Monday, Sept. 14, 1964

Mother dear, here I am alone at last with you. I'm so glad. Please take ALL from these recent days, purify it and toss it to lie forever in the oblivion of Our Father's glory.

This must be brief, for your little hobo has just hopped from Canada to New York to Indianapolis to Kokomo. But it must be, for I love you so. Thank you for welcoming me to your watchful heart always.

Fr. Keith drove me to Indianapolis a week ago. You are sweet to let me see him now and then, to realize how little and needy I am and how comforting his words and his Love. On the plane I was seated with a movie-star type girl and her cat "Tiffany." Such a lonely girl, lavishing her attention on a cat because her love was never directed higher. Please care for your child, my sister whom I know not but long to love.

There were Joe Reilly and Maureen to meet me in New York. Joyous reunion of your children whose strongest bond is their love of you, Mother. Joe carried his burden so tenderly to his fourth floor apartment, where his lovely mate Lily awaited us. O Mother, what a holy family; what a Nazareth. Thank you for permitting me one happy evening there: chatter, the private talk with your grand Joe, a hobo's travel pains, the little cloister Joe fixed me for the night, O just everything. This is the stuff of Nazareth, that which you teach your little one to hide in a corner of her heart and enjoy because it was and is eternally hers.

Tuesday morning we drove to the airport to meet our fellow pilgrims. Thank you for the ride; the silence sang from one heart to the other. If such a piece of Heaven is ours already, what will our tiny hearts do to be filled yet more?

Joe carried me on the plane himself. Forgive a couple popped buttons, please. To know my poor love is returned from the vastness of his heart is pleasing. Don't let this little sister gauge returns. Teach me to love as Jesus loves, as much as Jesus loves, with Jesus' very own Love. But when Amicitia comes to brighten my path let me not forget to look up to Our Father and smile because it is good and He is God.

There she was right with me on the plane, a bundle of joy named Sr. Christina. You know how I needed her, Mother, to bring to reality my view of nuns. I'm sorry that it's been so soiled. I see such un-Christian actions around me every day. They were frightening me, my considerations of the Sisterhood almost despair. O but every Sister you sent with our pilgrimage was so obviously Jesus' Bride, God's Life echoing in their souls. And Sr. Christina's Magnificat sounded deep within me. Please permit your little one to make some return.

Cape de Madeleine, and Ste. Anne de Beaupre, they are good shrines, but somehow they seem no better than this evening in your arms chattering. I shall never have to travel thousands of miles, for Love has made my heart His abode. I do appreciate being with all those grand handicappers, grand Canadians, the whole grand bunch to whom I was introduced through this pilgrimage. "Merrily shall we meet in heaven."

It was grand being met by "our" family at the airport today. That precious Maureen squealed, "Where's my daddy?" And there he was busy lifting all his dear handicappers off the plane. He had me wait till last, then I too got to descend in his loving care. How good it is to lean on Joseph, and how well you know that, Mother.

Joe insisted upon carrying me aboard the Indianapolis flight himself. But when we reached the top of the stairs he must have miscalculated, for he fell on the landing with me. O Mother, why did that hurt me so? I wept in bidding him and Maureen farewell, yet my motive was so hidden. I kept thinking of HIS hurt with that fall. It broke through his concern. How hard it must be for a man to find a limit to his strength so much narrower than his heart. He fell with the weight of his cross. Would I change that fall? No, but Mother, it is so hard to be others' cross. But I see that I am theirs, I am Jesus', and I hush and consent to be borne.

Ruthie just brought me from Indianapolis to Sam, and it is time for a hobo to place her knapsack up and abandon all to Our Father for the night. Again, thank you, Mother.

Tuesday, Sept. 15

Mother dear, your little one is much more tired than she's admitted to herself. The two nosebleeds this evening proved that. So I'll have to rest now. Please ask Jesus to strengthen His Love in my poverty. I long for nothing more. Take these little drops of my blood in reparation for your tears, for I love you so and long to share what is yours, Jesus.

