Editor's Note: Virginia begins volume six with an account of her third visit to St. Meinrad during Holy Week, 1964. She also tells of the tragic fire at Good Samaritan which took the life of Father Kohne. Conditions at "Good Sam" go from bad to worse. Virginia records several instances of physical and mental abuse directed toward the elderly residents.

In this volume she also continues to explore and give expression to some of her feelings about her complicated relationship with her father. The unofficial Kokomo Jesus-Caritas Fraternity makes great strides; a tremendous spirit of love pervades their small group. They make a weekend retreat at St. Meinrad.

Virginia renews her vows privately on August 15th at the Motherhouse chapel in Tipton, during the ceremony at which several young ladies take public vows as new members of the religious community there. Virginia is plunged deeper into the Dark Night of the Soul. She writes: "Prayers, sweet aspirations that have filled my days since early childhood, O Mother they're fleeing from me. Your rosary, the Stations of the Cross, where are they? All is consumed in the Gospel, in the living Gospel to which we add a page each day. But why do I still turn back to look for these consolations that are behind? Look up, my soul, into this blinding light. Someday you'll behold the Face of Christ."

The volume concludes with Virginia's preparations to visit Joe Reilly in New York, and participate in a pilgrimage to Marian shrines in Canada.

April 3, 1964

Rejoice and be glad, beautiful Mother, Alleluia, for Jesus lives in our glorified weakness! Joyously have I anticipated this little time with you. 0 to see your face, to feel your embrace, to know that you have embraced your glorified Son and see the joy of it vibrate through your entire being. Mother, you are beautiful! Your face, your hands, your heartbeat, these are curtained from our blindness, our distorted vision that would but mar your features with our own ugliness. But your being, pulsing with joyous adoration of the Supreme Being Whose greatest delight is to be yours, somehow vibrates your affections through the poor little one who leans heavily and always upon you. What wordless Magnificat fills my being!

And in my riot of joy I try to put a bit of it on paper. Please beg forgiveness for this futile attempt. All my actions are thus, condemned to uselessness and worse. But the Holy Church that tells us Jesus was crucified, died and was buried in the same breath triumphantly proclaims that her glorious Spouse rose from the grave to reign forever and ever in His Father's Kingdom. That is hope; that is why I come to you. "No, not I…"

Mother, if I were to chat with you of all that Divine Love has wrought within me since our last visit, where 0 where could I begin? Someone has begun the story with the words, "In the beginning was the Word."

Thank God that at last Mrs. Ryan has been baptized, that she has embraced her Lord nearly every day since Easter. It was a long vigil that she kept, Mother, her longings so intense. And Our Father couldn't put her off any longer. He loved her pleas. Blessed be Divine Kindness that should save this Light for her twilight years. Come, Holy Spirit, burn away every last particle of all that is not Jesus.

Mother, I'm such a tired little one, yet I wish no rest until I pour all this nothingness before you. Please never forget him to whom you've given your little slave. If I should forget now and then, please 0 please do you remember.

ST. MEINRAD'S! What are these thrills that are mine as I remember those heights wherein we live and move and have our being, where the atmosphere is called GOD? Mother, is it that you've given your poor little hobo another "special spot" at last? It's nice to keep going Home and in my heart have an idea of that which "eye hath not seen nor ear heard nor hath it entered the heart of man." Joyous part these memories that will never be taken from us, but will nourish our weakness until there will no longer be memories or anticipation.

It was fun to be a tiny little sister, way in the back of the abbey church, big brothers singing divine praise as I sang a silent Psalm and stooped to be hardly distinguishable among the pews. Surely no little sister was welcomed and loved as I, for those men become gentle and stoop to serve the Christ that reflects from their eyes in my wheels.

Stupid would I be to describe our Holy Week. What know I of Jesus' last days? Nothing except what you've told me, Mother. Please never finish speaking of Him to me through the daily gospel of the Mystical Body.

Holy Thursday evening we'd eaten with Him. 0 when did His infinite Heart open wider as when He sat at table with us, served us, called us "friends?" Love one another, He pleaded, please love one another. We say that we do; we think we do until we hear His criterion. "As I have loved you!" 0 Jesus, divine Master of the impossible, I have no love at all. But I follow to a hill outside Jerusalem and there, the very next day, I see that You have loved us…to death. In a final sacrilegious action, Mother dear, right before your martyred heart I stabbed His Heart. The final drops of His Love fell upon me. 0 thank God that I have no love but His with which to obey His new commandment. But how very hidden it remains. Self covers it. 0 Mother, please, in your gentle love, for I could bear no other way, wash me clean in your tears. And find your joy in Jesus manifest in every fiber of my being.

"Can you not watch one hour with Me?" Mother, the mere thought of this plea sets me weeping. No, I didn't watch. How I longed to, but there in the wee hours of Good Friday morning I found myself, heaped in comfort, an entire night's rest strengthening me. Mother, please watch for me, pray for me, love for me, do all things because I am capable of nothing but hurting Jesus.

Good Friday morning Brother Kevin and I walked to Brother Donald's grave. Such serenity to be there. I'm so glad he got to go home so soon to gaze at your beauty as he says his daily Ave for his poor little sister. And mine, tell him to give it in Jesus' Love that the world may be but one Flame, consumed in Love. How long, 0 Lord, how long? But yes, we simply await His pleasure.

That afternoon the abbey church, wonderful refuge that it usually is, became a cold, dark sepulcher. 0 Mother, to enter with no little white silence to welcome us, nothing, mute, dark. "Jesus our Love is crucified." What numbness, exhaustion, and some sweet calm.

Then came Mary little Saturday. Why did we begin to smile? Only to remember that you were waiting, your heart swimming in the darkness of Faith, that YOU and you alone were the Church that day when all others had fled, then could we justly call it "Good." Thus were there Alleluias in the recesses of my poverty as I prepared to rest that evening. But such joy cannot be hushed, and again and again it awoke me, longing for dawn and all the Light brings.

At last it was 2:00 A.M. I donned my ruffled dress, my sweet little shoes and nylons, white gloves, tiny veil, and all miseries seemed to be flooded in Joy. It was cold outside, yet so little mattered when my being was burning to rise in an infinite alleluia. Our Vigil began at 3:30. About 6:00 we left the alleluia-filled abbey church, day just dawning, and all hope and joy ours, some glorious thought of belonging to Jesus singing somewhere in me for only Him to hear.

Easter evening Brother Patrick took me to Solemn Vespers, and afterwards I got to stay there in sweet communion with Jesus. When everyone had left the church, I scooted closer to the Adoration altar and snuggled there. Very soon I felt a hand upon my shoulder and rose to greet Christ as He kissed me in the person of Fr. Eugene. Mother, forgive me if I begin to compare your Easter joy to my own, but somehow I felt perhaps I knew a particle of your joy when your glorified Jesus happily greeted you. Thank you, thank you infinitely for sending Him to me!

Monday evening five brothers came to share their recreation with their little sister. It was such fun. We banged on the piano, singing, Brother Patrick really pepping up some usually melancholy songs. And there sat your little one, Mother, singing solos. Joy cannot be contained, and even my usual fear of such things was drowned in the splendor of the Resurrection. He's risen; who can refrain from singing?

Tuesday Father let me serve his Mass. So kindly did he keep my pace, permitting me to pronounce each blessed word. How wonderful! Vocal prayer is becoming such a burden for me. I just can't keep up with the crowd but must neglect maybe 1/3 of the words. Often I remain silent, yet what Christian does not long to be one with Jesus and all who are His? Please take the words I can say, those I must neglect, my desire to worship in God's great family that all be one.

After breakfast that morning Father and I visited the biology lab. It was such fun. There was coral to handle, skeletons, stuffed animals, little fish, snails, a monkey, a parrot, plants, 0 so many fascinating objects. Father kept stooping to my level to see things from there, to be sure I could enjoy everything with him. Then we visited the record library, where we sat together enjoying an odd variety of Hootenanny music, organ recital, and Bach, but most of all just being together.

Wednesday afternoon brother Patrick found me a most unique corner for a nap. He stuck me in the napkin closet for an hour, a cozy little corner, another of his ingenious ideas for the comfort of his goofy little sister. After Holy Mass that evening Fr. Eugene removed my jacket and also a few napkins that were yet lodged under my arm. It was such fun.

During supper Br. Patrick said, "Maybe Fr. Lucien will get home tonight." 0 how I'd waited to see him. Apparently indifferent, I asked, "Who's Fr. Lucien?" and in turning my head found him standing behind me. It was so kookie and wonderful.

I saw so very little of Father. That evening he had to be with the boys, the next morning classes. He took me to Holy Mass in the abbey church Thursday evening, then came later to share with me his rock collecting. He's so, so, HIM, and that's wonderful. Just the right kind of person for collecting rocks, somehow. I brought him that beautiful, pulsing heart Myrna gave me some time ago, and he enjoyed it so. Of course! He's always enjoying everything. 0 please offer him this evening to Almighty God, Who must give a fatherly chuckle that His child is so like Him.

Mother, did you notice my shiner? It's getting darker than it was this morning. I fell against the wall as I prepared for bed last night. I fall too often lately, I know. Please teach me to be more careful, and abandoned. Often I take spills because I long to do the things "I used to do," and I try them and fail. I'm yet trying to live up to others' expectations, perhaps my own too. Please help me to love my wheels, my uselessness, God's All-ness.

Fr. Lucien told me to tell you I hit him first. Big, wonderful clown is my brother there at St. Meinrad's. He came for me at 4:15 for Holy Mass this morning. I've slept so little lately, two hours, maybe three each night. I do miss this big easy chair, and thank God this happy hobo can feel a pinch somewhere. "Christ in so great poverty; I in so great wealth. Christ in so great suffering, I in so great comfort. Christ in so great labor; I in so great ease." (Fr. Peter Faber) 0 Mother, it's painfully so. You know, Queen of Martyrs, for you stood beneath the Cross.

Isn't Br. Wolfgang wonderful? I watched him closely during Holy Mass this morning. He was an eloquent sermon on humility. And afterwards he asked Fr. Lucien to give me a prayer card for him. But Father told him to give it to me himself. I'm glad, for even in his approach was humble beauty.

Fr. Lucien fixed our breakfast this morning. We had coffee the old monastic way, in soup bowls. And the eggs he intended to poach for me were kinda scrambled, so he asked Bro. Wolfgang to take over. I saw no more of Father Lucien today. It was nice not to bid him farewell, for he's so present to me always, his wisdom and humor spicing many a day.

Fr. Eugene said his Mass at your altar in the abbey church at seven. Once more was I with him to lift the world to Our Father, to call His Love upon all creatures. He looked 0 so much better and I'm so grateful that he was so before my departure. Thank you, gentle Mother of ours. We sat together in my room looking upon the abbey church and waiting for Daddy. It was a nice, calm farewell. 0 Mother, you've helped me so lately in becoming the little hobo, replacing tears with a glorious freedom and knowledge that soon, so soon, this pilgrimage will be ended and we shall see God together. "That we may merrily meet in Heaven," is my only desire in leaving Fr. Eugene. Never must our hearts part; only what is earthly is separated. Please keep him always with Jesus. May there be no change in him other than those which will make Jesus even more manifest in him.

Isn't our little corner nice? Sister Aquinas worked so hard to get it ready for my return. A pretty linoleum over the floor, freshly painted walls and window sills, and even the phone Ruthie got me. She and Dee came a little while this evening to bring yet more pleasure to the gift.

Sister Aquinas entered a little while ago, and how joyously we embraced. 0 how I love her. Though she'll never know, please let that love, Jesus' own Love, lighten her burden so that she may run to our Beloved in happy freedom.

Now I must rest. Thank you, 0 thank you, beautiful Mothers for All. I am so tired; but two or three hours was all the rest I could get each night. But now I have our big chair again and perhaps a little, just a little, comfort and rest that the strength to accomplish Our Father's Will be mine, no more, no less. Once again Jesus dwells beneath me. So close, so wonderful! Please adore Him, Mother, for us.

Sunday, April 12

Sleep won't come, Mother. But you are here, and Jesus, and restlessness becomes blessed. I love you, and Jesus, and "Sam". I'm weary and filled with joy that in but four hours it will be time to rise and greet the day the Lord has made and rejoice and be glad in it. 0 Night, so dark and long and sweet and silent and God-clad, you are beautiful. I know this pecking disturbs none of my dear family here. Only Jesus, immediately beneath Anita, can hear. Will He be pleased to help me write to you, Our Mother, as We keep watch together? Surely He will.

The fire? It is yet so present to me, and yet I can barely realize its reality; such a part of me yet so far behind that I can hardly glance back and find it, a nightmare filled with beauty, a splendid paradox of Divine Providence. Thoughts of it can but lead to praise.

It was cold, very cold, in this sweet little corner. Norma had just brought me a second cup of coffee, one to "put my toes in," and she toyed with my radiator valve to coax a little heat. So at the first smell of smoke I jubilantly scooted to touch these icy fingers to warmth. There was none. The smell became more potent, and once again I approached the radiator. No heat. Then I feared one of my brothers or sisters had set his bed aflame and went in search of Norma.

