Christ The King

November 24, 2024

Feast of Christ the King

Dear Diary,

This morning was crisp, with a golden sun shining through the frost-kissed trees. It felt fitting for the Feast of Christ the King, a day to remember His reign over all creation. Sister Mary Claire and I bundled up and walked to Mass, with Mini at our side, her little bottom wagging with joy. She always makes our mornings brighter.

Father LeRoy's homily today was especially meaningful. He reflected on Jesus' words in the Gospel: “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36), and reminded us that Christ’s kingdom isn’t built on power or riches but on love, sacrifice, and truth. He introduced a Spanish phrase that I loved: “El que no vive para servir, no sirve para vivir.” It means, “He who does not live to serve, does not serve to live.”

Father shared a story from his time as a missionary in South America. He met a young boy named Mateo who was poor but rich in kindness. Mateo would carry water from the well to his neighbors every day, helping elderly villagers who couldn’t manage it themselves. When Father asked him why he did it, Mateo simply smiled and said, “Porque Jesús lo haría”—“Because Jesus would do it.” Father said Mateo’s actions were a glimpse of Christ’s kingdom on earth, where service and love shine brightest.

The story stayed with me all day. It made me think of the small ways I can serve, whether it’s helping Sister Mary Claire with chores or sharing the eggs from our hens with the Breakfast Club. Even Mini, in her own way, serves by bringing us so much joy and comfort!

Tonight, as Sister Mary Claire and I settled into bed, I could still hear Father LeRoy’s voice in my heart, reminding us that Christ’s kingdom is one of humility and love. Mini is stretched out at the foot of the bed, her little snores like music to my ears. I whispered the Spanish phrase one more time before closing my eyes: “El que no vive para servir, no sirve para vivir.”

"O Jesus, King of the Universe, reign in my heart today and always."

Goodnight, dear Diary.

Love,
Kathy

 

The Gabriel Gargam Story

November 23, 1955

Dear Diary,

 
This evening was one of those golden, quiet moments I’ll never forget. Sister Mary Claire and I settled in front of the wood-burning stove after finishing our chores. The fire cast its warm glow over the room, crackling and snapping in the stillness. Mini lay at our feet, her little ears twitching as though she was listening too. The air was chilly outside, but here, it felt as cozy as a snug cocoon.

As we sipped our mugs of warm milk with a touch of honey, Sister Mary Claire began to tell me the story of Gabriel Gargam. She has a way of making stories come alive, her voice soft yet filled with reverence. I penciled her words as best I could, not wanting to forget a single detail.

“Gabriel Gargam,” she began, “was a young man in France, working on the railway. It was in 1899 when his life changed forever. There was a terrible train accident—one of those tragedies you read about but never think will happen to someone so full of life. Gabriel was thrown from the train, and his body was shattered.”

Mini sighed, her head resting on her paws, as though she felt the weight of the story too.

“His injuries were so severe that doctors said he would never recover. He was paralyzed, Kathy, unable to move or even feed himself properly. Imagine it—just lying there, helpless, for years. He wasted away until he was barely more than a skeleton, weighing just 78 pounds. Everyone thought he was on the verge of death.”

Sister Mary Claire paused, gazing into the flames, and I could see the flicker of sadness in her eyes.

“But Gabriel had a family who loved him,” she continued, her tone lifting slightly. “His aunt was a devout Catholic and insisted he visit Lourdes, though he didn’t believe it would help him. He was so bitter about his suffering that he resisted at first, but finally, he gave in.”

She smiled softly. “They carried him there on a stretcher. Can you picture it? A man so weak that they doubted he’d survive the journey. But when they arrived at Lourdes, something extraordinary happened.”

At this point, the fire crackled louder, almost as if it were leaning in to hear the story too. Mini’s ears perked up, and I swear she opened one eye to glance at us.

Sister Mary Claire continued, “They brought him to the grotto, the very spot where Our Lady appeared to Saint Bernadette. Gabriel was bathed in the waters of the miraculous spring three times, but at first, he didn’t feel any change. It was only after receiving Holy Communion and the Eucharistic blessing in a procession that he felt something incredible. Warmth coursed through his body, and suddenly, the man who had been paralyzed for years could move.”

I could hardly breathe. “Did he really get better?” I whispered, though I already knew the answer.

“Yes,” Sister Mary Claire replied, her face radiant. “By the end of the pilgrimage, he could sit up, then stand, and finally walk. The doctors who had treated him before were astonished. They said his recovery was completely unexplainable by medical science.”

I felt a lump in my throat as she concluded, “From that moment on, Gabriel became a changed man. He dedicated his life to helping other pilgrims at Lourdes and sharing his story of faith. What began in despair turned into a testimony of God’s grace.”

The room fell quiet, except for the soft hum of the fire. I thought about Gabriel and how much he had endured, and yet, through Our Lady of Lourdes, he found healing and a new purpose. It made me wonder about the miracles we might find in our own lives if we have faith.

Mini let out a soft bark, perhaps agreeing with my thoughts. I reached down to scratch her ears and thanked God for the warmth of the fire, the comfort of Mini, and the blessing of a sister like Mary Claire to share such inspiring stories.