Wednesday, Sept. 16

Good evening, Mother. I've just returned from a day at Jean's. Here it is September and our gatherings are once more to be in my little sisters' homes. I've truly missed scooching in their corners. It's such joy to know we'll be sharing Jesus in this atmosphere once again. Long after we've gone, please let memories of the Love that was so visibly present as we gathered be visible still to these little sisters of Jesus, and to all with whom they come in contact.

After supper and dishes, we chatted over a tall Coke. When was prattle ever so blessed? My mind is dulled with fatigue and my tongue follows it from one topic to another. Yet our hearts are too wrapped in wonder to let this silliness mar our moments together. My beautiful sister Jean, how I thank you for her, Mother. And this backache and fatigue I offer this evening in gratitude for the gift of Friendship.

Thursday, Sept. 17

Love ya!

Saturday, Sept. 19

Why do I sit here trying to drain lovely words from my poverty? Do I think these will cloak my unworthiness? Here I am, Mother, just me, your poor little one, with a goodnight love ya.

Sunday, Sept. 20

In this morning's lesson from the Holy Gospel we watched the paralytic rise and carry his stretcher as a manifestation of the forgiveness of his sins by the loving Master. And also today you watched me try again to walk and fall into ever greater need of forgiveness. Mother, teach me to lie still, in complete resignation, to let myself be placed before your kind Son and know my sins are forgiven because you've spoken to Him of me and He can't refuse a Mother's faith in her silly little ones.

O this foolish sensitiveness, thank God for it because it hurts me so often, helps me draw nearer the Cross. Sister Aquinas seemed so bent upon hurting me today. Everything seemed geared to it. Her biting remarks, her more crushing indifference, her open manifestations of disapproval. How living is the prayer Fr. Pwamang sent me long ago called Suffering. Please keep it so poignant for me that Our Father be glorified today and all the days of my life in the Immolation of His Son.

"My Jesus, if I suffer, help me to rejoice! If I am humiliated, let me rejoice! If I am treated as nothing, let me bless Thee, my Love! For then I bear the stamp of a true child of the Cross, born in Its shadows and formed to Its image…I desire to be, from head to foot, an image of Christ crucified; that others see in me sufferings, wounds, blood; at least the blood that flows from my total immolation.

"Woe to me if I limit myself to sentiments, desires, words! It is necessary to be sincere, strong, and generous in my life. Otherwise, I would be unworthy of having the Precious Blood as my standard.

"The more entirely I am sacrificed and crushed the better able shall I be to bring forth sinners to the life of grace. To delight in these thoughts, to live this spirit, is to work for God and the Church. It is to be apostles and victims: It is to evangelize with the missionaries, to immolate myself with the martyrs, to sanctify self and to win great and many souls for Jesus Christ. AMEN, ALLELUIA, AMEN!!!"

Monday, Sept. 21

"I have not come to call the just but sinners." With the spontaneity of a child Matthew answers Jesus' invitation to follow and, eager to express his gratitude for this wonderful vocation, he gives a party for his Master. How anxious he is that his friends too know the irresistible serenity of this Son of Man. He isn't ashamed of his friends. He's one of them, a sinner. But Christ loved him. "It is not the well who need a doctor." Only those who come limping in humble admission of their sinfulness does He call saints. What care I that others should marvel that He should invite me into His company? I am in wonder myself as my heart echoes again and again, "How inscrutable His judgments!"

Look, Mother, a postcard from Sr. Christina! The blessed memories of her I offer once again this evening that Love be glorified.

"Do not wish to be anything but what you are, and try to be that perfectly." Saint Francis de Sales. It's sleepytime; please bring even my fatigue to perfection that in it I rejoice to find yet one more cause to lean so completely upon the Immaculate Heart of my Mother for all necessities.