Once in the hall, I saw the danger lurking there. Smoke was tumbling everywhere, and vision was impaired. But there came dear Norma, calm gentle, assuring me that though Father's room had been on fire all was under control. So your little one began preparing for bed. But then breathing and sight grew more difficult, so I stayed here on the floor, Fr. Eugene's big white handkerchief over my face so as not to breathe too much of the smoke that was quickly rising from the floor, everywhere.

How long was I there? I can't begin to guess. My heart was so busy. I knew how easily I could have been forgotten way back here in this little corner. And Jesus, immediately beneath me, what of Him? I pressed my face to the floor. No closer could I come to Him, my All. Did He plan to take me to Himself soon? Inquisitive and hopeful was I. But no, I'm not yet worthy of death. I surveyed all the sweet little goodies in this corner. Was there not one to cling to? All was worthless that moment; all but my own ugliness. But my hands needed something tangible. He was enough, that tiny, dirty Infant Jesus I've caressed through hours of nothingness. He's so strong; prayer; consolation, all had been taken from me that day. And there was room in my poor heart for Him, did He become tiny. My big, wonderful Fr. Lucien whispered once more, "God alone sufficeth," and I shook my heart in agreement.

Dear Sr. Aquinas rushed in to put me in the chair and throw my coat over me, a fireman on her heels to take me to safety. When I reached first floor, then the basement, I saw my poor, terrified family. There they were, sitting, lying on the floor, in chairs, glancing grabbing for every assurance, so helpless and confused. Blessed be Our Father Who let me return to share this with them. And yet, I wasn't His silly little girl just then. In my knapsack I gathered their fears for Him Who loves them. 0 that not one cry was directed anywhere but to the throne of God. My dear family was taken to nursing homes and motels and hospitals and private homes. My heart left with each of them, torn until they once more could be safe under Sam's roof. Please thank God that their confusion didn't have to last long, that soon He brought His little sheep back, that tonight I can go down the hall and hear every one of them sleeping in peace.

I would have spent the night here with the Sisters had Dee not come to take me to Ruthie's. We passed St. Joseph Memorial Hospital and met a nurse just leaving. I asked about Fr. Kohne, but she quickly changed the subject and left. He had already seen His Creator. Though my lips remained mute my heart ached with an Alleluia. I love him, you know, Mother. He who lived and died His Mass in a daily martyrdom, he knew of my silent love, I'm sure. And I'm so happy, for it was always beautifully, silently returned. Our last exchange? Just that we were so happy to have some seconds together when I returned from Meinrad. And now, death brings him nearer and dearer, and we shall share so much until I too can go Home and share All with him. Please greet him for me, he who patiently awaits his wee little sister.

The announcement from the pulpit, the paper, the gossip, all tore at me. Father was dead, they whispered among themselves, trying to spare me. They knew I loved him so. Yet all the while I knew, and beneath crushing fatigue I could smile. He's dead, and he's ours. He whose life was helplessness, his death is strength to his poor little sister's heart. I must wait a while to go Home, but knowing this painful waiting is lifted from him is so sweet. It is enough. With the strength of my days with Jesus at St. Meinrad's coursing through me, I can do everything. Jesus lives, alleluia! Let Him take this little crumb into His beautiful, wounded hands and break it and give it to little children because it is His body.

Mother, I wish I could be more like you. Though your heart was heavy, I know you didn't bother Jesus to lift the weight from you. Queen of co-missionaries, I am yet so unlike you, so unworthy to even wish to continue your work. But I give my all to you and beg that you make it a worthy gift.

I called Fr. Keith that morning. Only his voice was consolation; 0 that I were strong enough not to seek such niceties. And Father asked that I come to Elwood for a little while, till poor Sam was back in shape. So Ruthie and Dee drove me to Dotty's.

It's been a hard week, Mother. Please find a note of gratitude in my complaint. Such a spoiled little girl am I. And now, for weeks, for months, Our Father hasn't delighted me with all the little goodies He used to send. Yet the sweetness of this frightful darkness is as no other gift He has sent, and I love it as I could love no other. Its bitterness is untold sweetness.

Father Keith ordered complete rest for the entire week. Company was discouraged. Crawling was my biggest exertion, and even then I was carried most of the time. If only there was silence with Jesus, but even that was taken from me when the TV and radio were on always for my "entertainment." I was fed. I was an ugly little nothing, I know. The spasms that began at St. Meinrad Easter Tuesday are just now calming, and it hurt lots when this morning I overheard a conversation in the kitchen to the effect that my presence, weakness and wiggles were "driving Jim nuts." Accipio.

At last to Holy Mass this morning. 0 Mother, the entire week seemed to rest upon this hope. Holy Mass. All else seemed to have been taken, everything but the consolation that once again I could approach the altar of God and be replenished with His joy. But now I see that I was bargaining with Love. Please beg forgiveness for me. Help me desire only my Beloved's happiness. Otherwise I shall know only misery and shall be unworthy to be called a Christian.

My missionary mounted the pulpit to speak to us of pain and its strength. 0 what pains fill my heart, more dreadful because I cannot name them but remember that "Our hearts are restless till they rest in Thee." Father ended with that wonderful poem I remembered as a Freshie, long before I could realize its beauty. May I sing it for you, Mother? No one could love its message as you.

For a few blessed moments Jesus let me approach to hear His sweet Voice in the Sacrament of Penance, then sent me forth to happily become yet more truly His little nothing.

It's 0 so good to be here at Good Samaritan once again. Though I was told of my family's safety, I love to peek in their rooms and see them sleeping; all God's children, peaceful in His care.

Mail was such fun this evening, a letter from Fr. Lucien on top and one from Fr. Eugene on the bottom. Healthy sandwich! My heart echoes Fr. Eugene's closing words. Please make them a song for him also. "No doubt all our earthly meetings will be short; but what matter? Already heaven seems much closer, at least in desire, since I know I must wait till then to love you perfectly as I really want to." Were I to add more I fear my poor love would mar his. So I go now to rest and rejoice because dawn is fast approaching.

Monday, April 13

All life is filled with sweetness can we but search beneath the surface. And who but this hobo could look in a pair of bobby socks and find joy? For in each pair Jean placed a greeting. I looked for all of them, for it was such fun. And here is the little stack of happiness. I offer it to you, Mother, for it's so lovely and I know it will delight your heart. To please her Mother is a little one's happiness.

Brother Patrick sent some goodies, reminding me that "Someone Does Care." Yes, I know, yet it is refreshing to be reminded. Please tell him so. How kind, gentle, understanding is he with his poor little sister. What has she to return to his heart? You have it all, Mother. Silly as this heap is, I trust you'll find something worthy of him. For you will put it there.

Tuesday, April 14

0 what a beautiful day! "Glory be to the Father Who created it and to the Son Who lived glorified in it and to the Holy Spirit Whose Love let me see it and smile." Jesus' greeting of peace echoed.

As I followed Jesus this evening on His Way to Calvary I passed a stack of League Leaflets from the Apostleship of Prayer and took the one on top, the one placed there just for me. For my April patron is St. Benedict Joseph Labre, a beggar, his health barring him from religious houses, a solitary wandering pilgrim. He surely knew his way home. Please show me the Way; teach me of Jesus.

This evening I called Lou for the first time, and also buzzed a goodnight to our beloved Mary Easterday. It's so nice to raise the receiver and speak with loved ones. But the nicest thing of all is to find myself in your arms at the end of each day. Mother, I love you.

Wednesday, April 15

Good evening, my beautiful Mother. All day I've been here pecking, trying so hard to put a dent in my correspondence pile-up. And now I come to the most delightful time of all, a few words to you, and my mind is blank. I'm sorry. Still, it is a sweet goodnight because you are my Mother and your loveliness soothes my heart and you lay me to rest on the bosom of the Father. 0 that nothing take this from me!

Thursday, April 16

"Nothing here below is anything like the beauty I have seen," your little Bernadette sighed. Here, Mother, I offer you once more my restless heart.

I've been with your dear Mary Lou all day. Beautiful Jean left us about two. We had such fun chattering and giggling together; it was my first stay with Mary Lou for so long. I got to watch her with her family, preparing their meal, darling little mother that she is. Tell Our Father how I love having no home but every one, please. How sweet to watch quick fingers peel potatoes and carrots; to see the girls return from school to share just everything with their mother, so anxious to hear, to remember that each evening you wait here for me that even these joys I may receive in such superabundance. Was our happy laughter a pleasing hymn to Jesus? Please make it so.

0 to be one with Jesus, to have no desires but that which animated His entire being, THE GLORY OF THE FATHER. My heart cannot finish crying His Name. "Our Father," my soul cries out. Dreadful silence is the echo, but I know He hears. That's enough.

Friday, April 17

My sweet Mother, did you love less I would expect you to scold instead of smile at my approach. Your arms are always waiting to enfold me. 0 blessed assurance.

Your silly little one just awoke, and here it is only eleven P.M. I came up early from this evening's visit with Jesus; was just too exhausted for anything but sitting in that comfy chair. Now here I am, nearly five hours later, feeling that the day should be beginning. Yet it is dark and silent and night will not lift for so long a time. And with the dawn, rejoicing. Now I wait in peace, for Jesus is near, so very near, below Anita [her typewriter], but also, miracles of Love, within my poverty He delights to remain. Please come, let us adore Him.

Daddy was to have come for me today to take me for a weekend with Grandma. But I phoned when he hadn't come by four and learned that he'd completely forgotten. It kinda hurt, Mother. He forgets so many things that have no personal interest to him. Please don't let me be so sensitive; I fear I expect too much from Daddy. He is a man alone, and satisfied to remain so. He knows not of others' expectations and disappointments; he never suspects how often he hurts me. Help me never to blame him. You know how sweet he is. He does love me to his capacity. How cruel of me to seek more.

The experience of a father's loving kindness is not taken from me. Each time I think of Fr. Lucien I know this. Here's the letter I received from him today. Before I met that wonderfully kookie monk I felt I could never know God's paternity. And now to remember him is to delve further into the Blessed Trinity, everything directed to its source, the bosom of the Father. He's made the Father live to the heart of this child. 0 what do I not owe him? You'll see to it, won't you, Mother? I'm too little to be truly aware of my debts.

Sunday, April 19

Queen of all hearts, even of mine, please tighten the chains that bind me to you, the sweet bondage in which my little Magnificat finds its freedom and plunges to the destination of all such little songs, at the feet of God. You know the Way; never will I go in search of another mistress. Apart from you, beautiful one, is certain death. Please never tire of me.

I am weary. Everywhere I turn there is some limping soul, weeping for justice, crying out against her who crushes it. I feel crushed. She whom I love very much I watch thrashing my precious sisters. My heart is not torn; it cannot choose to love the one and accuse the other. It is caught in the midst of this violence. It bleeds from the lashes. It's losing its strength, but it must not. Jesus wants yet to live there. He wants to love; 0 if I could but let Him!

A priest mounted our little altar this morning. His step was sure; he stood tall and his hands were steady. Yes, I am lonely, but peacefully so. Please assure our Fr. Kohne I grieve not.

Monday, April 20

Always you're here, and there is nothing in which you're not interested. I know, Mother, for somehow, by some condescension of Infinite Mercy, I hear often the sweet murmurs of your tender, Immaculate Heart. You seem to invite me to share everything with you. Others haven't time to listen to my silliness. No, I can't blame them. They speak of responsibilities and rather frown upon me because they think I know nothing of these. But you await me! 0 Mother, I wish I could be a pretty little girl, one you might be proud of. But most of all I wish to be forever your child and in this is contentment. Will you not teach me those things that please you most? Then shall I remind you of Jesus and find you smiling upon me.

0 Mother, what creature is not blinded at the magnificence of Divine Grace? Please take my groping for adoration and tell Our Father how I wish to love Him.

Dee just phoned. He and Ruth will be here tomorrow evening; my little corner already stands in readiness. Their presence is happiness. Do permit me to return a little something to them from my ugliness. You are my Mother, God my Father, I some kind of millionaire. "Lord, I give." If I know not the acceptability of my gift; know not the joy of fulfilling another's needs, what matter? To the pleasure of Another have you dedicated me; His Joy is mine.

Tuesday, April 21

Your dear Ruth and Dee were here for about an hour this evening. Truly they bring such warmth and laughter to our pretty corner. AND pain. Please never tell Dee what his back rub did for me. It's silly, Mother, but my neck, my head, even my jaws ache. And my ears are popping. I know it sounds like something for a TV comedy. And I do feel like one of those kookie characters. So for my dear missionary this evening I offer: me, victim of kindness, again.

Wednesday, April 22

Did I tell you of the I.U. students I was privileged to meet at St. Meinrad's, Mother? We had such wonderful moments together. Students in English literature, they invited me to join them in listening to some mighty exalted poetry. Somehow all songs seem alike, and even these melted to such simplicity I heard the whisper of a Magnificat. 0 Mother, no one ever sang as you. Yet you must smile upon your little ones who lisp what they have heard.

What could I return for their wisdom? Well, I borrowed some of Fr. Lucien's fairy tales. Little did I realize that the story of St. Jerome had been instrumental in one's conversion. It was George who wrote to me today. He says, "I almost begin to suppose that you may have known that I was burdened and what would lighten the load." I'm so happy, for I know nothing. But Jesus knows. This is His typewriter; never could I rejoice that I happen to send just the right word. If my fingers just happen to hit the right keys and my heart is filled with Love, Jesus lives. 0 how wonderful that He still prefers to be the Least.

