after that. The blanket in the prayer wagon was just warm enough, and the soft trickle of the stream outside lulled me to sleep. When I woke, the sun had shifted and there was a golden cast over everything.
O Jesus, You were innocent, yet condemned.
Make my heart steady when the world is loud.
Let me love You with a strong love,
A love that isn’t afraid to stand beside You,
Even when others turn away.
Love, Kathy
The morning air was soft and kind, about 44 degrees when we started out for church. The road looked just as familiar as ever, like it had known our footsteps for years. Sister Mary Claire and I had our scarves on, and Robert walked quietly beside us with his hands in his pockets. The birds were back—though only a few—and Mini trotted happily at our side, sometimes going ahead, then circling back.
Father LeRoy gave a homily that followed the meditation we had read before Mass. It centered around Pilate’s haunting question, “What evil hath He done?” And it stayed with me, all the way home. It’s true—Jesus had done only good. He had healed and blessed and forgiven, and still they shouted for His death. Pilate’s cowardice pierced something in me today. Not because I judge him, but because I fear I might sometimes be like him—choosing to stay silent when I should speak.
As we walked back, Robert pointed to the little wooden sign he’d carved and posted just beyond the bend. It reads: “Morning prayers and waking skies lift our hearts and clear our eyes.” Sister Mary Claire smiled and tapped the top of the post gently with her mittened hand. “It’s what prayer does,” she said. “It clears us, so we can see what is true and stand with it—no matter what.”
Robert nodded. “If only Pilate had prayed that morning.”
We all went quiet for a bit after that. Not heavy silence, just thoughtful. Mini kept close to my feet, her little ears alert as ever.
Later in the day, I went to the cave. There was a peaceful hush there, as though the stones themselves had absorbed the morning’s Gospel. I worked in the scrapbook—just a few little additions and a pressed violet I had saved in wax paper.
I napped a little after that. The blanket in the prayer wagon was just warm enough, and the soft trickle of the stream outside lulled me to sleep. When I woke, the sun had shifted and there was a golden cast over everything.
O Jesus, You were innocent, yet condemned.
Make my heart steady when the world is loud.
Let me love You with a strong love,
A love that isn’t afraid to stand beside You,
Even when others turn away.
Love, Kathy
No comments:
Post a Comment