Tuesday, Sept. 22

Please ask Jesus to ignore my complaints. How saddened He must be at the poverty of my Fiat. Just now I finished listening to poor little Helen as she related her burden for two hours. Was I wrong in cutting her short? She is so upset she keeps repeating herself. And there I sit pretending to be such a staunch leaning post, whereas inside all these things are eating, gnawing continually at my Fiat, weighing upon that which is already my heaviest burden. PLEASE teach me to unite all suffering with the Sacrifice of Calvary, to witness and will this daily Death because it means that souls live. My cries for Justice must not drown His gentle, "Father, forgive them. They don't know what they're doing." Lovely Queen, make my Fiat also majestic.

Wednesday, Sept. 23

Will you please take a special message for dear Br. Donald this evening? I'm so weary, and this medication so powerful, awaking becomes an ever greater strain. I haven't heard an alarm since I began taking the Valium. But next week (my happy heart thrills in anticipation), I'll be at Meinrad once again. Will I have to miss Fr. Lucien's 4:15 Mass, the moon and stars, the crickets, the tremendous joy of offering the first fruits of our days to Our Father with the Father I love so dearly, our thanksgiving walk with the birds and the roosters and big granddaddy bell, prowling about the kitchen to get our bowl of coffee? Tell our dear Br. Donald to waken me. He'll understand; tell him I'm relying upon him. Thank you, Mother.

Thursday, Sept. 24

Our Lady of Ransom, please help us to be saviors with Jesus!

This morning I phoned Fr. Keith about the most recent book of letters to you. It was our privilege to have him read them during the pilgrimage, thus making our beautiful union yet more intimate as we prayed together for all the intentions that fill these pages. Last night I was trying to figure out how to get them back in time for our Meinrad trip this Saturday.

It was wonderful to have a legitimate excuse to speak with Father this morning. Thank you, Mother. Those letters seem such an integral part of my visits with Fr. Lucien. In his wisdom he reads and encourages and guides his little hobo sister through the painful poverty of her love for you and Jesus. Fr. Keith says he is quite well; it's so good to hear that. And such fun to be delegated to do some shopping for him at Meinrad. He wants me to choose a crucifix for the Mercy Hospital chapel, "his kind." O boy!

This chill I offer for the homeless, the weary, those tempted to suicide, the intemperate, the starving, for all from a little sister Millionairess and her Queen Mother.

Friday, Sept. 25

Please tell Our Father how His little hobo has appreciated this restful day. I can't remember ever having ALL correspondence cared for. It was sweet to be sitting at Jesus' feet all morning, the book in my hand simply an ornament for one too little for anything but listening.

This evening I've sung a few songs from the book I'll take to my Brothers at St. Meinrad's, and just now Jean and I had a sweet farewell on the phone. So, in the spirit of joyous abandonment, I'm GOIN' HOME for a few days, blinding glance at Our Father's Bosom. Thank God for it!

Sunday, Oct. 4

Beautiful, loving Mother of hobos, my mind seems lost in a maze of joy and anguish and my heart hushed in the Peace of Jesus Christ. What can I write to you tonight? I'll just let my fingers fumble these keys and hope that they find a way of expressing a fraction of what is in my heart. And in the disappointment of seeing that this is not possible, I will rejoice that you smile at the effort and incapacity of your little one.

Daddy just brought me back from the little paradise you permit me to visit in Southern Indiana now and then. Thank you for the strengthening nourishment and rest. Now let me use them well for the pleasure and glory of Our Father. I return to Sam's antagonism and a mass of suffering humanity that is my heart, and with Jesus I "have come that they may have life, and have it more abundantly," because He has chosen to live in my poverty. Please let me not forget Him for an instant.

"Not as the world gives do I give peace," Jesus whispers. Yes, I know; so does Fr. Eugene. But surely he noticed that more than ever before the peace of Christ that floods his enraptured soul found a more distinct echo here. Thank you, Mother, thank you very much! The grace of this tranquillity beneath the storm-tossed surface of my life is tremendous, but added to this is the grace of realizing what lies in the depths and becoming less distracted with what can be seen. Magnificat…O my poor little soul, please let me continue this note to Mother!