Just this evening there was a ninety-minute feature on TV showing us the highlights of the World's Fair. It was so thrilling. Usually God seems so especially close in His forests and deserts and oceans, but tonight as never before He was majestic in man's skyscrapers and fantastic ideas and channeled powers. No world or universe can be compared to the vastness of one soul. I am as narrow-minded as my own selfishness. Lord that I may see, see all, someday see You! Please.

Thursday, April 23

Your beautiful Jean was here this evening to clip your wee "Beatle's" hair, then to share some records with a little one who loves her so; Coke and cookies and chatter and silence and Love. 0 to share Him Who is our All!

Big, wonderful Gus told me today, "The Christian spirit must be renewed by frequent watchings through the night." Yes, Mother, it is late, and it is Thursday night. "Can you not watch one hour?" the lonely Lover pleads. What heartless little sister could even think of fatigue and pain? My desires are so great, but I so small.

Sunday, April 26

Lovely, understanding Mother, you can see that I am so weary as I approach you this evening. The Old Boy tells me to wait till tomorrow for our little visit. But no, your sweet goodnight is too precious. Joyfully I find you here and forget that I am weary in the enthusiastic homecoming of your caress.

Daddy came last Friday to take me for a weekend with dear, ornery, amazing Grams. How I wish he would stay with me a little while on such visits. But Friday evening he went mushroom hunting alone, and yesterday afternoon took him away on some politicking for the rest of the day. Please help me to be understanding, to realize that he is man alone and satisfied to remain so, that he has no capacity for sharing his life with others, that he's never been compelled to and this through Our Father's kindness, for he is incapable of it. Make me cease comparing him to other Daddies, realize that he is just Red Cyr, a man alone, independent of me and others and satisfied in his solitude, disturbed when it is invaded. He is polite, his manner kind. And I am such an ingrate. Of course I long to establish communication with him as I have with others. Of course it is piercing to have him laugh me to scorn when I express my opinions and desires, to have him forget the little things that mean my joy, to be unable to share his enthusiasms and hopes and hurts because they're so removed from my own. O to leave my selfishness behind, to love him infinitely as Jesus, to love HIM and ignore my silly sensitiveness. Please set me on Fire.

Dear Queen of pine twigs and holly and lilacs and tulips and diet candies and sugar cookies and books and things, we love you, that big, wonderful brother of mine at St. Meinrad [Fr. Lucien] and this tiny hobo sister of his. Yes, Mother, you guessed it, another package. It's such fun. In the same gala extravagance with which Our Father put such enjoyable things here for us and my big brother gathered them for me do I lay them at your feet. I know to have kept them in the cellophane would have preserved freshness and odor, but now they lie heaped at your feet and their fragrance fills this little corner. All the glories of the woods are here if one closes her eyes lets her nose be tickled. Hope's green is your robe. You are so beautiful reigning there; you are hope, lifting my heart, making it sing always. 0 Mother, you're really ours!

Smell the flowers? Here they are in this shoe box on my lap. Not so pretty, really bedraggled after their trip, but they stink so nice. No one ever sent me "Root Beer candy drops" for the diet wise; but then no one ever sent me such joyous fun as that great guy you let me call and truly call "Father." Even a batch of luscious cookies from the bakery! Just in case the diet candy works? 0 Mother, it's such fun. "Its contents are of the earth and of man." So often I feel that Littlest Angel has joined the monastery!

Monday, April 27

Today's Fr. Keith's birthday! Yes Mother, I know I've reminded you incessantly of this all day, but you don't seem to tire of the sweet nothings I delight to bring to share with you. Wonderful little Christmas of my heart, this joy, nothing do I wish to keep for myself but to come running to you with all that you may somehow find a worthy gift for him to whom you've given the poverty of my heart.

Mother dear, I can't tell you much tonight. My poor tummy and legs are grumbling for rest, for some means of relief. These cramps seem to be intensified and my periods every three weeks instead of the former five. But I love them, God's own reminders of Womanhood. And if the pain of it should be intensified so the joy. Somehow Woman seems fashioned for pain; it is the birth of all. Christ is born!

Wednesday, April 29

Why the goosebumps? 0 Mother, I can't forget dear Jean enduring 20 lbs of traction for 15 minutes this morning. Twenty? It seems so unbearable. Dr. Jahns put but five, then four, on me. But I'm not so tough as I would like others to believe, as I would like to convince myself. Wish I could be a good pretender, but even here I fail. My silly face betrayed my kinked hip and nun's knee this morning. But Jean? She endures crushing mental and physical loads yet nearly seemed to float into our coffee gathering at Lou's this morning. 0 she's so beautiful, so like you. No wonder to see her is joy. Mother, I love you so! Care for Jean.

Mary and I stopped on the way back to Sam for a cherry milkshake. It's such fun trying to get the crazy cherries through the straw, blowing them out and sucking and dribbling, straw after straw breaking under the pressure. All life is fun and funny and wonderful in the eternal Presence of God. If He stays not with us life is death. But He promised, "I am with you always." I believe. Please, Mother, help my unbelief and let my heart be lost in the adoration you pour before Him.

I love you. "To say MARY is to sanctify oneself," St. Jerome told me today. One thought of you is enough, I'm sure. My Mother!

Thursday, April 30

Wasn't sure which date to use, Mother. It's really Friday, May lst, 2:00 A.M. I love you and joyously welcome this pretty little month entirely dedicated to you. A thought of you is joy; a month of you irrepressible delight. So my little heart will consider but each day, or burst.

Jean, Lou, Mary, Nancy and I joined our beautiful sisters in Elwood this evening. As I entered the church someone tried to steer me clear of the alcoholic at the communion rail. It kinda had an unchristian smell about, so belligerently I stayed where the fella could easily approach me. And he did, as usual. He asked if he was doing okay and with my assurance beamed with delight. Then I showed him all the ladies and asked that he not say his prayers really loud because we all had our own little talks with God. He accepted my suggestion graciously and returned to the communion rail to fulfill his promise to pray for me. For a little while he prayed silently, then Fr, Keith knelt beside him to silence him. 0 but Mother, never has prayer been so sincere, so beautiful as that which came from that poor fella's heart, and it did. Just listening to him was inspiration. Yet to see him on the street would probably be to condemn him. We judge quickly, harshly. To condemn one of these little ones is to be condemned, I know. Only a child could pray as that, and the child pouring forth its heart, crying, midst the "dignified" Christians, must be most pleasing to our merciful Father. I saw Father Keith kneel beside him to calm his anxiety. There they were, two slight figures, from there where I sat they were hardly distinguishable. They knelt together, I there with them wondering on whose shoulders lay the guilt, if guilt there is. For I'd heard him PRAY.

Jesus invited me to Himself. He the Servant stooped low, very low, to wash my soul. And He reminded me to ask for the Gift of Counsel when the Spirit of His Love comes so soon to consume us. If I should forget, please don't you. You know each need and supply it. Thus you leave my heart free to think of Jesus, to love Him, to be filled with Him.

What is a Christian? 0 Mother, after all these wordy discussions I cannot yet find the definition. But there were people, beautiful souls surrounding me there. They ask "What would Jesus do?" and valiantly set forth to accomplish the Father's Will, their only motive His Glory. I've seen The Christian everyday, everywhere. He is suffering and dying and glorious. And I've forgotten to adore in trying to judge whether it is not Christ Who hobos here with me. I am a fool, and your child, and I wish to be a Christian. I know not the Way, but He is yours. Please bring me to Him because I'm yours too.

Friday, May 1

While Communists are parading their weapons, Holy Mother Church whispers to our men on their farms, in factories, everywhere of a "Good Joe" who worked hard and loved every minute of it. Yes, Mother, you know him well, quiet, one finger tied in a rag, a tiny shaving stuck in his beard. How Jesus must have loved to watch him at his work and must have enjoyed being called "the carpenter's Son." The Creator of the world listened intently as Joseph explained how to mend a chair. 0 the humility that would dare explain! But one day those bandages became more numerous and strength failed, and your Joseph must have been pleased to step out of the picture to watch Jesus ably caring for you. Even this daily martyrdom of uselessness must have been bliss. May he who is invoked as the patron of a happy death pray for us each day that we may realize the presence of you and Jesus is sweet and sufficient.

The daily Bread of our hungry hearts was exposed after Holy Mass this morning till noon. 0 Mother, to leave Him only for breakfast and dinner was painful. But my heart need never leave Him, for by some incomprehensible act of Divine Mercy He chooses to make it His abode. With but one hour's sleep last night I feared I should fall asleep before Him Who pleads with me again and again, "Can you not watch one hour with Me?" The pain of waking to hear Him weep is nearly unbearable. He knows; perhaps that's why He spared me this morning. I was exhausted and useless but still there with Him. He is satisfied with little nothings; how then can I hope to bring Him more?

Sunday, May 3

But four years ago today Fr. Eugene was ordained to the Holy Priesthood of Jesus. 0 Mother, how can such a poor little sister sing so? MAGNIFICAT ANIMA MEA DOMINUM! Yes, its song is always the same and never really my own. God forbid that anything be labeled mine, unworthy. I love that gentle monk, so like Jesus. You too, 0 I'm so glad. I am a little nothing and delighted to remain so, flitting about from one of Our Father's creatures to another, in my silliness drawing His attention to each of them and seeing His delight because His glance follows me and sees once more that what He has made is good. For His glory tonight I lift up my heart and let Him behold there a great priest. I know He is well pleased. 0 that Christ become yet greater Reality in the heart of Fr. Eugene. Joyously I ask this miracle of Love, for already I know that Our Father hears my unuttered desires and graciously sets out to accomplish that for which he knows I'll sigh.

Our "Fr. John" is just grand. Though we've never spoken, it seems we know each other well. Together we make our thanksgiving after Holy Mass, and he laughs as this woman driver wiggles her way to the chapel doors leaving a dent on each pew as she goes. Please let him come to the prettiest corner in the world for a little while before he leaves us Wednesday. Today he expressed a desire to do so. How welcomed he'll be, and Jesus.

Monday, May 4

This morning it was fun making Mothers' Day cards, coloring fingers, paper and desk with illegible "love ya's." Wish I could make one worthy of you, Mother. Wish you could take the heart I offer you and find echoing there The Word and be pleased. 0 Mother, please accept my wishes.

Happily do I bring the birthday card and letter I received from Mama today. Please don't forget the anguish of my dear ones. Tiny's goodness seems to be gloriously growing. How I love and respect that man. To know that he is there, gently caring for Mama, so humble, good, is such a consolation. Please be sure that his reward is superabundant.

Tuesday, May 5

Fr. John came to bless our corner with a visit this afternoon. At last he found me in; it was his third try. I'm so glad he was so persistent, for I was so very anxious to be with him a little. He stayed for an hour, then returned this evening just before leaving us. Thank you for loaning him to us for this little while, Mother dear. He's apparently entered and left my life so quickly, yet in Him Who is the Beginning and the End we remain, together.

Wednesday, May 6

What 0 what for my missionary tonight? In shame I come to the conclusion of this day. But here you are. Somehow I can always fling myself jubilantly into the bosom of Our Father, resting in the assurance that you've cared for all my needs, and his. I can't understand, but I don't even wish to. You gave my heart away, knowing full well how weak and ugly it was. But when YOU are the donor, surely any little nothing appears of some value. My Mother, my hope, thank you.

Perhaps I might offer for him this wonderful greeting from Dorothy, or this letter from Br. Xavier saying all is in readiness for us wee Charlies. Or what of a more subtle gift? The heat that has all kinds of things going on under my "halo?" [neck brace] That's not such a nice gift, is it? 0 what? Nothing! Yes, this I give. It makes you smile so slightly, and surely that can be the sunshine that will bless his weary path tomorrow. Now to rest upon this happy thought. We love you, Mother, I and another so like Jesus. I'm so tired tonight. Hardly know what I'm telling you. But that makes no difference. You always understand, whether I come babbling with excitement or heavy with fatigue. Please stay with me. Good night, Mother.

Thursday, May 7

Ascension Thursday

Mother, He's gone. 0 the waiting, the ache of it all. He Who is the Way and Truth and Life. What to do? Emptiness. The gentleness with which you take my hand eases my heart. YOU easing ME. Your loneliness lifting my own to yourself as if you forget the staggering weight with my whimper. Who is there to ease your burden? It is transformed as you remind me of His very own words, "I am with you always." Here are His priests surrounding you; there are the hearts of those who love Him. He is with us! And He has returned to His Father. No more lonely nights to be spent in yearning for Him. No more days in which He is so consumed by the hungry multitude, when loneliness was but pronounced because they knew not what He tried to tell them. They knew not a Love so tremendous as that which He'd come to reveal, heroic selflessness. Now they say that He is gone. But how can I believe them? Your face says something else, and in its purity I read Truth, and joy.

To pour the entire morning at Jesus' feet, 0 how joyous. In the background were whispers of waste and "the poor," but in His Heart a kindness that was invitation and welcome.

