The Slope Toward Heaven.

Dear Diary,

This morning after chores, Sister Mary Claire surprised me by saying that she wanted to go to the cave with me and Mini. She thought the cool air would be good for her soul.

So we packed a little lunch—apple slices, a wedge of cheese, and our last two slices of sisters homemade Wonder Bread wrapped in wax paper—and headed down together. Mini trotted happily ahead of us, her ears bouncing like she was leading a parade.

When we stepped into the cave, the air wrapped around us like a hush. We passed the little grotto and the spring and went further to the old walnut door of my secret room. I like to call it my secret room, even though Sister knows all about it.

Inside, Sister made herself at home on an old wooden stool and sat with her hands folded while I opened the drawer of John Hathaway's desk. That’s when I found it: a little leather-covered book, all in German handwriting. I held it up, and Sister leaned forward and said “Ah—now that looks like something old and holy. Let’s see what it says…”

She opened the book and ran her finger along the top line of the first page, reading out loud in her gentle, steady voice:

“Zufall. That means Providence,” she explained. “It says that the whole path of a person’s life is like a slope toward Heaven. Even the ordinary days. Even the quiet ones.”

I looked down at Mini, curled near the wall, her head on her paws. Sister kept reading a few more lines about how we’re supposed to quiet down our earthly wishes and walk with patience—like St. Augustine wrote in one of his sermons.

I never thought about patience like a prayer before. But that’s what this page felt like. A prayer written in someone’s careful hand, maybe by John Hathaway himself.

Dear Jesus,

If my life is a path
that slopes toward Heaven,
please help me walk it patiently.
Quiet down the noisy parts of me.
Keep me close when I feel slow or small.
And if I forget,
please remind me with a soft nudge
that You’re walking with me.

Amen.

Love,
Kathy