You must smile sweetly as I mention Br. Donald. He got me up so well, really went overboard during the wee hours of the morning. Do tell him how grateful I am. He employed various methods, the abbey bells, my alarms, or simply rousing me himself at just any hour, 2:30, 4:00, 6:00, just so I was always ready when someone came for me, even extra moments for Matins, Lauds and moments with Jesus. Please see to it that my precious Brother is pleasing to the great King among the flowers of a guest house converted to an eternal Home.

Thank you for moments with so many of my Brothers there at St. Meinrad's. How much dearer to me they become every time I see them and behold the changing countenance of Christ. My corner, the loveliest in the guest house, told of their presence long after they'd left to be about their chores. There were empty Coke bottles just everywhere, and bubblegum wrappers they'd tossed in delight as my wee gift pleased their littleness.

Every day there was the undreamed of joy of being physically present as Fr. Eugene offered to our Father the Perfect Victim; That which alone pleases Him, That which in the extravagance of His paternal Love He returns to man, nearly begging us who are dust to live by the Food of angels.

I have loved Fr. Eugene but one year. It does seem forever and will be in the timeless haven for which we both pine. Please make Jesus' Love increase in our hearts daily. Right now I see not how I could share Love with any man more, but I would have said the same a year ago. What depths I hadn't dreamed of! How much greater will they become as I am tossed in all confidence and joy upon the boundless sea of Love? Together we remain beneath the Cross. Please let us stay here till "It is consummated" and death is our victory.

Thursday morning I brought "mine to give" to Fr. Lucien's paten. Then there was our walk of thanksgiving, the birds and flowers and a sprig of lovely berries. Father had piano lessons scheduled for the whole day, so his little hobo sat quietly nearby hidden in a corner. Only to be near him was enough, to offer to God his admirable patience in using his gifted fingers to show fellas how to play an octave beginning at middle C.

That night Fr. Eugene took me to a lady's home to have her bathe me in the tub. O Mother, there is nothing his heroic compassion neglects. What is there for me to return? Please obtain it for me; I am so very poor.

On the feast of our Holy Guardian Angels I had the privilege of attending both Fr. Eugene's and Fr. Lucien's Holy Sacrifice. They have showered such love and guidance upon one little hobo. Please see that theirs is a hundredfold. I see not how this could be, but in the dark I whisper my Credo in the infinity of Divine Love.

Words, words, words, please take them in reparation for my excessive speech. They come so painfully tonight. The perfectionist in me is inclined to resort to a void rather than the humiliation of not being able to express what fills my heart.

Friday afternoon Fr. Lucien took me to spend some time alone with you and Jesus on Monte Casino. I'd often wished for this, O but how shamefully I wasted it. Why, Mother? O how I wish I knew. That evening I shamefully cried my sorrow at Jesus' feet. When was He ever so gentle? "He loves more who is forgiven more." How tremendous should be my love! And Saturday, all through the Liturgy of His Little Flower, He continued His sweet words to my poor heart. In every line, between every line of my missal, He spoke. O Mother, I'm sorry I'm so weak as to need these great consolations, but I am also delighted to see how sinful and completely dependent I remain. If I should become so strong as to feel I wouldn't fall I might run from His embrace, sporting my independence. No Mother, please don't let me be conscious of any strength but His.

Last night after supper, the Fraters came to the guests' dining room to have a Hootenanny with their little hobo sister. It was such fun; please let the joy they radiated return to their hearts that it may rise pure and pleasing to God.