Jean called this evening, with "news" for me. Somehow I just knew I was going to Elwood for Mothers' Day. I was such a pickle the other night when we went to spend our blessed hour and discussion with dear ones. Velma said she would have had me home for my birthday had Dot not encouraged all the Charlies to treat me with kid gloves. Please help me to forget my stay at Dot's, her domineering poise, the crushing remark about driving Jim nuts. I don't want to remember; I don't want to be irritated at her treatment of me. I want to be conscious only of my nothingness. What little hobo can define just what she wishes the generous to give? I'm sorry, 0 but it hurts so when people begin questioning my capacities. All at once, for the first time in our Nazareth, I feel like a handicapper. PLEASE let me be one of them again. Yet always Fiat. "You belong to no one so that everyone may call you his little sister." Yes, I remember; this is enough, this is All.

Perhaps I can show those beautiful Charlies that I'm so much stronger than they think, that Jesus' little plaything can be tossed freely once again from child to child, or dropped to lay alone with Him in some corner. What matter? I await His wishes.

To be at Velma's for the weekend, from Saturday morning till Sunday afternoon, 0 Mother, joyous thought. It seems when I get so ornery, when I wish so to grab what Our Father asks me to give to Him, then it is mine. And in my shame I reach to accept and beg forgiveness. All last summer, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter away from my precious Nazareth. But He knows my tremendous weakness, and so this last special day in a year He lets me return to the spot where it seems all special days grow more like those at Home, heavenly. Remorsefully I clasp it to my poor, aching heart. 0 Mother, please help me to find only Jesus, and His Cross, in my embrace. All else is worthless.

Friday, May 8

Will I ever keep watch worthily? My flesh, even my spirit, is woefully weak. When I awoke this morning, there I was kneeling completely dressed, again. And Jesus, waiting, alone. Does He love my wishes? That's all I have, and even they are puny. But here. Please make them lovely, for Jesus. You know what He loves most. 0 and tell Him I love being His silly little nothing. Someday I hope that my wishes will be absorbed in His and The Father will be well pleased.

To kneel on the floor before the tabernacle, then joyously to find Jean kneeling there with me, our hands joined, 0 how blessed. 0 Mother, how I love her! You know. She is so like you. Queen of Martyrs, please help me, like her, to say your FIAT.

Sunday, May 10

[Virginia's Twenty-second birthday]

Good evening, Mother. The night is sweet and still, with fragments of today's festive remembrances strewn about, and the sleepy heads who love you. It is late and I am tired and if ever my Our Father's would be mixed up with my Hail Mary's it would be tonight. But my prayer is not so lovely. I just peck and peck and wonder how my heavy eyes and fumbling fingers can ever tell you what my heart says. A little one takes a pencil into his hands and finds a scrap of paper and delightfully begins scratching. After all, when grown-ups write it just looks like so many nonsensical curlicues. And often they seem more reluctant to explain than the little one. He eagerly reads his 'love ya's,' wondering at the grown-up's lack of comprehension. But Mother, she always knows. HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY! It is a joyous day because Jesus loves you so. Me too.

Helen and Vera came for me yesterday morning, and we had such fun browsing around the shopping center. Did you see the SHIFT Vera got me? It's terribly gaudy and not femininy at all, but of course I'll wear it. I try to accept what others give. They cannot know how cumbersome their presents become at times. But then you are forever offering me to Our Father. If infinite Goodness stoops to be pleased with such misery, 0 then I can take any gift, joyously.

The gang was there last night. What a beautiful bunch! I stayed in Leo's big chair, catering to an ornery back, there to greet each beautiful heart that entered. 0 Mother, what is there to soothe my lonely heart? I watched them gather round the piano. I heard their gala songs and joined them when I was familiar with the words. But my song was mockery; I spilled in music the tears that won't come to my eyes. I remember Jesus' loneliness; there is calm, and waiting, and hope, and joy.

Father came in quite late for but a few minutes. 0 Mother, he looks so bad. I've heard others' concern for him; now my eyes have seen that he is drained. I didn't mention it to him; others give him sufficient reminders. It was enough for me to be there to receive his sweet birthday greeting and his blessing and then a wonderful promise. "While you are sleeping at 6:30 tomorrow morning, Holy Mass will be offered for you in the hospital chapel." But Angie heard. She's so sweet, so conscious of my needs and wants. So she awoke me after three hours' sleep to be physically where my heart is always, with my missionary atop a Hill glorifying the Father.

Velma and I have had such a wonderful time together. Yes, we must lose all to find All. So infinite the riches of Poverty. And Dorothy caught us at our best, or worst, or some superlative. Thank you for sending dear Dorothy our way today. Ooo Mother, did you hear her say she just might be able to go with us on our Kokomo JCF retreat? Please see about it. How we need someone like her. The responsibility of conveying Charlie's message weighs so heavily upon my shoulders. Yet I know "I can do all things in Him," and, "The weak God has chosen to confound the proud." I accept even this, for surely Our Father will be glorified in my stupidity.

Daddy awaited my return to Sam. 0 if only Jesus' thoughts and desires were mine Daddy could not hurt me so. Besides, I'm sure he doesn't know how many wounds he inflicts upon me. He's so unconscious of my feelings. I'm glad. Please help me to be kind to him, always.

Ruthie and Dee just left. We had such a sweet birthday evening. Please let them leave this little corner laden with as many lovely gifts as they bring, yet richer because I know not the joyous feeling of Giving. Now I must fade into the night's oblivion. Please don't forget me, little nothing, though I must forget you and welcome sleep.

One more thing, Mother dear. For your sweet smile I bring the card and gift of my missionary. Happy Mothers' Day; I give him to please you with Jesus. "Woman, behold your son!"

Monday, May 11

That great big Gus [St. Augustine] says, "You raise yourself, and He flees from you; you humble yourself and He comes down to you." Yes, Mother, I've seen Him descend, stoop, trying to become littler than the little ones to serve them. Blessed be Divine Love on this day of Fr. Eugene's birth!

All day I peeked here and there in search of something special to give you for him. And the sweet voice of our telephone rang this evening to invite me to go with Ruthie for an hour before the exposed Victim. How sweet to sit there for him. Please take to him tonight the nothingness his tiny sister is pleased to offer for him, and the Allness I gathered there to fill the ever-expanding chasm called his heart.

0 Mother, thank you, it was a truly lovely evening. After Benediction SR. JEANNE MARIE came to give her little Ginny a ride. 0 we did nothing special, rolled over the parking lot, toured the pretty school. Yet somehow being with her this evening brought a joy, a communication, we've never shared before. Wonder if she noticed. She seemed so free and happy and lovable. Tonight she didn't run from me. She wasn't afraid to claim her little hobo and to know I'm so much hers. Mother, I'm so happy. Please take this joy, for Father's birthday gift. I'm so poor, yet it's truly the offering of a millionairess I bring for him. Love does such things.

Tuesday, May 12

Mother, the terrible picture that has plagued my mind, my heart, all day, will you please accept this which is mine to give? I listened to the tale yesterday and again today. The cruelty of it is difficult to believe. One of my dear old sisters requested help, was refused, fell, and as she lay there screaming of pain in her back, Sister shook her angrily and told her to be quiet. I know Mrs. Simmons won't walk again, somehow. 0 please teach me to forget; teach me to love. Surely Sister knows not what she is doing! Who can show her?

Look, Mother, my "nun's knee" seems to be getting rather boisterous. My leg is so swollen, and crawling was never so "good for me." Perhaps a night's rest will help it. We'll see. Deo gratias for whatever Our Father has in store. I know that He is good. 0 to be pleasing to Him, to become Christ!

Wednesday, May 13

Mother dear, I know it's so late. 0 but never too late to give you my heart.

The little brother to whom you've given my heart called this morning as I was waiting to join Jean, Lou and Mary after Holy Mass. He still feels so bad, yet was so tired of staying in he asked if we might get my chair worked on at the clinic today. He met us at Lou's.

Mother, how grand that our chaplain should at last be with us, and right before our retreat give us so many pointers that we may joyfully remember Christ's words to us in Holy Obedience. Words of solitude and review and listening. With Jesus we've come to do the Father's Will. What do our hearts desire more than its accomplishment? But Mother, we're so little and stupid. Please show us what pleases Him.

We arrived at the clinic about 2:00. Miss Slo was up to her knees in preparations for a TV film on muscular dystrophy, yet she found time to care for a little hobo. Please thank her for us. See the box at my left hip? I think it will be a blessing, and please tell Our Father how grateful I am. It's such an aid in balance and will perhaps straiten my back a little. (Just noticed how I spelled that word. It IS most appropriate in its present state of uncertainty.) She was concerned about the fever in my knee and leg. Doc said it had been badly infected but is over its worst stages now.

Really, Mother, I sympathized with that doctor. Is he that personally concerned with each patient? He just said, "O Ginny, Ginny, Ginny!" when he saw my spasms, that the Soma is no longer effective. So now I must stop all medication till Friday noon, at which time I begin a more potent drug. 0 Mother, will it help? And what of all day tomorrow? Even now my head is throbbing. I'll lay low so as not to disturb anyone and rejoice that there is a little gift for my missionary.

We sang, sang, sang all the way home to keep Father awake. He's so groggy with all the antibiotics at work in his system. Please help him to regain his strength soon. Yes, for this I shall gladly be your dishrag. At last to speak with Jesus, to hear His Voice so clear and soothing. He promises the Spirit of His Love soon, and His strength. 0 truly He can endure all heartbreak in His little nothing.

I've got to scoot now, Mother dear. Please fling me in all confidence and hope into the bosom of the Father to rest. My nothingness will be His delight, His glory, and His smile my eternal bliss.

Thursday, May 14

Hi Mother, it is your little spasm here to delight in being with you, in knowing that she is yours, that you can truly love her in your maternal caress so great it contains a universe and all Heaven itself.

The day has been long, so long Mother. And there are four more hours before another begins for me. I'm trying to keep busy, to forget jerks and pain. Thank you for letting me go with Jean this morning to have coffee with the ladies, then lunch and chat together. 0 Mother, you are so understanding. Thank you.

Such a nice big stack of mail. Did you place Fr. Eugene's letter on top? It is like a song for this day of painful joy. He's waiting for us. And I am waiting to find Christ again in his eyes.

Friday, May 15

Mother dear, Norma just awoke me to get ready for bed. Surely the medication won't prevent my writing tonight's "love ya." Just to find you here, then to fall asleep once more in your arms, is so sweet. You know how long my poor body has needed this rest. Please let it be an act of abandonment in which you place me in the strong arms of Our Father. I love…

Saturday, May 16

Mother, your little dishrag comes once again in a heap of poverty at your feet. I almost wish to ask forgiveness for loving you so much. I'm so ugly. Just use me to wipe off the stains that make souls less pleasing to Our Father. Though I myself am yellowed, being yours will make Him forget my sinfulness.

Jesus and His Father look upon little ones gathered in prayer with their Mother. Because They delight to find your loveliness among us, They hasten to send the Spirit of Their Love to transform us. And you will be happy to look at us and find Jesus with you again. 0 to see you smile!

Wednesday, May 20

Mother, how sweet that you are here. Please hold me close; I need you so. In your arms surely I become less displeasing to Our Father.

"God gave me the voice and the burning lips though not the speech." Please forgive me for even coming this evening to babble to you. But Mother, I need you so. You know this. You always seem to be waiting, happy at my approach. And who am I to trouble my mind with the tremendous mysteries of Love?

We've just returned from that spot next door to heaven. If you feel little pangs of loneliness rippling through my poor heart just see the void left by the piece of it that remains there to love Jesus become so apparent there. And please fill me with His Love. Let no desire to give anything less than This be mine for all the Father has given me. Please.

Everything is so luxuriously green, and the closer we came to our joyous destination the lovelier all became. 0 how could my Magnificat be suppressed? And yet, perhaps it shall be here for Him alone who dwells in utter poverty in my heart, someday. Woman Wrapped in Silence, I gaze in joyous wonder at your Life, at your Jesus.

Brother Xavier gave us rooms opposite the guest house sacristy and chapel. Please don't forget his kindnesses, nor anyone's. Little ones can be so thoughtless.

As the four of us were browsing in the guests' library downstairs, Fr. Eugene entered. 0 who can speak of the little leap my heart took? Never have words, thoughts, love seemed so inadequate. But please let me tell you a little more. Suddenly there was Father Lucien too, and the richest hobo in the whole world sitting at the feet of many, yet but one Christ.

Surely that Fr. Lucien must be the funniest, wisest, greatest little brother you could give me. Thank you, Mother dear. You know I need him so. It's wonderful that you know my every need, that they are so much more pressing right now. Only that you see it is fulfillment.

In the name of three very happy little Charlies I come to talk of speechless gratitude. Because I am so poor and unworthy perhaps you'll find in what I cannot say the thoughts of their innermost hearts. Do try to overlook my inadequacy, please Mother. I'm sure that this is why I have been used in bringing the idea of Jesus Caritas to Kokomo. I am too stupid to bring my own ideas to these children who ask how to love.

How could we have ever wished for the retreat you arranged for us? We could but smile in wonder at the goodies you incessantly showered upon us. And Fr. Eugene, with us hour after hour, with us who had gone but to hear the Spirit of Jesus' Love echo in our hearts, thank you!

