June 17, 1956
Dear Diary,
Last night, I asked Sister if I could sleep in the cave. She didn’t ask why—just nodded and went down ahead of me to make up the bed. The cool air felt so nice after the warm day, like God’s own way of tucking me in. She made sure everything was safe, kissed my forehead, and left the little candle ready.
This morning, I woke up before the light changed at the cave mouth. Mini was curled close and wiggled her bottom when I stirred, but didn’t ask to play.
I knelt beside the candle and held my crucifix. Then I told Jesus how much I love Him.
Not just for the good things He gives—but for who He is. I told Him I want to love Him more than anything else in the world. I said I want to love others too—even the ones I don’t always understand—because that’s how He loves me. I asked Him to let my heart be quiet and full of His love all day long.
Like a small flame that doesn’t go out.
Love,
Kathy
Last night, I asked Sister if I could sleep in the cave. She didn’t ask why—just nodded and went down ahead of me to make up the bed. The cool air felt so nice after the warm day, like God’s own way of tucking me in. She made sure everything was safe, kissed my forehead, and left the little candle ready.
This morning, I woke up before the light changed at the cave mouth. Mini was curled close and wiggled her bottom when I stirred, but didn’t ask to play.
I knelt beside the candle and held my crucifix. Then I told Jesus how much I love Him.
Not just for the good things He gives—but for who He is. I told Him I want to love Him more than anything else in the world. I said I want to love others too—even the ones I don’t always understand—because that’s how He loves me. I asked Him to let my heart be quiet and full of His love all day long.
Like a small flame that doesn’t go out.
Love,
Kathy
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