Fr. Eugene took me to Marietta's for the night, and Daddy had another room in town because of the guest house being filled with weekend retreatants. As Fr. lifted me into bed he held me so close, longing to shelter me from all the pain that awaits me in this exile, and suffering at his own inadequacy. O no Mother, please don't let me be sheltered. Sometimes my heart cries that it can love no more. Don't listen to my heart. It is too ignorant. Continue to form Jesus in me, though I may know nothing of it, in darkness, in the labor pains of Calvary. In my poor heart extend the birth pangs of many and great souls for Jesus Christ. And in compassion gather the suffering of him who embraced me in such a hopeless yet valiantly loving desire, you who stood helplessly watching Jesus save the world, dear Savior with Jesus.

Here I am back at Sam once again, the strength of those days coursing through my heart. It may seem to disintegrate so soon. Already Helen stopped me in the hall to spend an hour expounding upon her sufferings. And poor Mr. Hewitt in the adjoining room keeps crying out in irrepressible pain that stabs me also. This is Calvary; let me wait in peace for Our Father's glory.

Monday, Oct. 5

Here's a hoot from your little night owl. It's very late, I know Mother, but I fell asleep watching "Ben Casey," and now I'm ready for another glorious day at 2:00 AM. Perhaps I'll hop into my nightie and keep watch these precious moments with Jesus. There is no silence; Mr. Hewitt is still in intense pain. My waking hours are filled with his cries for help, and sleep is so hard to welcome knowing he is suffering so. O this painful helplessness! I accept it and all that it is meant to teach me.

Please tell Therese how happily I dedicate this month's bulletin board to the lessons she has taught me and continues to teach me, Mother; to follow the Little Way, to follow your Jesus.

Tuesday, Oct. 6

Today brought a card from Ruth Areche and once again the possibility that soon I shall pack my knapsack and be scooting on my Mary little way. It is so sweet to remain lost in the security of your loving embrace, resting in the knowledge that you will see that your little hobo will wander where she can best resemble Jesus and thus bring you, her Mother, happiness as in your maternal solicitude you stoop to see to her needs. To see your smile will satisfy my every painful effort to be a good little one. I am anxious to know where this Little Way will lead; I follow, for somehow it will bring me closer to Home. Peace reigns because, "All the way to heaven is Heaven, for He said I am the Way." Home is the heart of my very being. How often little ones need to be reminded! Please continue your patience with me, Mother.

Wednesday, Oct. 7

Queen of the Most Holy Rosary, in the chorus of praise that rises from the hearts of all your children today I hide my own "love ya." Where are my beads, others may wonder. They haven't been seen tangled in my fingers for months. But you see my crystal garland of teardrops that winds about my heart to make it forever yours and Jesus'. Upon its salty beads are the words of the Holy Gospels. I do hope that you who have requested your children to say the Rosary daily are pleased with the poverty and love of my method.

It seems that on your feast days you ask Jesus to delight you with the delights of your little ones. And so I offer this evening our note from Fr. Lees, our retreat master last June. Father has invited me to write an article for Mary Today. "You might have something to say about Mary, an angle, perhaps, that just a little hobo, and no one else, might light upon." Please ask your own little Hobo King what He wishes to say to the world through a little wheel whose love for you speeds her to Him.

Thursday, Oct. 8

Mother, do press me close tonight and let me feel the security of your embrace. Let me "feel?" No, I didn't mean that. But I'm so lonely and confused. This cry that stops in my throat, these tears that just swim in my eyes, this heartache that is more piercing each time I squeeze a bit of silliness from myself, what are they? I am so confused; please halt me if my rambling chatter turns to complaint. I bring ME; I'm sorry there is so little of Jesus' Love here. Please accept my ugliness. Please cleanse me and clothe me and make me a child you can look upon with delight, a child that brings Nazareth's happy memories to you. Smile upon me the Peace of Christ. Thank you.

