Dear Diary
It rained again last night. A soft, steady kind of rain that made the gravel road hush and the world seem wrapped in a gray blanket this morning. Sister Mary Claire and I stood by the mailbox, reading from our daily meditation book called Jesus, The Model of Religious while Mini kept her nose low to the ground, sniffing the damp earth like it held secrets.
The meditation we started to read said the Holy Spirit doesn’t rush down on cold or distracted souls, but on those who are longing and watching and praying with hope. Sister said, “We must become little flames,” and I thought that was the most beautiful thing. I told her I wanted to be a little flame for God, and she smiled like she believed I already was.
It rained again last night. A soft, steady kind of rain that made the gravel road hush and the world seem wrapped in a gray blanket this morning. Sister Mary Claire and I stood by the mailbox, reading from our daily meditation book called Jesus, The Model of Religious while Mini kept her nose low to the ground, sniffing the damp earth like it held secrets.
The meditation we started to read said the Holy Spirit doesn’t rush down on cold or distracted souls, but on those who are longing and watching and praying with hope. Sister said, “We must become little flames,” and I thought that was the most beautiful thing. I told her I wanted to be a little flame for God, and she smiled like she believed I already was.
We were still reading and whispering about how the Apostles waited in the Upper Room when suddenly—BARK! Mini’s sharp little bark jolted us, and we looked up just in time to see Robert’s pickup rolling up the hill. We must’ve been so deep into the meditation we hadn’t even noticed the truck. Robert leaned out and said, “Looks like I almost had to honk!” We all laughed and hopped in, Mini bouncing into the cab right between us.
On the way to church, Sister read again from the meditation, and Robert said something I won’t forget—“Maybe we spend our lives waiting with our hearts open, just like they did.” That stuck with me, because waiting is hard, but it feels different when you know Who you’re waiting for.
At Mass, Father LeRoy said Pentecost is like the soul’s ignition—when the Holy Spirit sets the heart on fire so it can go out and give light to others. He said the Holy Spirit doesn’t just soothe—He sends. And I thought of how sometimes I’m afraid to be sent, but I want to be brave for Jesus.
On the way home, we didn’t talk much. It wasn’t the sleepy kind of quiet—it was the kind where everyone feels warm inside, like something special had happened. Sister said softly, “Our hearts burn because we’ve been near the fire.”
Tonight we had egg salad sandwiches with pickles and mayonnaise, and I lit a little votive candle at my desk. Just a tiny flame. I hope He sees it.
Evening Prayer
Come, Holy Spirit,
Make me ready and still.
Help me wait with joy,
And burn with love for Jesus.
Let my heart be a little candle,
Always lit for You.
Amen.
Love,
Kathy
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