Dear Diary,
Robert’s pickup rolled up to the mailbox right after sunrise, and Mini gave a proud little bark like she was in charge of the whole morning. She scrambled into the cab first and made herself comfy on the bench between Sister Mary Claire and me. Sister had her meditation book tucked under one arm—worn soft at the edges and tied with a ribbon. She opened it as soon as we pulled onto the gravel, reading by the light that spilled in through the windshield.
She read this out loud: “The just soul is made the very temple of God, where the Holy Ghost chooses to dwell.” I didn’t say much, just looked out the window at the corn rows as they passed, quiet and green and all lined up like a hymn.
Then we passed a patch of white daisies near the ditch, and I pressed my forehead against the window. The light on those flowers looked just like the meadow in Switzerland—the one where Vreni and I sat with our shoes off and talked about everything and nothing at all. I must have sighed without meaning to.
Sister lowered her book and looked over at me. “That sounded like a Swiss sigh,” she said, her voice soft and teasing all at once. I gave her a little smile but didn’t answer.
When we parked outside St. Mary’s, she reached for the car door, then paused and touched my arm gently. “Maybe you’ll write her today, hmm?” she said.
At Holy Mass, Father LeRoy’s homily followed the same thread. He said, “The Holy Ghost chooses to dwell where He is welcomed—not by grand acts, but by quiet faithfulness. A soul that makes room for Him each day becomes a true home, simple and shining.” He looked right at us when he said, “It’s the small things that open the door—an honest word, a gentle answer, a prayer before chores.” I tucked those words into my heart.
After Mass, instead of heading straight home, Robert turned the truck down a longer road. “Figured we’d take the back way,” he said, “I want to check how the wheat’s doing in the low field.” The sun was climbing, and the breeze smelled warm and sweet. As we bumped along past the hayfields and alfalfa, we talked more about the meditation.
Robert said, “You know, it’s something—that God wants to live in us. Folks think they need to go lookin’ for Him on mountaintops, but maybe He’s already sittin’ in the seat beside you, just waitin’ to be noticed.” He tapped the steering wheel once, kind of thoughtful. “Maybe being good ain’t so much about trying hard as it is about making room.”
I looked over at Mini, her eyes closed and her head resting on Sister’s knee. She always makes room. I want to be like that.
Later, I packed my letter paper—the kind with blue forget-me-nots around the edge—and my little tin ink pot and Sister’s fountain pen. Mini and I walked the narrow path down to the cave, past the Mary grotto, until we reached the patch of warm stone near the stream. The water sounded like it was whispering something important, and Mini curled up beside me with a sigh of her own.
I wrote to Vreni. I told her about the pickup ride and the daisies and how a sigh gave me away. I wrote about the meditation, Father’s words, and Robert’s quiet wisdom. I told her that sometimes the Holy Ghost stirs up missing someone—not to make us sad, but to remind us how loved we are, even from across the ocean.
Evening Prayer:
Come, Holy Ghost,
Thank You for making a home in me, even though I am little and still learning. Help me sweep my soul with gentle thoughts and kind words, so You’ll want to stay. Bless Vreni and her family tonight, and let my letter find its way safely. Bless Sister for noticing what I can’t say out loud, and bless Robert for taking the long way home just to look at wheat and think about You. Thank You for filling quiet places with peace.
Amen.
Love,
Kathy
Robert’s pickup rolled up to the mailbox right after sunrise, and Mini gave a proud little bark like she was in charge of the whole morning. She scrambled into the cab first and made herself comfy on the bench between Sister Mary Claire and me. Sister had her meditation book tucked under one arm—worn soft at the edges and tied with a ribbon. She opened it as soon as we pulled onto the gravel, reading by the light that spilled in through the windshield.
She read this out loud: “The just soul is made the very temple of God, where the Holy Ghost chooses to dwell.” I didn’t say much, just looked out the window at the corn rows as they passed, quiet and green and all lined up like a hymn.
Then we passed a patch of white daisies near the ditch, and I pressed my forehead against the window. The light on those flowers looked just like the meadow in Switzerland—the one where Vreni and I sat with our shoes off and talked about everything and nothing at all. I must have sighed without meaning to.
Sister lowered her book and looked over at me. “That sounded like a Swiss sigh,” she said, her voice soft and teasing all at once. I gave her a little smile but didn’t answer.
When we parked outside St. Mary’s, she reached for the car door, then paused and touched my arm gently. “Maybe you’ll write her today, hmm?” she said.
At Holy Mass, Father LeRoy’s homily followed the same thread. He said, “The Holy Ghost chooses to dwell where He is welcomed—not by grand acts, but by quiet faithfulness. A soul that makes room for Him each day becomes a true home, simple and shining.” He looked right at us when he said, “It’s the small things that open the door—an honest word, a gentle answer, a prayer before chores.” I tucked those words into my heart.
After Mass, instead of heading straight home, Robert turned the truck down a longer road. “Figured we’d take the back way,” he said, “I want to check how the wheat’s doing in the low field.” The sun was climbing, and the breeze smelled warm and sweet. As we bumped along past the hayfields and alfalfa, we talked more about the meditation.
Robert said, “You know, it’s something—that God wants to live in us. Folks think they need to go lookin’ for Him on mountaintops, but maybe He’s already sittin’ in the seat beside you, just waitin’ to be noticed.” He tapped the steering wheel once, kind of thoughtful. “Maybe being good ain’t so much about trying hard as it is about making room.”
I looked over at Mini, her eyes closed and her head resting on Sister’s knee. She always makes room. I want to be like that.
Later, I packed my letter paper—the kind with blue forget-me-nots around the edge—and my little tin ink pot and Sister’s fountain pen. Mini and I walked the narrow path down to the cave, past the Mary grotto, until we reached the patch of warm stone near the stream. The water sounded like it was whispering something important, and Mini curled up beside me with a sigh of her own.
I wrote to Vreni. I told her about the pickup ride and the daisies and how a sigh gave me away. I wrote about the meditation, Father’s words, and Robert’s quiet wisdom. I told her that sometimes the Holy Ghost stirs up missing someone—not to make us sad, but to remind us how loved we are, even from across the ocean.
Evening Prayer:
Come, Holy Ghost,
Thank You for making a home in me, even though I am little and still learning. Help me sweep my soul with gentle thoughts and kind words, so You’ll want to stay. Bless Vreni and her family tonight, and let my letter find its way safely. Bless Sister for noticing what I can’t say out loud, and bless Robert for taking the long way home just to look at wheat and think about You. Thank You for filling quiet places with peace.
Amen.
Love,
Kathy
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