What does Our Father plan to do with poor old Sam? What of these struggling in the confusion of their twilight years? Today our boiler was condemned. And at supper time we found bugs in our crackers as well as in our spaghetti and meatballs. Sr. Raphael scolded us because we've used up the little supply of toilet paper she gave us two weeks ago. Subtle antagonism, aching loneliness, Love's wound opening as the precious Cross is forged deeper within my heart. No, please don't beg relief for me. This is Love, I know. Joyously I see these opportunities as so many proofs of my poor heart. Yes, I shall follow Jesus. Yes, my Love, yes!

Saturday, Oct. 10

The night is lovely, stars so sparkly. Ruth and I just returned from a walk in the brisk air, a little chatter over a cup of hot chocolate.

My heart wanders to this evening one week ago, and easily I discover what a part of me it has become. Father Eugene's strengthening farewell to my anguished heart, and the echo of the day's Mass in honor of dear little Therese who understands so well my anguish. Father suggested that I reread it, to press its consolation to me. Our Father knows I'm too weak to endure even a little pain without His constant consolations. "I will bring upon her as it were a river of peace…As one whom the mother caresses, so will I comfort you…You shall see and your heart shall rejoice." In the prayers of Compline we said together each evening I seemed to nearly sing "Now You can dismiss your little handmaid, Lord, in peace, for my eyes have seen You in a monk and the echo of Your Joy in his heart has called to mine and found reply." "What must the Master be?"

Toss me into the waiting arms of Our Father, and I shall rest now, and always.

Sunday, Oct. 11

Mother of God--and please forgive the terrible contrast--my Mother, please accept the love note of a little sleepyhead on this feast of your Divine Maternity. Why this weariness; it's but nine o'clock? Please see that the soul and body of my missionary are refreshed as I scamper to the oblivion of your little nothings.

Monday, Oct. 12

Daddy was here this afternoon. We went out into the lovely fall, the trees so gala, the breeze busy but warm. And after a bit of shopping, there was pumpkin pie and a Coke. O Mother, please never let me forget to be specially grateful for little things, those silent happinesses of Nazareth.

As we were leaving the drugstore, we were met by a deaf-mute who gave us a card requesting alms. Thank God for sending him. As he walked away in his lonely little world I took quick stock. What can legs do for God or arms or a strong back compared to fingers that type and a tongue that echoes your Magnificat? I'm glad Fr. Eugene reminded me that even these could be taken. Take them now, my all, my nothingness, my sins and my virtues, my pulse, each breath. I am God's creature; He looks upon me and sees as only He can see that I am good, GOOD, like Him! Please let me never do anything to mar the image of Jesus, and Him crucified and triumphant, in me nor in anyone whom God sends to me to be warmed in His Love. In His beloved Son is He well pleased; please teach me to please Him as you do.

Tuesday, Oct. 13

Today there was a letter from Br. Mario. O how I love him in his blessed littleness, in the pleasure he must give you and Jesus. His stature is so small he finds simply pushing my chair fatiguing. His physical weakness seems to portray all life for him. Surely from his talk and his writing learning is a struggle. It seems just everything costs dearly. Thus you keep him little and wholly dependent. He repairs shoes there at hobo haven, and this hobo had the privilege of having him fix hers. When I tried to express my appreciation, he blushed all the way to the top of his head; I could see through his nearly transparent blond hair. Now he is saddened because the ride he'd arranged for me to be there for his Profession this November can't come for me. I too am disappointed, mostly because I know he wanted his little hobo sister there on his joyous day. So I've written Br. Blaise to find out the date. Perhaps I can surprise him? Mother, do you think you could find me a ride and good roads? I'll leave it to your kind prudence; I leave all to you. Please use me as your own.

Wednesday, Oct. 14

"If only we could be perfectly quiet to be perfectly receptive--someday we will!" promises Fr. Eugene in a letter that came today to ease the joyous ache in my heart, and to intensify it as my eyes search the heavens and find Our Father so near and also so far. O paradoxes of Divine Love, in this darkness I shout, "I believe."

