My Little Beaver Friend

Dear Diary,

It was 31 degrees this morning, cold but clear, and the sky looked like it might turn sunny. Sister Mary Claire and I walked down to the mailbox with Mini trotting along. Robert pulled up right on time, got out, scooped Mini into his arms, and set her on Sister’s lap. “Good morning, ladies!” he said, and off we went to early Mass.

Father LeRoy read from Luke 20:27–40, where Jesus tells the Sadducees that in the resurrection we will be like the angels—children of God who can never die again. Sister said that Heaven is where everything is made whole and full of God’s love. I liked that very much.

This afternoon Mini and I walked to the cave with a carrot for Shaggycoat. He came out of his lodge when he heard us and took the carrot gently before slipping back inside. Mini wagged her whole bottom at him. Inside the cave I lit a tiny fire and read another bit from The Glories of Mary. It felt quiet and safe as always.

We made it home just before supper, and Sister said she could tell we’d had a good cave visit.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, thank You for Mass today,
for Sister Mary Claire and Robert,
and for the peaceful time in the cave with Mini.
Keep us close to Your Heart tonight
and bless everyone we love.

Amen.

A Bright, Cold Morning

 
Dear Diary,

The sky was so clear this morning that it almost hurt my eyes. All of yesterday’s snow was still lying smooth and white over the fields, and the air was crisp—36 degrees, Sister said. Mini dashed outside ahead of us, leaving tiny corgi footprints that disappeared where the sun touched the path.

At Mass, Father LeRoy read the Gospel about how Jesus entered the Temple and drove out the people selling things.

“My house shall be a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves.”

I could almost hear Jesus saying it right there in St. Mary’s. Father told us that Jesus wasn’t angry the way people get angry, but more like a father protecting his home. He said the Temple was meant to be a quiet place where hearts opened up to God, not a noisy marketplace. Then he said something that made me think: “Every heart is meant to be a little house of prayer too.”

That made me wonder what Jesus might sweep out of my heart—maybe worry, or impatience, or wanting my own way too much. Father said that the people in the Gospel “hung on His words,” and he told us to do the same, especially when the world feels unsettled. I decided I want to try harder.

After chores, Mini and I bundled up and walked down to the cave. The cottonwoods along the homestead were dressed in white lace again. Inside the cave I lit a small fire in the stove, and the familiar crackle made it feel like a secret warm pocket under the hill. Mini took her place right by my feet, ears out like little airplane wings.

I read Part 2 of Chapter 1 from The Glories of Mary. Mary’s kindness in that chapter felt like soft light in the quiet. I tucked the wool blanket around my legs and read slowly so I wouldn’t miss anything. It felt like the perfect place to keep my heart a “house of prayer,” just like Jesus wants.

When the shadows grew longer and the fire turned to glowing red coals, Mini and I headed home, both of us leaving new tracks over the old ones.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus,

Thank You for Your strong love that protects Your house
and for showing me today how to keep my heart a place of prayer.
Help me sweep out anything that doesn’t belong to You.

Thank You for the snowy fields, the warm cave
and for Mini curled at my feet like always.
Bless Sister Mary Claire, bless Robert, and bless our little farm tonight.
Keep us close to You and make our hearts quiet and clean.

Love, Kathy

Jesus Wept and so Did the Sky

 

Dear Diary,

Before we were even out of bed this morning, the phone rang on the little table in the hallway. Sister Mary Claire hurried to answer it, and I could hear her say, “Good morning, Robert,” in her gentle voice. A moment later she called back to me, “Kathy, Robert says to look outside!”

I slipped out from under the covers and pushed back the curtain. Everything was white — not just snowy, but blizzard white, with the wind sweeping snow across the yard like waves. I could hardly see the lilacs at all.

Sister hung up the phone and said, “He told us we’d better stay tucked in today. The roads are drifted shut, and he can’t even get his truck started.” Mini peeked out from her tent in the corner, her ears perked. She must have sensed something exciting was going on.

After breakfast, Sister Mary Claire read the Gospel to me — the one where Jesus drew near Jerusalem and wept because the people didn’t understand what would bring them peace. Sister read it slowly, with her voice soft against the sound of the wind rattling the windows.

When she finished, I asked her why Jesus cried. She sat down beside me and said, “Kathy, He loved them so much. But their hearts weren’t ready to welcome Him. Sometimes people turn away from peace without even knowing it.” She smoothed the end of my braid while she talked. “We must try to keep our hearts open, even in the middle of storms.”

Mini climbed partway out of her tent then and gave a tiny yawn. I think she understood a little bit — dogs always seem to know when love is being talked about.

The wind kept blowing around the house, but inside everything felt warm. Sister worked on her sewing while I curled up with my Glories of Mary book. Reading about Our Lady’s tender care for souls made me feel peaceful, even with the storm swirling outside. I liked knowing Mary was close, watching over us.

Tonight we knelt for evening prayer. Sister prayed that our hearts would always stay gentle and open to Jesus, even when life feels blustery. I prayed the same. Mini lay still at our feet, and I felt so grateful for our little home, tucked in safely against the storm.

Love, Kathy

Frost on the Cottonwoods

Dear Diary,

This morning was so chilly that even the Homestead Cottonwoods looked like they were shivering. Their branches were dressed all in frosty white, like someone had dusted them with sugar. If it hadn’t been quite so cold, I would’ve sat there under them with Mini and my wool blanket and started reading right away. But my nose was already turning pink, so Mini and I hurried down the worn path toward the cave.

