Shaggycoat Monday

Dear Diary

The sun was already high when I stepped out to the mailbox this morning, and the gravel was warm beneath my shoes. Mini was sniffing all around the fencepost, her little white paws prancing like she had a secret. It was 64 degrees and just breezy enough to make the cattails dance. I had on my soft blue sweater even though I probably didn’t need it. Somehow, it felt right for a day like today.

Robert pulled up right on time in the pickup, and the three of us—well, two girls and one corgi—climbed in together. I always like sitting in the middle, sandwiched between Sister Mary Claire and Mini, who rested her chin on my knee and kept her eyes pointed out the window like a proper little passenger.

Sister had brought her meditation book along again and began reading aloud before we were even halfway down the lane. Her voice was quiet but sure, like the stream at Indian Creek. Today’s meditation was all about peace—the first word Jesus spoke to His Apostles after He rose from the dead: “Peace be to you.” She said Jesus had earned peace for us by His suffering, and that He meant for us to carry it into the world.

Father LeRoy continued the thought in his homily, explaining how the Sacrament of Penance isn’t just about telling our sins, but receiving that peace from Jesus Himself, through the priest. He said, “When you hear ‘Thy sins are forgiven thee,’ that’s Heaven restoring peace to your soul.” I tried to hold those words close, but my thoughts kept wandering—first to the cave, then to Indian Creek, and then to Shaggycoat’s lodge nestled by the dam.

I thought about how still it is in the cave, how the air smells like moss and cool stone, and how even the stream inside trickles as if it doesn’t want to disturb the quiet. Shaggycoat’s dam holds the water like a little bowl, and nothing in that whole place seems worried. Not the frogs, not the minnows, not even the breeze that slips through the ferns.

Why can’t all the world have peace like that?

Sometimes I feel like I am already living in a world full of peace—here on the farm with Sister and Mini, with eggs to gather and fences to mend and oatmeal to eat in the morning. Maybe peace isn’t something far away. Maybe it’s something Jesus puts inside you, like a lamp lit behind your ribs.

Father said we ought to avoid every voluntary fault if we want perfect peace of heart. I don’t know if I can be perfect, but I do know I want that kind of peace. The kind that makes you still inside. The kind that makes you kinder.

Dear Jesus,

Thank You for the gift of peace. Thank You for gentle breezes and quiet creeks, and for Mini sleeping under my bed. Thank You for Sister’s voice reading Your words and for Father LeRoy who helps them take root. Thank You for a farm full of chores and love and stillness. Help me keep Your peace in my heart tomorrow and every day.

Love,

Kathy