April 14, 1956
Today was too big to squeeze into these few little pages, so I’m going to write about just one part—the best part—the discovery in the cave this afternoon. It’s still hard to believe, but it really happened, and Mini was right there with me when it did.
We hadn’t been down to the cave for a couple of days, and since it was such a beautiful day, Mini and I made our way up the bluff from the creek side. She was in her usual detective mode, chasing breezes and sniffing at rocks as we climbed. Everything smelled like spring, and the creek below was talking in its little splashing voice like it always does.
When we got inside, I lit the little lantern and stepped into my secret room. The glow flickered across the walls like it was dancing with excitement. I was just tidying a few things when I decided to poke through an old wooden box near the back corner. I had seen it before, but never really dug all the way down.
And there it was—tucked away at the very bottom, wrapped in a piece of old linen—clean and dry and protected like it had been waiting for me. I unwrapped it carefully, and my breath caught in my throat. It was a book—Several Methods and Practices of Devotion—and right on the title page, it said the author was John Hathaway. Yes! My very own friend from heaven. The same John Hathaway who carved out this cave a hundred years ago, who built it into a chapel and a home.
I sat down on my wooden stool and started to read. The very first part was all about prayer. It said prayer is the key to all of God’s heavenly treasures. That it’s how we climb up to Him, and how He climbs down to us. It said prayer is the richest treasure of all—the one that carries all the other blessings inside it. And the line that made me stop and whisper it again and again was this: prayer brings a person to the very perfection God calls her to. I closed my eyes and tried to feel what that meant.
Mini curled up beside me, like she could tell this was a holy moment. I whispered some of the words out loud to her. It was like the walls of the cave were listening, too. I could almost feel John Hathaway smiling down from heaven, glad his book had been found.
When it started getting late and a bit chilly, I turned down the lantern and wrapped the book back up in the linen. I slipped it into one of my pillowcases and hugged it close as Mini and I climbed back up the hill, running the last stretch to the house.
I burst through the kitchen door and showed Sister Mary Claire. Her eyes got wide and she put her hand gently on my shoulder. “Well,” she said softly, “he didn’t just leave you a room full of books, did he? He left you one he wrote himself.” I nodded—and I think a little tear ran down my cheek. I didn’t even brush it away. I just held the book a little closer. I think that tear might’ve even stained the page. I think I’ll sleep with it beside me tonight.
Dear Jesus, thank You for the gift of prayer, and for letting me find John Hathaway’s book. Please help me love You more every day and use prayer the way You want me to—as a way to grow close to You and carry Your light in my heart. Amen.
Love,
Kathy
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