Mother, we comprehend so little of the Review of Life that Fr. Keith tried to teach us of. It was the dominating topic at each of our get-togethers. We want to be good little Charlies; please show us how.

You see my stooped shoulders? 0 Mother, all is so heavy this evening. Every little task demanding almost more than I have to give. Every decision frightening. Every idle word that pours from me an humiliation. Thinking itself work, and speaking, and moving. I am so weary. And the new medication simply pronounces this fatigue. To think that I am chosen to reveal the splendors of Jesus' Love to these little ones is too much. I see myself, miserable, and I sob. This ugliness is my truest delight, for in spite of it, because of it, there were three little hearts joyously sharing a couple days together next door to Heaven. 0 how I long to possess and be possessed by Jesus' Love. I give you--desires.

I want to finish. I know you'll wait,

Yesterday was Fr. Lucien's 22nd anniversary in Christ's Holy Priesthood. Jean and I got to attend his 4:15 AM Mass and have the pleasure of breakfast with the kookie, wonderful fella. Then there was Fr. Eugene's Mass at 7:00, and a second breakfast with the bunch.

So many tears flow nowadays. How I try to suppress them, but they insist upon streaming to the sight of others. I'm sorry, and confused and so weary. It's the medication, I know. And I want to accept even these graciously.

Fr. Eugene joined us little Charlies for Compline out under the flagpole. It was so soothing. Then he took me out of the chair to rest a little. But Mother, I just can't give an inch to this medication. If I do, I become helpless. I could muster no strength afterwards, and even now I am before you in such excessive weakness. Yes, gladly I remain so, if only the knowledge that you love me and through me give Jesus to His Father be not taken from me.

So brief the words I got to share with Fr. Eugene this time, yet so sufficient. Like this morning, as he consoled me in this weakness assuring me that my efforts alone were pleasing. Yes, my heart knew these things, yet to hear them from the lips of one so filled with Christ was great consolation. Mother, I MUST keep growing in Christ; show me Christ again and again, please.

Br. Patrick took no pay for all our meals there. Please see to it, Mother. And Br. Xavier asks prayers while I keep the birthday money from Fr. Keith. I know you'll settle all the tremendous debts I fall into each day, so happily I remain falling in Love, with you Mother, and all these.

0 Mother, how to end this senseless pecking? Please take my approaching rest to glorify a God Who can make three days such as these.

Thursday, May 21

Mother dear, perhaps this can be much briefer than last night's chat. All is such effort. I spent four and a half hours on the last letter to you, 0 but so joyously. Just to know you never weary of me.

Mary called this afternoon. Did you hear that childlike happiness singing over the phone? It's so beautiful.

This evening I just finished talking with Jean. To know that she's so close, that she loves me, that she is so like you is joy, joy, joy. Please care for her; she is suffering so. And my heart.

Sunday, May 31

Good evening, lovely queen of all Hearts. Once again it's so late, I know, yet I just can't resist the joy of a visit with you. How I've yearned for the moments, perhaps hours, we spend here together and then those during which you take me to gaze into the Mystery that is your Son and to find the Light not blinding because your sweetness reminds Him how weak are little ones. 0 please remind my lonely heart of Jesus. Surely if it but thinks of Him it will be satisfied. Tell Him I'm sorry for being so forgetful. How filled have these days been, filled with suffering and Glory. Please let me learn how synonymous these are.

Mother, how joyously I bring something of beauty for you. I received Fr. Eugene's letter just before I left, yet not till tonight, till this feast so dear to your little ones, have I been able to truly offer it to you--this letter from Fr. Eugene. How delightful mere mention of him is to you, I can tell; for he is so like your Jesus.

His words, Mother, so consoling, "You know that I am suffering this with you, don't you, Virginia?" Please tell him how certainly I know, and what a consolation it is to find him always with me in the shadow of the Cross. So often we silly children begin to hide our pains, secretly pleased with the daily martyrdoms we feel we offer Jesus. But then there comes one to whom we give our love and with it all else. All walls are shattered all those defenses in which we took such secretly selfish pleasure. Stripped and ugly and shivering from our own coldness, we are warmed by the embrace of one who loves far above and beyond all that we are or are not. Mother, it is sweet. Thank you for sending Jesus thus. It's nice to be "tough" but never do I wish to forget that I am your little one.

Saturday, the 23rd, Jenny and Noella, who were attending a day of conferences at St. Joan of Arc concerning our migrant brothers and sisters, came to Sam during their lunch break and took me with them to hear the remainder of the conferences. When we arrived, Fr. Jim Bates was giving most revealing figures about this tragic state of affairs. How good to be there, but a hobo myself, migrating from one corner to another, not even worthy of the dignified name "worker." May that which my ears and my heart learned that day not be of some little help? Please let my desires serve; only with them do I scale the heights.

When Boyd, Bernadette, Jenny and Noella were ready to return to Elwood, they found that a stowaway had scooched in their midst and kindly welcomed her. Jenny has asked me to go to her home again and again. Strength is slowly returning; I happily discover this. Often I wish to grasp it, hang on to it, do nothing to let it escape me. 0 selfish little one. Such comfort while those around me are dying. Nothing is mine anymore, for the hungry cry of one was heard and the entire multitude seemed to know it.

That evening Jenny and I walked to town to visit Myrna and her tiny John Patrick. It seems Our Father made mornings and evenings for walking, doesn't it? I see your sandals moving steadily, slowly, toward the well. You loved His special times of day, didn't you, Mother? And when your errands were accomplished and you'd returned home, you found your Son there and yet more joy. 0 who could say when was your favorite time of day, who mothered God?

Glory be to the Father Who lovingly created my missionary in the image of Jesus Christ, to the Son Who lives and loves so obviously within him and to the Holy Spirit Who enflames his heart with Jesus' own Love. On the feast of the Most Blessed Trinity, inexhaustible Mystery of Love, we remained together to adore. That dear, bewildered, funny, wonderful missionary you've given me! Did you see his bewilderment as he remembered he was to have been three places at once? It's so natural for him. He's all yours, Mother, this funny, wonderful little boy.

I am growing quite weary now, 0 but these precious moments with you, I can't let them escape, not tonight. Please let me stay a little longer.

We were invited to a dinner with the Bishop and all the others at some grand hotel, but how blessed that instead I scooched on the kitchen floor of the Nazareth from which my missionary came, and was but a little hobo eating in a corner on the dining room floor. 0 to sit in a little corner and watch, and listen, and be his least sister, tossing impossible peas on the rug.

Monday morning I was actually present at his 6:30 Mass in the hospital chapel. Thank you again, and again, and again. My heart won't stop. Then after breakfast, another Holy Mass to attend at the church as my missionary became once again Jesus' wonderful instrument in the confessional. And after that Holy Mass, alone there. That corner on the floor, so near your feet, was so cozy. Perhaps someday there will be time to stay there for hours. A corner near enough to you that I can hear Jesus' Name in your Immaculate Heart; that's Happiness, that's Heaven.

And then that blessed Wednesday. 0 Mother, why does my gratitude sound in such depths and why are my words so many and meaningless? I'm sorry for trying to pretend they say what I mean. What other trip to a clinic could be as blessed as ours? It seems the way there is filled with lovers' chatter, and our return in but love's listening for deeper speech.

That doctor, I can't forget him. His kindness, his personal concern, his respect for me as a person. I've never received this at the clinic before. It is so good to have found it at last.

And Miss Slo, please don't forget her kindnesses. Especially tell her how joyfully the quilts she sends my brothers and sisters here at Sam are received. Their brilliant colors bring brightness to many a dark moment in these twilight years. To see tired eyes twinkle is to see more than the stars.

When we left the clinic, my little brother and I visited the Zoo. It was such fun. Monkeys, a baby elephant, huge turtles, farm animals, all seem so fascinating. And we even took a free ride on the kiddies' train!

0 but the loveliest moments of all were those after we'd found a big old tree under which to sit in silence, Father reading his Breviary, I peeping over his shoulder; one prayer, one heart for you to offer for Our Father's glory. Father read aloud a little to me from J.B. Phillip's New Testament. He so loves that translation.

Our return was such fun; upturned milkshake once again. This one banana-orange! Real cool.

Yesterday morning Angie awoke me early so that I might have some time with Jesus. She's such a considerate little angel; please tell Our Father how grateful I am for her.

Last night Jenny came rather late to visit, and after listening to her, receiving her burden, my medication was exhausted and muscle spasms my sweet friends. How welcomed they were. This medication has drained me so I wish to sleep all the time. And at last sleep wouldn't come and I was alone, in the night, with my Beloved. He seemed to have so much He wished to be understood.

0 Mother, so quickly does the night fly. It is so precious. At last with God alone, through you, blessed privilege. Queen, but mostly Mother of little ones, you are so lovely. And this reminder of you thrills me to singing, to humming the lullaby you must be singing to your Infant, dear Rockingchair Madonna. Yes, at last this blessed image is before me. The birthday present for which I begged Daddy and over which I was laughed to scorn, was given to me by one who can see my wants and needs. Somehow I'm sorry Daddy didn't buy it. It seems he asks gift ideas from me only for the pleasure he receives in denying them to me and watching my disappointment grow to irritation because he laughs at me. We can't afford expensive things--except his clothes and hotel rooms and steaks and Jim's college expenses. I'm sorry, Mother; I don't mean to say these things. But then you always listen, and yet love me through some Mystery I must not try to comprehend. Thank you. Please teach me not to expect too much from Daddy. I'm sorry. I keep forgetting that he is a man alone, and I'm forever overestimating my importance to him. I must rest my poor heart. It needs nothing, because it contains its Creator. Let me not be so forgetful, please. And tell my missionary--no you mustn't tell him--how often I remember him. Even my incessant prayer for him must be as yours, wrapped in silence. 0 but you're so beautiful! Please teach me a lullaby that made Him smile.

Monday, June 1

"I come to do Thy Will." Please take my little bulletin board, all the silly nothings thereon, all the wonderful ones they represent, and tell Our Father that somehow His little child wishes this could please Him.

Beautiful Jean came for a blessed visit tonight. Thank you for sending her; you know I need her so. She is so like you. 0 to joyously look into her eyes, or to rest a weary head upon her lap and feel her loving hand smoothing my hair. To be so ugly and yet so loved, and to be so poor and yet to want to give her All. I give--her to you, you to her--and because I see that both of you are happy, I too.

Thursday, June 4

Hello Mother. I know it's late, nearly time to get up, but to sneak a note to you is such fun. My heart will then rest in the knowledge that you take its every pulse for a Priestly priest.

Yes, I was going to spend some time in Elwood, and spent all day doing last minute typing, packing, etc. But Jesus said I should return to Sam instead. Please thank Him for me; He is kind. Though I would gladly have shouldered the burden of Jenny's family had Jesus wished, yet I seem so terribly incapable of bearing even my own precious burden worthily right now. Jesus understands; He bears all will I but let Him. Please help me not to deny this desire of Him Who first loves me.

More days and nights so close to our Eucharistic Savior, 0 how joyous to realize. Please teach me to realize His Presence, always, everywhere. Please give me your Immaculate Heart with which to adore Him.

Friday, June 5

As if to ease the ache in our hearts at being deprived of Holy Mass this morning, Jesus remained exposed before us for two hours. His lonely Heart aches for our love. 0 Mother, to sit there in all my poverty and ugliness before him is nearly martyrdom! Reparation, Adoration, how to offer what is not mine to give? My heart is but Desire, and Peace.

Saturday, June 6

Daddy and Jim were here this afternoon. That baby brother of mine is quite the guy now. 0 it was joyous to see him again. He can't know it though. Are there no more ties between us? It seems not; I keep trying to grab onto something to tell me I still have an earthly family. But deep down I know I haven't. All is lost in the great ocean of universal love and the even greater immensity of an infinite God. And all is found here too. What words does one use for strangers whose relations should be intimate? Never those which spring from my heart, just some superficial chatter of irrelevant things. 0 the forcing of that chatter! You know, Mother, who went often to the well at Nazareth with those who knew but that you had a little boy.

Daddy fiddled with Fr. Keith's tape recorder, then agreed to take me to the shopping center. We picked up some Father's Day cards and had fun browsing among the kookie little gifts I might give to loved ones at St. Meinrad's, etc., while Jimmy endured our foolishness with little patience waiting for us in the car.

What will become of him, Mother dear? He seems to be doing fine, 0 but please never leave him to live the wonderful business called Life alone. He doesn't know how much he needs you, everyone. Don't await an invitation to care for him. This is it, Mother. I confidently, happily, place him in your care.

Sunday, June 7

Mother dear, I come to remind you of my beautiful sister Hilda. What request do I wish to make for her? I don't know. I come with no request, only to remind you that your little ones love you and look to you to fulfill needs of which not even we are conscious.

Blessed be God in this day He made for His little ones! It was so nice. Most of the time I spent listening to that tape Anne-Marie recorded for me a couple years ago. It's completely dedicated to Childlike Simplicity and filled with reminders of little Jesus, His little flower, all the mysteries concerned in the Plan of a Father Who likes kids. 0 Mother, how I treasure its message! I want to hear it again and again to begin to comprehend it. There is no other Way. The "wise" speak of maturity and independence. Please don't let them know the disaster of growing too big to be tossed into the Happiness of Our Father's bosom.

