April 16, 1956
Dear Diary,
Robert said he’d come by early this morning—twenty minutes early, to be exact—so that we could all read the daily meditation together before Mass. And sure enough, there he was, grinning through the truck window as we waited by the mailbox. The morning was cold, but little Mini didn’t mind. She bounced right into the pickup like she knew the plan.
We got to church with time to spare and opened our meditation book to today’s reflection: The Last Words of Jesus on the Cross. Just as we began reading about those sacred words—how Jesus cried out, “My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?”—the sacristy door opened and in came Father, setting up for Mass. And wouldn't you know it, Mini made a dash up to the altar and greeted him like he was an old friend. Father gave her a gentle pat on the head and said, “Well, good morning, Miss Mini!”
Mass began not long after, and Father’s homily... it echoed everything we had just read. His words followed right along with the meditation book. Sister Mary Claire always says that’s no coincidence—he reads and prays with the same book we do, and that helps us understand things so much better. I could feel the sadness in Mary’s heart as she heard her Son cry out from the cross. And I thought about all the people who feel forgotten, like Jesus did, and how His suffering gives meaning to theirs—and to mine, too, in my small little ways.
In the afternoon, Mini and I carried a small box of prayer cards, old Mass bulletins, and holy mementos down to the cave. I thought maybe if I sat down in my secret room, it would inspire me to begin a new page in my scrapbook. But after pasting only two little cards and trimming a corner just right, I began to feel sleepy. Like Goldilocks, I curled up on the bed with Mini. When I opened my eyes again, the shadows had grown long across the stone walls, and Mini was tugging at the bedspread trying to say, “Time to go, supper’s waiting!”
And so, we climbed back up to the house, quiet and a little chilly, but grateful for the day.
Dear Jesus, thank You for loving us so much that You stayed on the Cross even when You felt all alone. Help me remember that even when I feel forgotten, You are with me. Let me serve You with all my heart. Amen.
Love,
Kathy
Robert said he’d come by early this morning—twenty minutes early, to be exact—so that we could all read the daily meditation together before Mass. And sure enough, there he was, grinning through the truck window as we waited by the mailbox. The morning was cold, but little Mini didn’t mind. She bounced right into the pickup like she knew the plan.
We got to church with time to spare and opened our meditation book to today’s reflection: The Last Words of Jesus on the Cross. Just as we began reading about those sacred words—how Jesus cried out, “My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?”—the sacristy door opened and in came Father, setting up for Mass. And wouldn't you know it, Mini made a dash up to the altar and greeted him like he was an old friend. Father gave her a gentle pat on the head and said, “Well, good morning, Miss Mini!”
Mass began not long after, and Father’s homily... it echoed everything we had just read. His words followed right along with the meditation book. Sister Mary Claire always says that’s no coincidence—he reads and prays with the same book we do, and that helps us understand things so much better. I could feel the sadness in Mary’s heart as she heard her Son cry out from the cross. And I thought about all the people who feel forgotten, like Jesus did, and how His suffering gives meaning to theirs—and to mine, too, in my small little ways.
In the afternoon, Mini and I carried a small box of prayer cards, old Mass bulletins, and holy mementos down to the cave. I thought maybe if I sat down in my secret room, it would inspire me to begin a new page in my scrapbook. But after pasting only two little cards and trimming a corner just right, I began to feel sleepy. Like Goldilocks, I curled up on the bed with Mini. When I opened my eyes again, the shadows had grown long across the stone walls, and Mini was tugging at the bedspread trying to say, “Time to go, supper’s waiting!”
And so, we climbed back up to the house, quiet and a little chilly, but grateful for the day.
Dear Jesus, thank You for loving us so much that You stayed on the Cross even when You felt all alone. Help me remember that even when I feel forgotten, You are with me. Let me serve You with all my heart. Amen.
Love,
Kathy
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