Before bed, I opened my Irish Prayer Book and said a quiet prayer for all those who suffer.
“O Mary of Grace and Mother of God, may we always trust in your loving intercession.”

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The John Traynor Story

November 22, 1955

Dear Diary,

Tonight, as Sister Mary Claire and I snuggled under the quilt, the snowstorm outside seemed to soften its howls, as if it wanted to listen to her voice too. The little room glowed warm and golden, with the candlelight flickering against the frosted windowpane. Mini curled up contentedly at our feet, her little chest rising and falling in time with Sister’s words.

She was reading to me about a man named John Traynor, (The Full Story) a soldier broken by war but healed in a way only Heaven could explain. She told me how he’d been paralyzed, his body battered by shrapnel and despair, yet he made a journey to Lourdes on nothing but faith. And there, as Sister read, his story unfolded. I could almost picture the moment he stood, no longer broken, no longer a prisoner of his injuries, but free—free to walk, to live, to love again.

Sister’s voice wove the story like a hymn, her words full of hope and wonder. She looked over at me, her dark brown hair catching the candlelight, and smiled softly as if to say, “See, little one? Nothing is impossible for God.”

I rested my head against her shoulder and whispered, “Do you think the water there is really that special?”

Her smile widened, and she leaned her head to mine. “It’s not the water, Kathy,” she said, her voice warm and sure. “It’s what’s behind the water—the love of Our Lady, and her Son’s endless grace.”

The wind outside seemed quieter now, as though the world itself paused to remember John Traynor’s miracle. As Sister Mary Claire continued reading, her hand resting gently on mine, I felt something stir in my heart—something hopeful, something holy.

Goodnight, dear Diary. May miracles find us all, even in the quiet of snow-filled nights.

With love,
Kathy

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Snow Bound

 

November 21, 1955

Dear Diary,

Today was encapsulated by a blanket of snow as a small blizzard swept through overnight, making the roads once again impassable. It's always a bit magical to wake up to such a wintry wonderland, but it also means a lot of extra work.

Sister Mary Claire and I spent the morning nestled in warmth, reading from the Sister's Daily Roman Missal. Today's Gospel was quite moving—Luke 19:41-44, where Jesus weeps over Jerusalem. Sister Mary Claire has such a gift for storytelling; she explained the reading in a way that made it feel so vivid and poignant, almost as if I could see the tears of Christ myself.

Chores were done quickly today; the cold bit at our fingers as we hustled. I had to gather eggs three times just to ensure they wouldn’t freeze—thank goodness we managed to save them all. Mini, bless her heart, struggled with the deep snow but managed her typical hop-hop style to get around. It's both amusing and heartwarming to watch.

I managed to drop a letter for Vreni in the mailbox. It's filled with tales of our snowy siege and some sketches I’ve been working on. Though I suspect it might sit there for a day or two given the snow-blocked roads, I always feel closer to her knowing it's on its way.

As night drew close, Sister Mary Claire and I concluded our day with a sweet evening prayer, asking for warmth and safety for all those with cold feet and colder hearts tonight. May they find warmth in their homes and in their hearts.

Dear Lord, as we rest under Your watchful eyes tonight, blanket us with Your peace. Protect those out in the cold, and let Your love be a warm embrace around the world. Amen.

Goodnight, Diary.

Love, Kathy

 

Recipe for a Perfect Evening

 
November 19, 2024

Dear Diary,

This morning’s walk to Church was crisp and sunny. The 49-degree air made it feel like the perfect autumn day. Mini was her cheerful self, trotting along beside Sister Mary Claire and me. On the way, we met Cheryl, one of Mini’s favorite neighbors. You would have thought Cheryl had been away for a year by the way Mini greeted her—spinning in happy little circles and wagging her tail-less bottom as fast as she could. Cheryl laughed and bent down to give Mini a pat, which made her day.

At Mass, Father LeRoy gave a wonderful homily that brought the Gospel reading to life. He shared the story of a man who, like Zacchaeus, had climbed high in life—not into a tree, but in his achievements. This man had everything he could want yet felt a great emptiness. It was only when he opened his heart to generosity and service to others that he truly found joy, just as Zacchaeus did when he welcomed Jesus into his home.

After Mass, Father took a moment to thank me for decorating the Gospel reading handout with the image of Mini and me. He said it gave the reading a warm, personal touch and made it even more meaningful for the parishioners. I felt a little glow of pride knowing that Mini and I had contributed something special.

This afternoon, I sat down to write a letter to Vreni. I thanked her for introducing me to St. Bernard’s Memorare prayer, which I’ve now copied into my All for Jesus book so I can pray it often. Her letters are always so thoughtful, and I’m excited to send mine off to her tomorrow.