"Hole"y clothes and diminished food and the cries around me and the whispers and cruelty and loneliness that creep from the hearts of those under this roof to my own, where were they this afternoon? Jesus stood atop a mountain where we children had followed and began to speak. Somehow there was nothing left in this world but His veiled Countenance and the promise that death will split the veil in two.

Monday, June 8

Almost laughingly do I announce the wonderful news that each morning this week we're to have a High Mass at 7:15 A.M. This morning's was the first High Mass since I came to Sam. It was so squeaky and wonderful.

That Old Boy is pestering me again. Please Mother, smash him or something. I shan't give him this Peace I've at last found in serving as Our Father wishes. He keeps speaking of money and independence and responsibility, and he's tripped himself on the last issue. Heavy, so heavy is this responsibility. Having a missionary, trying to be a good little hobo belonging to no one but all; giving but never knowing the Gift, receiving always and receiving whatever one wishes to give me--in the love of your Baby I accept this vocation and promise to cling to it lovingly because it is His.

Tuesday, June 9

Blessed be God on this the 63rd anniversary of our little brother Charlie's ordination to Jesus' Holy Priesthood!

Jean phoned this morning. It is so painful to my heart to know that she wasn't even able to WALK today. 0 Mother whose eternal Fiat rang clear upon Calvary's summit, please teach me to watch those I love suffer, AND WILL IT SO because it pleases our good Father.

And tell your sweet Son how sorry I am for these irritations that eat at my heart and find their way to this waggling tongue. When Jean asked how we enjoyed our breakfast yesterday I began to boil, for she told me how many rolls were sent to us from St. Joan of Arc Church. Our people got a half roll apiece until there wasn't even any left for that, and Mary had to make toast. 0 forgive me for wanting to peek at the Sisters' table. Let me end this judging. But why must my people suffer this daily theft? They are defenseless; I too. Please wrap this pain in silence!

Another blessed surprise to bring yet more depths to tonight's Magnificat! Here is a letter from our dear Padre Benito. Mrs. DePue sent me his address, suggesting that I write to him. 0 but never did I expect reply and even told him so. The greatness of his heart ignored that part, knowing what joy word from him would bring to me.

Listen, Mother, "My heart, my life is now here with my new brothers and sisters. I'm learning their Indian tongue. It's called Quetchua--It's pure poetry. One says for instance to a dear friend, 'I love you as I love the good taste of a finely cooked guinea pig'." Please thank him for his funny, wonderful self. Didn't that one sound lots like something Fr. Lucien would write? Protect my dear little Benito, and bring him the poverty known as my love tonight.

Wednesday, June 10

The coffee club gathered in Mary Cooprider's back yard this morning. It was lovely, the breeze playfully cool. But there was no Jean to lean on and a mighty poor substitute was the little post I scootched to. How I miss her!

This afternoon I phoned her home. Julie reported that she was "crawling around," but Jean called me later to tell me that was yesterday. She's limping today! New medication might have caused the complications in her leg. 0 how I hope they've found the cause. I do feel so relieved knowing she's better after halting the medication. Please help us, Mother dear. Make her ever more like Jesus, and let my soul become transformed in your Fiat.

It's scooting time, Mother. I'm very tired somehow. The ache of fatigue is kissing my body, consecrating it to throw it into Our Father's arms soon. But first I promised Mary I'd not miss "The Hillbillies." I'm sure that the show can bring me not as much happiness as watching Mary speak of it. She is so very beautiful, your child Mary.

Thursday, June 11

0 Mother, this fatigue won't possess me again, will it? I've kept going, pretending, wondering how much longer I can do so. Please make my missionary strong to shout the Gospel. This is enough.

I just spoke with your beautiful Jean on the phone. 0 thank God she feels so much better! We spoke a long time. Somehow I kept mumbling on, so reluctant to hang up. I took so very much of her time; she gives it so graciously. Please help me to be more considerate. Let not my burdens make me heavier to loved ones.

Tonight I am so happy to be here, to stay alone with Jesus, to keep watch because He is in agony and lonely and most of the time I sleep. The flesh is so weak. But loneliness, desolation is consumed in the joy of accomplishing the Father's Will. "Lord, I give…" whatever is mine to give. Tonight I won't make apologies for my gift. It is ugly; I am ugly. But I abandon myself into my Mother's loving embraces where I forget my shameful identity. You forget too, for here you are hushing the whimper of your Child. Your voice is sweet.

Friday, June 12

Here tonight for Our Father's glory I offer the letter I received today from our beautiful Mary Joan. 0 Mother, it is good to have such dear ones, to be their wee hobo and hide in their loveliness that one boundless ocean, Jesus' Love, flow endlessly.

Again I come to beg for poor Sr. Aquinas, and myself in her regard. 0 Mother, I need much help to banish the cruel memories and thoughts the mere mention of her name evokes. It must not be this way. And yet perhaps Jesus will not be too hurt, for at the same time wells in me an ocean of pity. So powerless, but it is here. Please send the Spirit of Christ to channel it to refresh her and bring a smile to other regions than her lips, and at all times.

Saturday, June 13

This afternoon my radio began smoking, and the fan Mary Cooprider brought me so kindly yesterday morning stopped. What with the lamp the wind blew on the floor last Wednesday plus the recorder that stopped recording for me night before last, it's getting funny, or something. 0 Mother, it's so good. Tell Jesus to take all from me so that gleefully He can run with all His Littleness and Infinity into my heart. He is Everything; everything without Him despair.

Am I to sit at table and hear abuses heaped upon my dear old brothers and sisters? I can't, Mother. So gently I try to bring Truth to our table. But it is scorned, Jesus hurt and my heart with Him. Norma isn't speaking; she ignores little things I ask for and looks for secret ways to hurt me. No matter. I love these little ones. I love her too. How can I tell her? How can I help her to see that they are so dear? If I must condone cruelty to be respected by her and Sr. Aquinas, I never wish to be respected by them again. It matters not at all. But Jesus' little ones, they must be cared for, if only in the poverty of my heart.

Sunday, June 14

Please ask Our Father to forgive me. I truly didn't intend those harsh words to Norma, you know Mother. But they sounded terrible; surely they must have hurt. A little sister of Jesus bringing such as this to her surroundings? 0 Mother, I don't want to breed disquiet, to bring quite the opposite of that which Little Sisters bring to the multitudes into which they lovingly plunge themselves. They too know excessive heat. They too watch those whom they love mistreated, but so silently, helplessly, remembering how very little they are and how inscrutable the mercy of Our Father, offering Jesus Crucified incessantly and knowing somehow God is glorified. They don't go in search of injustices, pharisaically striking their breasts in surprise. Injustices come, upon their neighbors and upon them, and with all the pain the lifting of them involves they fling them into the arms of their Father and leave them there. They are His. This is FIAT. Please help me to make it mine.

Vie just called a little while ago. 0 Mother, it seems you bring delights when my ugliness becomes most unbearable, as if to magnify it, no, not it, but THE LORD. Thank you for the new organ that will glorify God in the beautiful church Msgr. Cyr will dedicate to you not long from now. I was asked to get the organ; somehow it's nice to have a part in this project, even though I had to come to you to obtain the gift. Typical of little ones, isn't it, Mother? What is $40,000 for a child with God her Father and you her Mother? And what is an organ when one lets the Holy Spirit pluck her heartstrings?

Monday, June 15

Early this evening I fell asleep, so here I am anxious for day to break and it's only eleven. I just finished talking to Jean. 0 Mother, it is sweet to have a phone and a Kokomo mama so near and dear to my heart. Only to hear her voice is consolation.

For your sweet smile I bring today's postcard from that big, wonderful Fr. Lucien. It looks so sweet, that quaint little shrine dedicated to the consolations you shower upon your little ones. Please smile upon the great priest whose fatherly understanding has stirred a Magnificat in the poverty of my child's heart.

Tuesday, June 16

What a wonderful surprise to find that we were to have the Holy Sacrifice upon our altar this morning! Blessed be Divine Love in all its prodigality to little ones.

Vivian phoned just before we little sisters went to chapel for our hour with Jesus. It was such an opportune time for her request for prayers for a young girl. Please take Vivian's plea, and the poverty of my own, to the throne of God. With you, I shall never be hesitant or fearful of the Almighty One but running, fling myself into His arms, upon His Heart, to ask all things necessary for His little children. Please, Queen of my heart, save this soul!

Our gathering today was so wonderful. We asked Jesus to speak to us on Prayer, first in an hour with Him together in Sam's little chapel, then over a Coke at the Dairy Queen. And for the first time we shared written facts during our adoration. They are so beautiful in their simplicity and love.

It's a fact that: Jean keeps growing in Christian Love; that Mary is learning how to make a burden an offering of Love; that Little Virginia of Jesus begs for the grace of your Fiat beneath the Cross "That she could bear His cross that was not hers." But joyously I bring to you Lou's little paper, because it seems it will please you and Jesus so. "I have been loved many ways and for many things that I am not…Only Jean, Mary and Virginia have loved me for what I truly am." Glory be to Love!

My little sisters Lou and Jean shared so very much today. How sweet to be present at this sharing. And when it came time to go home, I asked Jean what was on the menu for supper. Hamburgers and even roasted marshmallows. It would take a mighty silly hobo to turn that down, plus an evening with Jean. A blessed one. Jesus must like for us to be together sharing all the beauties His Presence within us brings, for when we returned to Sam at nine we found the doorbell broken and just HAD to go for a Coke and then wait till time for the girls to go on duty at eleven. Tell her once more, before she goes to sleep, We love her so.

Wednesday, June 17

Please take all that is mine to give, and ever more, Mother. I am very tired. Will you please help me prepare for the night? I feel so incapable; my head keeps falling upon my typewriter. Don't forget to give my poor gratitude to Our Father for making me so helpless today, and YOURS.

Thursday, June 18

Thank you, Mother dear, for getting me ready for bed last night, and for giving me such a long rest. It must have been nearly eight hours! You are kind. And I awoke to a strange dream. It seemed that little though my room was I had to have a roommate. It meant getting rid of almost everything. I grew panicky. "What about my letters, my prayer life, me?" But then the new bed, so white and waiting, caught my eye, CHRIST was moving in with me in another of His guises. However He chooses to come, I long to love Him with all that I am. Please thank Him for this sweet dream.

Tomorrow evening I shall whisper my little goodnight from the retreat house in Indianapolis. To meet Jesus, in the Gospels, in the Eucharist, in those who will surround me at His feet, with Jean. It will also provide me my first moments with Charlotte. I, running to Him Alone to the summit of Calvary to find that the world lies there too at His feet; I, a little sister swimming to Him with the multitudes, in the loneliness of the multitudes, to wait for death and Life, His Love beating and surging through every fiber of my being. Or perhaps to go to the dry, stark realities of the desert. It matters little; only please show me Jesus.

Sunday, June 21

Hello, Mother dear. Thank you for a big, wonderful, HILARIOUS weekend. Please take it this evening as an offering from my poverty to our Father on Fathers' Day. Usually we're told to offer to Him our pains, anguish, ugly selves. But it is sweet this evening to place in your queenly hands a whole weekend of laughter, of thorough enjoyment, of pure delight in the Divine Humor, in the beautiful thing called Truth, called Christ. This, Mother, this which He has first given to me, this and nothing less do I offer through you to be laid upon the bosom of Our Father by you and to find Him well pleased. Praised be Jesus Christ Who teaches us to say in complete confidence, "Our Father!"

We just returned from Fatima Retreat House in Indianapolis a little bit ago. Jean and I rode down with Charlotte. Only to remember that we were there makes me want to laugh aloud, but my sides beg that more ache be not drained from them. It was grand, and Fr. Charles Lees, what to say of him? How often must he broaden your smile as you hear him and remember that he too is your child.

Mother, you know what good intentions I had of following all the regulations there, especially that of silence. But you didn't tell me I'd be Jean's roommate! During our very first conference Father said "I hope you don't enjoy this retreat." 0 but Mother, we did, thoroughly. Mother, there he stood before us, completely aware of its consequences, stating the bare reality of Truth. Why did we laugh so? He was such a child, so tactless, so open, blunt, beautiful. And Jean shared this pleasure with me so thoroughly. We seemed to listen to each other's heart and delight to learn that we were singing together. It was wonderful, and though we broke silence incessantly I can't feel Our Father was displeased that we looked upon His creatures and found them good and delighted in them together. Strange that Truth should shame some, disgust others. That Truth should also please two little sisters so. We love Jesus, Him Who called Himself the Truth. We loved Him so during this retreat. No Mother, we can't apologize for our joy; rather we apologize for the alarm of those who were disgusted with us, for the grown-ups who forgot that Heaven is for KIDS. They didn't know; please don't tell Jesus they frowned upon our giggles.

Jean, my beautiful Jean, blessed be the God who lets angels tread His good earth, right beside hobos.

And there were lessons. Never is there a moment in which we may not learn more of a God named Divine Love. The first night was so blessed, and so dark. Sleepless and happy to remain so, I sat there in His Presence, in the terrible silence of God. 0 how can my heart be so far from Him Who lives within it, in Whom it has its being? Let me be not foolish enough to wish to understand. I keep begging to have nothing but Him for my joy. Stripping is painful, and nakedness ugly, 0 but this is easily forgotten, self annihilated before the brilliant countenance of God's eternal Thought, of Christ.