Inside, it was quiet the way only the cave can be. Not lonely-quiet, but the kind that makes you feel like someone is listening. I spread out my wool blanket on the smooth stone and tucked my legs under it, and Mini curled herself into a little red-and-white ball right at my hip. Then I opened Sister Mary Claire’s Simplified Glories of Mary.

Oh Diary… I can hardly put it down.

The very first chapter made my heart feel warm, even though the cave was chilly. It talked about how Our Lady never turns away anyone who truly wants to begin again—how she’s a mother even to sinners, as long as they wish to change. The saints said she runs faster to help us than any earthly mother could. And it said something I keep thinking about over and over: that if we want to be called Mary’s children, we have to try—really try—to live the way she did, being humble, pure, gentle, and loving.

When I read the prayer at the end of the chapter, I whispered it softly because it felt like a secret between me and Our Lady:

“Holy Mother, help me rise from any wrong I’ve done, and hold me close as your child. Teach me to follow your example in humility and love, so that my whole day may belong to God.”

I don’t know why, but that little prayer made me feel braver and smaller at the same time. Like a tiny girl trying to walk in her mother’s footsteps—steps that feel too big, but still worth trying.

Mini lifted her head once, as if she felt something peaceful in the air too. Her ears went sideways like little airplane wings, so I think she knew it was prayer time.

When the cold started sneaking in again, I wrapped the blanket tight around me and we walked home past the frosty cottonwoods. They were still shimmering in the gray morning light, and I wished I could’ve shown Our Lady how pretty they looked.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus and sweet Mother Mary,

Thank You for the quiet of the cave today and for the words that made my heart feel warm.

Please help me rise from anything wrong and stay close to You both.

Bless Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and little Mini.

Keep our home safe through the night.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy

The Sycamore Tree Morning

Dear Diary,

This morning the snow was falling thick again, even though it was 39 degrees and too warm for any of it to stick. It came down in big soft flakes that melted the instant they landed, like the sky was practicing for a real storm. Robert picked us up at the end of the driveway, and the pickup was already warm and glowing inside. Sister Mary Claire climbed in first, then me. The wipers worked hard the whole way to church as the snow came faster, swirling across the windshield.

Inside St. Mary’s, everyone shook snow from their coats, and the wood stove made the whole church feel snug. Today’s Gospel was the story of Zacchaeus from Luke 19:1–10. I always love this one—Zacchaeus climbing the sycamore tree just to catch a glimpse of Jesus, not caring one bit what people thought. Father LeRoy said, “Jesus always sees the heart that is searching for Him,” and that made the whole story glow in my mind. Jesus didn’t wait for Zacchaeus to be perfect—He loved him first, and that is what changed him.

After Communion, Father ended Mass quickly because the weather had turned troublesome. The temperature was dropping fast, and the wind was beginning to push the snow into tiny drifts along the steps. Everyone hurried out, pulling scarves tight and heading straight for their cars.

The drive home felt like riding through a swirling white tunnel. Robert let us off at the mailbox, and the wind carried snow right across the road in little waves. We hurried up the walk, holding our coats close.

The afternoon was quiet. Sister dried our coats by the stove, and I worked on my scrapbook for a while. The wind kept whisking around the house, and every so often I’d peek outside to see the drifts getting just a bit deeper.

Evening Prayer

Sister and I knelt at our beds beneath the picture of the Sacred Heart. She prayed that we would be like Zacchaeus—always looking for Jesus, even if we have to climb a “tree” of our own. I prayed that when Jesus calls my name, I can hurry toward Him with the same joy Zacchaeus did.


The wind is still dancing the snow around the yard.

Love, Kathy.

Morning Light

Dear Diary,

This morning I woke up saying a prayer without even thinking. It felt like it floated right out of my dream.

I slid onto my knees and looked up at Mary’s picture on the wall. The early light made her face glow soft and warm. I finished the little prayer that was still resting on my lips:

“My most holy Mother… You have helped me so many times, and sometimes I forget to thank you like I should. But I won’t lose confidence in your kindness. Please look after me today. God made you gentle and strong so you could help me.

Please don’t ever leave me.”

I whispered it slowly, because my heart felt peaceful and full. It made me feel close to her, like she was guiding me right from the very beginning of the day.

Sister Mary Claire was still asleep, and the room was quiet all around us. It felt like Mary and I were sharing a little morning secret of love and hope.

Love,

Kathy

Sunday Quiet

Click on Little Swiss Radio to Listen Now.

Tonight, after supper, Sister Mary Claire and I knelt down beside our beds for our evening prayers. The room was dim and peaceful, and the picture of the Sacred Heart above the bedside table seemed to glow a little in the soft lamplight. I folded my hands and whispered my prayers, and Sister knelt right beside me, her veil falling over her shoulder just so. It always comforts me, kneeling next to her like that.

When we finished, I reached over and turned on my Little Swiss Radio. It made its little crackle—like it has a tiny heartbeat of its own—and then Bishop Barron’s Sunday homily came through, warm and clear. I stayed kneeling on the floor to listen, and Sister sat with her hands folded in her lap, paying such close attention that it made me sit up straighter.

Bishop Barron talked about trusting Jesus in the middle of the storms of life, even when things feel uncertain. His voice always fills up the whole room, like he’s talking right to us here at Camp Littlemore. I held my rosary while he spoke, letting the words sink into my heart just like prayer.

It felt extra special tonight—praying first, and then listening to the homily with Sister beside me, the Sacred Heart watching over us, and my little radio humming gently between the beds. Sometimes I think Sunday evenings must be God’s favorite time, because they always feel extra peaceful.

Love,

Kathy