🌿When my words found a voice🌿
Dear Diary,
It was a very chilly morning when I woke up. The thermometer outside the kitchen window said 27 degrees. I pulled on my thickest socks and the woolen sweater Sister Mary Claire knitted for me. The sky was pale and clear, and even Mini seemed a little surprised by the cold when we stepped outside. We walked briskly down the gravel road to the mailbox, and just as we got there, Robert’s pickup truck came rolling up the lane.
We all climbed in. Mini sat right on Sister Mary Claire’s lap, on the passenger side of the front seat. I squeezed into the middle between them. The pickup cab was warm, and Mini curled up like a baby in Sister’s arms. Sister Mary Claire brought her meditation book, and while Robert drove, we quietly read the meditation for Monday of Passion Week together when we arrived early at St. Mary’s — a full half hour before Mass.
The title was “Jesus is Condemned to Death,” and it made my heart ache. Pilate washed his hands before the people and said, “I am innocent of the blood of this just Man,” and they cried out, “His blood be upon us and upon our children.” The meditation said how much grief that must have caused the Heart of Jesus. But He bore it — silently — out of love. That silence wasn’t weakness. It was strength and surrender, all at once.
During Mass, Father Leroy preached from the same meditation. He said that Jesus’ silence before Pilate wasn’t passive — it was powerful. “He bore the insult to honor His Father,” he said. “And He offered Himself freely, so we might rise from the death of sin to the life of grace.”
On the ride home, Robert broke the quiet: “It always surprises me how quiet Jesus stayed,”he said. “Most men would have defended themselves.”
Sister Mary Claire nodded thoughtfully. “Jesus didn’t need to speak. His whole life had already spoken for Him.”
I sat in the middle and listened. I didn’t have anything to add — not because I wasn’t thinking, but because it all felt too deep for words.
Later that afternoon, around four o’clock, I took my diary and walked down to the cave. The wind had stilled, and the cold was sharp but calm. I sat near the little altar stone and opened to a fresh page. I didn’t want to write much. Just one line:
“Jesus, You were silent for me — help me stay faithful for You.”
When I came back, Sister Mary Claire had set out a little plate with the last of the Toll House cookies and a glass of milk from the Kalona Dairy. She didn’t say anything, but the quiet kindness of that little gesture said enough. I sat down with Mini beside me and let the warmth of the house and the mercy of the day settle into my heart.
Dear Jesus,
You bore silence, shame, and injustice for me.
Teach me to hold my tongue when I want to be right,
To love when I want to hide,
And to follow You even when it’s hard.
Thank You for loving me so quietly and completely.
Let me rest in Your mercy tonight.
Amen.
Love, Kathy
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