0 to never take a gift from Our Father for granted. It's so easy, little ones forgetful. But then one of these precious gifts is hidden for a little bit. We cry, almost demanding what is OURS. As if we can claim any privilege truly ours! I'm sorry for forgetting; yet I am grateful, for even here He shows me how little I am, how dependent upon my Mother for everything. My great delight will be to remain so, to become more so.

Who was that angel in the dining room, the one who stole my heart first time we entered? We'll probably not meet again till we're all gathered at Home. But I shan't forget such gentleness. Please don't you forget either.

It was sweet to have such a piercing headache today, to feel it piercing through the entire left side of my head, and to remember it was Fathers' Day. It was sweet to feel the disgust of the dignified at the childish reactions I just could not hide in my joy. 0 but the tremendous deed in which almighty God, knowing that we love Him, that love is a tremendous desire to give, received from us, His holy priesthood, the Sacrifice of His Beloved Son Jesus Christ, the perfect Gift, that Gift in which alone He is well pleased. For this we beg you to make us little and reverent before His throne. For in a child's audacity we rush there with you to lisp our Fathers' Day joy that He is ours.

Monday, June 22

This evening I buzzed Lou. Thank God for such a precious little sister! We chattered on and on about our retreat, about the wonderful bond that seemed to envelop us little Charlies, even there among so many others. How can we offer pleasing gratitude to Our Father for this treasure He permits us to share? Please nourish us always on Jesus' Love that It fill the infinite chasm of our human hearts. Let others marvel, "See how they love one another!" Jesus must become in us a visible Reality; we must shout the Gospel with our whole lives. It will not always fall upon enthusiastic hearts, but the little handmaidens can never wish to be more profitable than their Master. They will be misunderstood and mocked and scolded and ignored and forgotten, but that's all right. We'll but remember your unfailing love, Mother dear, and be satisfied.

Wednesday, June 24

This morning there was a phone call that might have alarmed me were I not Jesus' plaything, here simply for His delight. Sometimes toys can be found in very strange places. Like this one to be featured in the newspaper again. I try to delight my Little King, to play whatever game He wishes, so I assented to the interview. What 0 what could there be here for a reporter? "I will tell you what to say ... Don't worry beforehand." 0 the peace of Christ's friendship! When the lovely young lady came, together with a photographer, here I sat in my big, comfy chair, and immediately beneath us the Prisoner of Divine Love. What did He want to tell some soul through this article; let that little one read and understand. Any Little Sister would have shied away from this publicity, except that all seemed to flow so peacefully, and in my heart but one thought. "He must increase." I know He will, and I am happy. I remain His little nothing.

Thursday, June 25

My poor Mother, how can I soothe the wounds of your Immaculate Heart? I just finished watching an hour-long program on the racial issues in Mississippi. It hurts, because I am so little and Jesus' Love so hidden in me. It's so tragic, unnecessary, brutal. Hatred breeds. And violence and death. 0 it can't be! The Word was made flesh! But it is. Why? One Man died for all; but we forget and continue to kill. Not to love is to kill. 0 God, mercy on us who realize not our crime, who know not what we are doing. Mother dear, you stood beneath your Jesus' Cross and heard Him defend us in our ignorance. Your heart is the echo of His, "Father, forgive them." Mother of God, our Mother, pray for us now, for we don't even know that death is this very moment courting our hearts.

I'm sorry. 0 what can I say? I stammer to watch you weep among your feuding children. It's almost cruel to ask you to stay among us, but you are the Lady of our Hope and you are strong, your presence our security. Please tell us again of the prayer Jesus taught us to say when He began, "Our Father."

Friday, June 26

Sweet Mother, did you notice anything different at our dinner table yesterday and again today? I know that you're pleased, for the aides turn to the least among them to call Our Father's blessing upon our gifts. Truly a little sister's poverty alone makes her capable of giving All and asking for anything in the name of Jesus and His little ones.

Tomorrow my missionary will sit for hours in the Confessional. Thus this little corner, whose thermometer still reads 88 at 9:30 PM, becomes blissful with memories of him, and the knowledge that to bear one another's burdens is to fulfill Jesus' commandment. Please roast me well in Love's furnace, that a priest may feed his sheep.

Our visiting angels came upstairs tonight to give my brothers and sisters a songfest and homemade oatmeal cookies. 0 those twilight twinkles! It's so good to have younger Sisters with us; changes the entire atmosphere at Sam. Please don't forget our Sisters at Tipton. Fill them with Jesus' Love that Sam be always radiant with joy.

Saturday, June 27

0 Mother, I'm so glad you're here, always. Why this loneliness, forgetfulness? I've turned to the phone so many times today, but resisted. It's such a temptation. I cling so, yet all besides Jesus is terrible disappointment. I know. How I've awaited these precious moments with you this evening. You whisper of Jesus; there is nothing more, or less, to bring me comfort. Thank you.

The evening is rather early. Perhaps I'll read a little, then kneel at your feet to watch you adore your Little One and rejoice that in my poverty I have no heart but yours with which to love Him. Please don't forget that this nagging ache in my legs is for a little brother whose Love brings good news of great joy to all.

Sunday, June 28

"I have compassion on the multitudes." Please let it be none other than Jesus' heartache for them.

Thank you, Mother dear, for seeing that dear ones brought their little sister a fan this evening. Thank you also for the continued ache in my legs. Who am I to say which gift is more pleasing? I am entirely yours so that a priest become daily transformed into Christ. To be pleasing is all a little servant girl wishes.

Monday, June 29

This morning, as he offered Jesus' eternal Sacrifice in Muncie, Fr. Jim had Vie call his little sister. In grief from his mother's death last Saturday, he still thought of my poverty, my love, and knew that I would wish to share this loss with him. 0 Mother, only you can know what Father has suffered, especially as regards his family. Please go to him, wrap him forever in your loving care. Here we remain together, in Love in your arms.

Norma is gone from Sam. 0 Mother, my heart knows such relief. She won't pinch my brothers and sisters anymore, nor throw their poor bodies around, nor tear their clothing from them, nor curse them nor use them to spite the other girls. Sister will be angry, we know. No more will they find their delight together in cruelty. Perhaps Sister will vent her resentment on the other girls. They are prepared for it; they know they've dismissed her pet. Thank God! Please don't forget Norma; bring relief to her with Love's sweetness. In the name of all little ones I beg for Peace.

Octavia is to work the three-to-eleven shift now. She's such a angel, kind to my people, not afraid to work, such fun. We just had a hamburger and Coke together. Somehow just knowing she's here, so patient, sweet, invites rest to my heart.

Wednesday, July 1

Mother dear, your hands, your robes, your face are crimson soiled. If you but press me to yourself I too shall be stained in Jesus' Precious Blood. The world will scorn a dirty little one, but Our Father will smile and our faces will be radiant with joy.

Blessed be Jesus' Love that brought us little sisters together once again today! Jean and Lou met me in our chapel for a sweet hour together with Jesus; then we were to go to Mary's. I rode with Lou, and we had such FUN getting lost. Jean and Mary were waiting, to laugh at us when we finally arrived. It's fun to be so completely dependent upon our loving Father!

Awaiting my return was a letter from your wee go-getter Ruthie Arreche. And quite the surprise. She tells me at last that she plans to have ME in her pilgrimage to your shrine in Canada come September. 0 Mother, please tell her of my loving gratitude. It has cost her much to make these wonderful plans for me.

Somehow pilgrimages hold no precedence in my desires. The Blessed Trinity has taken Its abode within my very ugliness. What shrine can lay a bolder claim? Yet simply BEING with poor little ones who give to their beautiful Mother their very helplessness will be my joyous privilege. My little wheels will be lost among so many; at last I shall hide, sore thumb that I usually appear. 0 I can hardly wait to hide among those so in love with you, to be lost in their suffering and joy, to know it is enough that I am yours and you remember me.

Thursday, July 2

Please, Mother, loan your little slave your Immaculate Heart with which to magnify our God because He has looked with kindness upon my misery. Teach me to adore, and at the same time to "go with haste" to little ones waiting for His Presence to send a tremor of joy through their hearts.

Yesterday I learned that Jean has been attending our 6:45 AM Mass all week. So this morning my glance went askance at the Communion table to find my eyes glimpsing the black and white plaids of her dress. Jesus, our Joy, our Love, our very Life; never can we live independently of one another. Here resting upon the heart of our Mother we embrace the world.

We've just returned from Elwood, all your tiny little sisters. Thank you for letting us be together once again. It IS later Mother, and I MUST go now to rest. The night has been long and dry and hot and painful. I'm very sorry; yet just being there united with loved ones was enough. I want nothing more; Jesus was in our midst. Tell Him I gladly watch His sweet consolations flee; 0 but never let me let Him go.

It was late when Father entered; our meeting was well under way. How anxiously I looked to find him aglow after his trip. He is so thin and tired; my poor heart, that glances in eager anticipation and finds him so. FIAT; Our Father's glory is our one desire. Please have mercy on the poverty you give to another. Let me hide here with you forever. 0 Mother, to find you always here!

Sunday, July 5

Yes, Mother, I am weary, but that's so irrelevant here in your embrace. All is refreshing.

Just a little while ago Daddy brought me back to Sam from a weekend at Grams'. I slept lots, to escape the throbbing in my head. I do miss my comfy chair. 0 thank God there is still a wee "mine to give!"

We had a chat with Fr. Lumbardo yesterday morning, and again before my return this afternoon. It is so good to find him whom you and Jesus love so there so near my own poor family. Please care for him and them and the world and hobos who love you more than any letter, written in the crushing fatigue of evening, might reveal.

Monday, July 6

Today we remember a little girl, robed in the crimson of martyrdom, crying out in her most excruciating pain, "God does not will it!" 0 that we too be dyed in that red which flows from but one living fountain, from Him Who lovingly hangs upon a Cross and is called a Lamb, that we suffer only because Another has taken possession of us and He cries in desolation to His Father from the desert of our heart.

Our little Benjie has left us to go Home. All day I passed his room to find it so empty. But for him confusion and darkness are past. My heart must hide that which the world would term cruelty at any death: Alleluia.

I consecrate this evening two most ridiculous gifts, these legs of mine. They've felt go strange today I can't even decide if they hurt. But I do know they're mine, as all God has given, for another. Let them carry him to a sheep who lies lame, waiting, hungry, cold.

Tuesday, July 7

Mother dear, I bring today's mail to you this evening. I bring all, all nothingness. If you but love me I shall never feel shame in my poverty.

My precious little Sr. Blanche informed me of Mrs. Perez' death June 8^th. 0 Mother, I love her so. And you love her, I know. I am happy she is with you at last. Already I've asked her to teach me of you; she will. My beautiful angel! When I return to the office I shall feel so empty, for she is now beyond the limitations of feeling and we love one another in Truth. 0 how precious is she to me! Thank you, Mother, thank you very much. No longer need I seek her sparkling smile in a particular place. Whenever I encounter Jesus there she will be, and she will know I love her very much and hasten the day when I will be able to comprehend her love.

Your big fireman Joe Reilly sent a folder from your shrine in Washington, D.C. He says, "Tough going in my business." Mother dear, I know I needn't say more. What little one can approach you without trailing the world?

"Love makes people believe in immortality because there seems not to be room enough in life for so great a tenderness and it is inconceivable that the most masterful of our emotions should have no more than the spare moments of a few brief years." R.L.S.

Norma phoned this evening. Her excuse was seeing Our picture in the paper. Strange, Mother, that one can sense disapproval of actions, but the even stronger knowledge that she is loved beyond the realm of activity, for her very being, because Our Father made her and she is good, in His very image, prompts her to open her heart still to receive, almost in surprise, Jesus' Love. Please let this little seed die, and blossom. Little ones are so hungry.

Wednesday, July 15

Mother dear, these moments with you once again, how I love them. Your little hobo throws her poor self, her knapsack, her life and death passionately and peacefully into your arms.

One week ago he to whom you've given my heart took me to Indianapolis once again. We simply chatted with Miss Slo, then went to the brace shop for repairs and a new collar. 0 Mother, it seems so expensive. But then I have to smile at your fantastic reimbursements when I remember that Father handled the affair and now it's Your turn. It's always your turn; I'm so poor and happy to remain so.

It was fun walking with my own missionary through the streets of Indianapolis, passing so many immortal souls we'll meet someday, peeping into the shop windows, simply peeping, with no desire for the merchandise. We saw the movie "The Unsinkable Molly Brown," then peacefully chatted over a lovely dinner. It seems our hilltop has never been so high and fresh. 0 Mother, thank you for giving my heart away. Please give it always, eternally. Watch over our hilltop each time you let us meet there, and lead us to the top, to Life in death.

At last Father carried his "cross" [Virginia] to Mary Joan's Nazareth to spend her first glorious night there. 0 Mother, my brothers and sisters are lovely. Sometimes I don't understand how you can gaze upon my ugliness day after day. 0 but you're my Mother and no other explanation is necessary.

