Dear Diary
There was no Church today, but thankfully not because of the weather. Father LeRoy had to visit an old priest friend who’s been poorly, so Sister Mary Claire said we’d keep the day prayerful and quiet from home. She suggested I bring my little green book, Jesus the Model of Religious, and spend some time down by Indian Creek. I tucked it under my arm, called for Mini, and off we went.
Mini raced ahead as usual, her little white feet barely touching the trail. I was hoping for some stillness by the water while I read the meditation for the second Monday after Pentecost. It talked about imitating Jesus in His holiness, goodness, and mercy. One line said, “Holiness is the very end of our vocation,” and that part settled into my heart like a soft stone in a pocket. I underlined it twice. It made me think—Jesus didn’t just do good things. He was goodness itself. I want to be like that.
I had just looked up from my book when I noticed the creek was moving fast. The rain to the north must’ve been heavy all morning, because Indian Creek was already swollen and frothy at the edges. Then came a loud, splitting crack of thunder that shook the tree branches. I barely had time to grab my book before Mini barked once, spun around, and started tearing up the slope toward the cave.
That’s when Shaggycoat appeared—my beaver friend, with his slick brown fur soaked and his flat tail dragging leaves as he scrambled up the path. He’s been living near the creek ever since I first found the sanctuary cave. He didn’t even pause to say hello, just rushed past me like he knew exactly where to go.
So we all ran—Mini in front, then Shaggycoat, then me—slipping a little on the muddy trail but making it just in time. The rain hit hard, and the sky turned as dark as evening. Inside the cave, everything felt still and safe. I shut the carved walnut door and lit the stubby candle in the wall. Mini circled once and settled beside me, and Shaggycoat sat at the entrance, his nose twitching toward the storm.
With the thunder rolling outside, I read the meditation again. It said we must imitate Christ in His mercy—“Let your mercy be like His: tender, tireless, and wide.” That part stayed with me. I thought of how Jesus is always ready to forgive, even when we’re not ready to be forgiven. I told Mini in a whisper, “That’s what I want to be when I grow up—mercy with feet.”
We stayed in the cave for two hours until the storm passed. Then we picked our way home, the earth smelling like wet leaves and new air. Sister Mary Claire met us on the porch with warm towels and tea. I told her the whole story—how Mini led the way, how Shaggycoat didn’t hesitate, and how the cave became our strong little fortress. She gave me that smile that always makes me feel loved and said, “God knew where to find you—in the cleft of His rock.”
Here’s my evening prayer:
Dear Jesus,
You are goodness and mercy and shelter all in one.
Thank You for the cave, for high ground,
And for friends who know how to run toward safety.
Help me grow in holiness,
So I can be more like You tomorrow.
Amen.
Love,
Kathy
There was no Church today, but thankfully not because of the weather. Father LeRoy had to visit an old priest friend who’s been poorly, so Sister Mary Claire said we’d keep the day prayerful and quiet from home. She suggested I bring my little green book, Jesus the Model of Religious, and spend some time down by Indian Creek. I tucked it under my arm, called for Mini, and off we went.
Mini raced ahead as usual, her little white feet barely touching the trail. I was hoping for some stillness by the water while I read the meditation for the second Monday after Pentecost. It talked about imitating Jesus in His holiness, goodness, and mercy. One line said, “Holiness is the very end of our vocation,” and that part settled into my heart like a soft stone in a pocket. I underlined it twice. It made me think—Jesus didn’t just do good things. He was goodness itself. I want to be like that.
I had just looked up from my book when I noticed the creek was moving fast. The rain to the north must’ve been heavy all morning, because Indian Creek was already swollen and frothy at the edges. Then came a loud, splitting crack of thunder that shook the tree branches. I barely had time to grab my book before Mini barked once, spun around, and started tearing up the slope toward the cave.
That’s when Shaggycoat appeared—my beaver friend, with his slick brown fur soaked and his flat tail dragging leaves as he scrambled up the path. He’s been living near the creek ever since I first found the sanctuary cave. He didn’t even pause to say hello, just rushed past me like he knew exactly where to go.
So we all ran—Mini in front, then Shaggycoat, then me—slipping a little on the muddy trail but making it just in time. The rain hit hard, and the sky turned as dark as evening. Inside the cave, everything felt still and safe. I shut the carved walnut door and lit the stubby candle in the wall. Mini circled once and settled beside me, and Shaggycoat sat at the entrance, his nose twitching toward the storm.
With the thunder rolling outside, I read the meditation again. It said we must imitate Christ in His mercy—“Let your mercy be like His: tender, tireless, and wide.” That part stayed with me. I thought of how Jesus is always ready to forgive, even when we’re not ready to be forgiven. I told Mini in a whisper, “That’s what I want to be when I grow up—mercy with feet.”
We stayed in the cave for two hours until the storm passed. Then we picked our way home, the earth smelling like wet leaves and new air. Sister Mary Claire met us on the porch with warm towels and tea. I told her the whole story—how Mini led the way, how Shaggycoat didn’t hesitate, and how the cave became our strong little fortress. She gave me that smile that always makes me feel loved and said, “God knew where to find you—in the cleft of His rock.”
Here’s my evening prayer:
Dear Jesus,
You are goodness and mercy and shelter all in one.
Thank You for the cave, for high ground,
And for friends who know how to run toward safety.
Help me grow in holiness,
So I can be more like You tomorrow.
Amen.
Love,
Kathy
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