This afternoon I took The Glories of Mary out to the glacial rock at the edge of the cornfield. Mini came with, of course, trotting happily by my side, and Omelette plodded behind like a feathery little wagon. The corn is only about six inches tall now—just enough to make the wind rustle when it passes through. It was quiet and warm and felt like the sort of day where heaven might be watching especially close.
I was reading the part about how Mary is the mother of even sinners—if they want to change. That part settled into me like a stone at the bottom of a deep well. It said that if someone tries—even just a little—Mary doesn’t turn them away, no matter how many mistakes they’ve made. She doesn’t count up their sins, but instead looks at their heart. That made me feel all warm, like when Sister Mary Claire tucks the covers up around my shoulders at night. I guess sometimes I worry I’m not very good at being good, but it said Mary helps those who want to try. She sees the trying. That part—I loved that part.
There was also that story about the boy named Ernest, who ran away and did terrible things but then came back and did penance and was forgiven. Mary showed him she had his pardon in her hand! I just sat there imagining what it must’ve looked like—Mary holding out that paper, saying without words, You’re forgiven, come home.
I think maybe that’s what I want most—to be like one of Mary’s children who gets to come home again, even if I’ve wandered off a bit. I looked at Mini, lying with her chin on the rock beside me, and Omelette making gentle clucks and scratching at the rock, and I thought: Even a chicken can find a home. And so can I, if I stay close to Mary.
Dear Mother Mary,
You know my heart better than I do. Even when I get things wrong, please don’t stop helping me.
If I forget to ask, remind me gently, and never let me go too far.
I want to be your daughter—not just by saying it, but by trying to live like you.
Thank you for loving even the ones who mess up.
Help me try again tomorrow.
Love Kathy
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