For our evening snack, Sister Mary Claire and I enjoyed her freshly baked buns with a generous smear of butter. We paired them with mugs of hot chocolate, which warmed us up after the cool day. Here’s the recipe for the hot chocolate we made:

Homemade Hot Chocolate

Ingredients:

2 cups whole milk
1/4 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
2 tablespoons sugar (or to taste)
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
A pinch of salt
Whipped cream or marshmallows (optional)

Instructions:Heat the milk and cream in a saucepan over medium heat until warm, but do not let it boil.
Whisk in the cocoa powder, sugar, and salt until smooth.
Stir until the mixture is hot and creamy.
Remove from heat and add the vanilla extract.
Pour into mugs and top with whipped cream or marshmallows, if desired. Enjoy!

As I write this, Mini is curled up by my feet, snoozing softly. The quiet hum of the evening feels comforting after a full and lovely day. I’ll end my entry with this little prayer:

Evening Prayer

Dear Lord,
Thank You for the blessings of this day—our walk to Church, the warmth of Cheryl’s kindness, and the wisdom of Father’s homily. Help me to be more like Zacchaeus, open to Your love and ready to share that love with others. Bless Sister Mary Claire and our home, and watch over Vreni as she continues to inspire me. And thank You for Mini, who brings so much joy to my days. Amen.

Goodnight, Diary.
Love,
Kathy

 

The Wind Always Reminds Me It's Iowa

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November 18, 1955

Dear Diary,

Vreni’s letter arrived today, and it brought such joy that my cheeks hurt from smiling! Inside was the Memorare prayer, all typed out with Vreni's new typewriter, which I will read as my evening prayer tonight. It’s such a beautiful prayer, and Sister Mary Claire told me that it was made famous by St. Bernard of Clairvaux, a devoted monk who loved Our Lady deeply. She said he often encouraged people to pray it in times of trouble, and it brings special graces. Isn't that wonderful? I feel so blessed to have a friend like Vreni, who shares her faith so warmly across the miles.

We didn’t make it to Church this morning, though, which feels a little odd. Last night, we stayed up too late watching an Alfred Hitchcock movie. I can still feel the suspense lingering! Sister Mary Claire said she had a hard time falling asleep afterward, and even Mini seemed unsettled, pacing around. This morning, we overslept entirely, which hardly ever happens, but it gave us the chance to have a slower day together.

Mini has been her usual loyal self, trotting from room to room to keep tabs on us. The wind has been howling outside—it’s a proper Iowa kind of day, cold and blustery at 50 degrees. Mini takes her role as family protector very seriously; she’s been barking at the wind as if it’s an intruder trying to sneak past her watch. I had to laugh when she gave up her post and curled up by the fire, still mumbling little growls under her breath.

Vreni’s letter is far too precious to keep tucked away, so I’ll paste it to the inside of this diary where I can always see it. That way, it will be like having a little piece of her here with me. For now, I’ll fold it neatly and slide it into my All for Jesus book until I can grab the paste.

Tonight, as I kneel to say the Memorare, I’ll think of Vreni and our shared faith. I’ll also think of St. Bernard and his wisdom. Iowa’s wind might try to steal my thoughts away, but I’ll offer them all to Our Lady.

Yours faithfully,

Kathy

Enlarge or Print a Copy of this Prayer Here.

Watching for His Light

November 17, 1955

Dear Diary

This morning, the air was crisp and cool, just 44 degrees, so Sister Mary Claire and I bundled up in our coats, sweaters, stocking caps, and gloves for the walk to Church. Mini, as always, trotted alongside us, her own fur sweater keeping her warm. I couldn’t help smiling as her little paws crunched on the frosty gravel road.

When we arrived, I handed out the Gospel reading with Mini at my side—number 90! Can you imagine? Ninety times sharing God’s Word with our parish family. Mini greeted everyone with her cheerful little bottom-wiggle, making sure no one missed their copy.

Today’s Gospel reading was from Mark 13:24-32, a passage that left me thinking deeply. Father LeRoy, in his homily, painted a vivid picture to help us understand.

He said the darkness and falling stars Jesus spoke of aren’t meant to scare us but to remind us of how small and fleeting the world is compared to God’s eternal love. He told a story of a boy who lost his way during a terrible storm. Though the lightning flashed and the thunder roared, the boy noticed a tiny flickering lantern far away—it was his father, searching for him. The boy ran toward the light and found his way home.

Father said the "fig tree" is like that lantern: when its branches soften and leaves sprout, we know summer is near. In the same way, when we notice signs in our world—kindness shared, prayers answered—we know Jesus is near, just as the boy’s father was near in the storm. He reminded us that while no one knows when Jesus will return, not even the angels, we should live every day ready to run toward His light.

After Mass, the afternoon was quiet and peaceful. I spent some time reading and writing, even starting to prepare for Monday's Gospel reading. Sister Mary Claire made hot cocoa, and the sweetness seemed to warm me from the inside out.

As the evening settled in, Mini and I played a game of keep-away with her yellow squeak ball. She always outsmarts me, darting just out of reach, squeaking her ball triumphantly.

Before bed, I knelt by the window, gazing at the stars and whispering a prayer:

“Dear Jesus, help me keep watch for You, even when the world feels dark. May my heart always be ready to see Your light and run toward You. Amen.”

Mini curled up under my bed, her ball tucked safely beside her. Another day tucked safely into His care.

Goodnight, dear Diary.

Love,
Kathy