Early Thursday morning, as the birds chirped Lauds happily all around, Mary Joan and I joined them. 0 to rise very high, to fly to the heart of the Trinity, to never forget our presence in God, His Presence in our very poverty! Mary and I attended Father Keith's 6:30 Mass at the Hospital. 0 Mother, to watch him raise first the terrible weight of our nothingness and then the sweetness of the Word mysteriously disguised to be present at the greatest moment of his life, an eternal moment when his power takes him far beyond the temporal, it is good. Thank you, co-missionary of Jesus Christ.

Father called a meeting that afternoon so that I might explain the progress of our little sisters here in Kokomo. 0 Mother, he was so pleased, and I "glad because he was glad and for no other reason." It is sweet to please him I love so, to know that in total ignorance we've plunged into Love and Love Itself has taught us to scale fantastic heights. Please, Mother, let Jesus' Love alone be the Guide of His little sisters here in Kokomo, throughout the world.

That evening the gang arrived for a wiener roast, followed by a songfest with Velma at her uke. Then hobo assignment Loretta's. I truly hadn't planned to stay any longer. I don't want to limit Jesus by my own paltry arrangements. Please assure Him I delight to remain His little hobo. To be His is the climax and fulfillment of all desire.

This morning I after Holy Mass, we "bunched" with our Vine at Pat's to share Jesus. Thank you for letting me be there at such a gathering at last. There with Jesus so tangibly among us! My missionary lay across the bed to rest before he returned me to Sam. 0 Mother, you know how rotten he feels. I too; this painful knowledge I offer this evening for him. That he become always more and more Jesus is all I can ask. Please stop my heart at anything more, or less.

Awaiting me here was this invitation to Delila's approaching wedding. The responsibility Holy Mother Church made mine became yours long ago. How truly my godchild is yours. Please give her your loving guidance and I know so assuredly all will be well. Please don't forget, ever, my Total Consecration to you.

Enough babble. Now, Mother, hold me close, closer still, and tell me of Jesus.

Thursday, July 16

0 Mother, my little sisters grow lovelier each time I see their faces, hear their voices, feel their embrace; once again I bring my memories of them here for your sweet pleasure. How can Jesus' Love be any deeper? Yes, Mother dear, I know we've hardly BEGUN. Happily your little children fall into this infinite chasm, together.

Fr. Jim sent a postcard of Christmas bells from Bethlehem. Yes, right in the middle of July, in the very cave in which you brought Jesus into the world, as in the poverty of our hearts, CHRIST IS BORN. Please help us adore Him,

Somehow I wish I could sit at the bedside of each of these dear ones here tonight. Mrs. Ryan slips from us a little each day. Mrs. Young wept as I sat with her a little while this evening. And the others, they cry out, or else they bury their cries of loneliness till they mount to weights hardly bearable. These are all your children, my very own brothers and sisters. Please hasten their sunrise!

Friday, July 17

Prayers, sweet aspirations that have filled my days since early childhood, 0 Mother they're fleeing from me. Your rosary, the Stations of the Cross, where are they? All is consumed in the Gospel, in the living Gospel to which we add a page each day. But why do I still turn back to look for these consolations that are behind? Look up, my soul, into this blinding light. Someday you'll behold the Face of Christ. I'll know He's yours, Mother. He'll have your very features. What delight! But now it is late and I am silly with fatigue and I am yours, Mother. Today brought another postcard from Fr. Jim, this time from Nazareth. Its streets, its homes, its families, its poverty, I long…Queen of my heart, make it a little Nazareth that Jesus happily find Himself at home because you've fashioned it to please Him.

Saturday, July 18

Poor little Helen wrings her hands, her heart, tonight. All sweetness that was laid on so thick when she joined our family has been forgotten. Sr. Aquinas has grown to bitter resentment and digging remarks because Helen, as I, refuses to satisfy her every whim. And Sr. Raphael can be so tyrannical. I wish Helen hadn't lost the rose-colored glasses she wore here. But now please give her Jesus' strength and me too. Without it this endurance would be sheer stupidity.

Is it too much to ask that I lean my head a little on the Communion rail to help me to think more of Jesus? As soon as I moved my chair a little closer to it this morning, Sr. Raphael RAN to fold the cloth there so I wouldn't soil it. I don't know why it hurt so. Perhaps because values are SO distorted, because I'm sure Jesus doesn't mind if I rest my weary head to think of Him.

To be driven from the chapel so the Sisters can say their "private" prayers, to know that one's superiors dislike her so, resent her friends and her pleasures, and still to appear that I know not what is done to me and to these little ones imprisoned here with me, Mother, it isn't easy. But it is good, I know, for Jesus wishes it so. His love for those who hurt Him nearly bursts my heart at times. It aches. 0 how to communicate It?

Sunday, July 19

This morning your dear Fr. Walter spoke to us on "Kindness." 0 Mother, shamefully I remember his words. All around me, and within me, seems so void of kindness, so unlike Jesus. He has seemed to weep all day, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem…" as He watches us destroy our own hearts. Please pray for us sinners!

Is there no escape from these uncharitable thoughts that have plagued me for days? This morning a little one followed me to chapel where she recounted yet more cruelties. Is there no escape; nowhere? 0 forgive me for seeking one. Wherever I go the cries of men follow, and God forbid that it be otherwise for a little sister of Jesus.

Wednesday, July 22

"In Magdalen there is no more vanity, no more pleasure loving, no more worldly love. All is holy and pure in her." St. Augustine. Mother, I want to be a little one at His feet, watching, listening, resting there, refreshed. In the peaceful cloak that surrounds Us my eyelids may close. Still, in that darkness, I'll hear His Voice, and if He should cease to speak I shall wait peacefully for another word and rest there, with Him. My dear ones call to me of responsibility, but He hushes them with speech of the best part which He has chosen for me and which none can take from me, since the day I poured my all, tears and sweetness, upon His feet. He was pleased; others disgusted. But who can hear others' bitter remarks when His pitying eyes smile and He sends a sinner forth in peace? Weighty responsibility, "Sin no more." But once outside the door there I meet sin, all around me, rooted within me, man's sins my own because I have loved much but not enough. I am frightened, repelled. The poor I have always with me, and I, having poured my all at His feet, am one with them. Rich with but remembrance of Him, I smile at Him in each of their dirty, care-creased faces, and I hope they are strengthened by a light my eyes have not seen but my heart has. Nothing can separate Him from me now; He is everywhere. Now I think I'll go to the kitchen to help Martha prepare a meal for these little ones whose eyes cry of hunger, as His.

On this feast which surely gladdens the heart of our little brother Charlie, who loved Magdalen so tenderly, please take the letter I received from Fr. Lucien, all the reality and pleasure and joy of it, and let Charlie read it and chuckle with me in wonderful delight and offer this seed of happiness sown in the desert of my heart that he who is planted on the banks of the Living Waters will grow ever more grand and little and funny and wise. From the harrying pace of daily life in the rectory to the ear-shattering hootenanny of Sunday Masses, he serves because HE LIKES GOD and God likes him; and I am not worthy to know and love either of them as I do. But all this I accept and enjoy because Our Father is glorified in our gladness of His gifts.

Thursday, July 23

Nazareth cannot be forgotten, I'm glad. Somehow a secret wound is opened wide once again and I find, in anguish and joy, there is yet a "mine to give."

Yes, it's VERY late, I know. I had to answer an anguished letter from my precious Stinky. Please take the rest I've surrendered that her heart know the Peace of Christ.

Saturday, July 25

Where was Fr. Jim today, on his patron's feast? It was sweet to remember this son of your loving heart, my own little brother, to remind you of him often and to live this day, through the mystery of Love pulsing through the Mystical Body, so completely with him in Jesus.

It will be a few days before I may write to you. I'll miss it, I do hope that the pleasures of these little visits aren't all mine. 0 how I wish to please you, Mother whom I love so.

Friday, July 31

Mother, I love you so! Thank you for being here and for loving me always.

These past days have been nice, filled with the fun and laughter of little ones. What the pain has been in my heart I do not know. 0 this yearning for only One and the "apparent" possession of all but Him. Please, most faithful of all the wonders our Father has created, lead me far, far beyond the apparent to the realms of Faith and Love. I accept and love this darkness because it heralds the Light. I wait; please remove from me all desire to hasten the gifts for which Our Father is preparing me.

Words come so hard tonight. Here is the stack of letters that awaited a little hobo's return. Please take especially that of Br. Kevin. Perhaps his is dearest to me because of the echo of pain my heart finds in his.

Just a few minutes ago I watched a special program on the Ranger 7's successful flight to the moon. Hoorah for USA and all men of good will and GOD! What does this flight mean to us? We mortals must await the unfolding of events to see. Please don't let my soul wait that long to be lifted from this darkness to be plunged into the consuming Flames of the Sun, to contemplate eternally all the treasures of Wisdom and of Knowledge. "The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness grasps It not." Please relish it, Mother, for one yet too little to be aware of the Heaven that is her heart.

Saturday, August 1

Here it is August once again, an entire month dedicated to your Immaculate Heart. 0 Mother, I'm so happy. Let my entire being throb with the joy that fills your heart, with Jesus. You will be pleased and God glorified, because that's just what our hearts are made for.

The 15th, the second anniversary of the day on which you gave my heart away, it hastens nearer, and my soul, confident that you will always remain her Mistress, lies in your arms and waits for her Mother to get her in readiness. Mother dear, in such glorious confidence I wait. It's wonderful to be your little one!

Sunday, August 2

My little sister Mary came this morning. The Life of Christ yet pulsing through her, almost tangible in our embrace, was thrilling. 0 Mother, never has being with this little sister been such JOY. Even Sr. Aquinas, angrily banging every dish in the kitchen, couldn't disturb this peace.

A pang of pity for her, then back to Jesus again, only Jesus. What has come over me? I know, yet I'm almost afraid to admit that I've been seized by Jesus. He lives! It's so that I can't tell if suffering or joy dominates, so intermingled are they within my poverty. He lives! A false humility accuses me for admitting this. But I cannot hide this gift. It is given in spite of my unworthiness, perhaps because of it, and that unworthiness isn't lessened by it. It's displayed yet more miserably in your Son's pure gaze. 0 Mother, please hear what words cannot say. Here's my heart, for Him.

Monday, August 3

Hi Mother, at this lovely 1:30 AM. I know it's a ridiculous hour and you might scold me more if I tell you I just hung up the phone after a four hour conversation with Jean. But Love is vast, boundless, and here we two embrace in its immensity. Do forgive us if our eyes, filled with the wonder of it all, fail to check the clock.

Tuesday, August 4

Here is your unsinkable little hobo reporting in. It's midnight. All my yesterdays and tomorrows I lay here at your feet, dear Queen; and the sweet now during which I sit here pecking another note to you.

Virginia Ricci and Marcie took me to the movies this evening, "The Unsinkable Molly Brown" once again. It was fun to remember him with whom I shared the tears and laughter of that movie so recently. Saturated with all but that which would abate her hunger, Molly watched all the golden tapestry fall and found there the someone she once had been; and a happy Fiat to her being transformed all life. 0 the Joy of becoming ourselves!

Wednesday, August 5

With my precious little sisters Lou and Jean, I sat in the park this afternoon. Jesus' companionship is sweet. There is NOWHERE I must be without it. 0 joyous discovery.

My darling Sr. Blanche was to have received the order's new habit today. May she be lovely and pleasing to the Bridegroom for Whom she wears her spotless garment. We thank you, Mother, earth-garment which alone was worthy to clothe our Creator. Please fashion these temples of flesh that He leap from Heaven to dwell within us because we remind Him of you.

Thursday, August 6

Feast of the Transfiguration

Somehow the miserable capacity of words to express what our hearts sing is staggering tonight.

We've just returned from our monthly get-together in Elwood. It is very late, Mother dear, and I almost fear the burden of fatigue is becoming my precious gift, to receive and to offer, once again. My strength seems to come and go, my preference for rest rather than the little duties on my daily schedule more pronounced. Thus far I've fought, and won. And if Jesus should somehow make me such a little nothing as He has in the past, I think it will be sweet just being His. "I am ready for all; I accept all." But right now please held me to abandon all thought of what my future capacities may be. I desire neither health nor sickness, but the Will of Him Who sent me, NOW.

0 Mother, such a beautiful feast today! Yet perhaps, like Peter, I've laid too much stress upon it. "It is good for us to be here," says dear Peter, volunteering to erect an abode that this sweetness be not taken from him. There is no response from Jesus but His request that we keep all this beauty hidden within our hearts till He has risen within us to become our very Self. Then may we shout the good news of great joy.

Our precious little Sr. Frances Cabrini is with us for a few days. 0 how happy they will be. She will permit me to help her clean the chapel, we'll have times with Jesus together, and chats. 0 thank God for such as she.

We gathered at Kiki's for our discussion on Suffering. When we'd summarized our answers to each of the questions, Father asked me to close our gathering with the little poem I memorized as a Freshie. How he loves it. He's had me recite it often, has used it in sermons, sent it to little lambs whom he thought it might help. I'm so glad that this song which my heart sings so often finds its echo in his. Mother dear, please whisper it to me now, you who have taught me to sing.

Dread Pain, so somber dressed, Companioning our years beneath your guise, We scarc