"Little Mary's Busy Day" wasn't acceptable to Fr. Lees for Mary Today. "What I had in mind was an article (1500-200 words) on how devotion to Mary has enriched your life…let yourself go, Little Hobo!" Only this afternoon I read in St. Teresa's INTERIOR CASTLE, "Whenever I think of myself I feel like a bird with a broken wing and I can say nothing of any value." Mother, it's so true. You know how often I've been asked to sing God's mercies in my life, and how often I've failed. I want to sing; I do sing, but not as others would wish. "I shout the Gospel with my whole life," soar the hobo hopes within me. I'll try again, in loving and eager obedience to Father's request. Yet if my effort should be, as so many others before it, unacceptable, I shall rejoice greatly. All writing is hard but these letters to you. All else is burnt, and I beg that some little spark from it's waste will warm Jesus' Love in men's hearts. To know my nightly "love ya's" are pleasing to you and Jesus is enough. Should you ask that I discontinue them one of these days, still to die in your arms each night will be my goal.

Thursday, Oct. 15

In Jesus' Love we gathered at Mary's this morning. Mother, once more I consecrate through you the lovable littleness of my sisters for the pleasure of God. Today all but one of the Reviews were addressed to Christ, indicating how the reality of His Presence becomes more poignant at our gatherings. Please continue to teach us of Jesus.

Ruth and Eddie's card today brought the question, "Would you ever consider living in N.Y.? Mother, you know how often I've wished for this, yet try to rid myself of all wishes until I receive an indication of God's Holy Will for me. Is this it? To leave Nazareth that is yet so close yet gone forever for me, leave my precious little sisters here in Kokomo, go far from Hobo Haven [St. Meinrad] which alone holds a semblance of home for me right now, to leave ALL and follow Christ and set all aflame with His Love as I go my Mary little way? O how great my desires but never great enough.

Leaving Sam WOULD be painful, I'm sure. How strange that we should become attached to our sufferings. If this tangible poverty and all this anguish are taken from me, what will there be left? Nothing. Please help me to offer this greatest of gifts, devoid of all self-satisfaction, graciously.

O the joy of knowing that Fr. Eugene might stop at Sam next week! Fr. Lucien told me in a letter today. Even if it should never materialize, the possibility has already brought joy to my waiting heart.

Friday, Oct. 16

Your little nothing smiles at death's sweetness here in your loving embrace, my Mother.

Saturday, Oct. 17

Strange that only this morning, in reading the little summary of the life of St. Margaret Mary in our missal, did I discover the wonderful lesson my sister triumphant must wish to teach me. Her girlhood marked by painful illness and even more painful family discord, her entrance to the convent at the grand age of 22, her ignorance, sickliness, clumsiness; O but most of all Jesus' words to her, and me, for these please help me sing praise this evening. "I will make you so poor and vile and abject in your own eyes, and I shall destroy you so utterly in the thought of your own heart, that I shall be able to build Myself up in the void." Please, Mother, in the innocent audacity of a little one, I beg you to ask Jesus to let the Spirit of His Love do the same to me, that another stupid little creature somehow be a living reminder of Our Father's glory.

Sunday, Oct. 18

Your restless, lonely little hobo comes to you with her goodnight. I'm tired, Mother. It's time to once again press my tiny Jesus to my being, to learn of your meek and humble Son. Please help me. It's so hard to be a little nothing. Why is it hard, for it's been my prayer for so long? Only my deceptive feelings call for rebellion. But my heart goes on singing. MAGNIFICAT…

Monday, Oct. 19

I consecrate this evening my first letter from Br. Luke. After all the chatter and fraternal gaity, down in the left-hand corner, almost shy, is the plea, "Virginia, show me how to love the Blessed Virgin." O how great my desire and how painfully incapable my fingers and my mind and my heart. Joyfully I accept as I never have before my weaknesses, for today I see that it is these that have led me to love and need you so, Mother.

Tuesday, Oct. 20

Every moment Divine Love beckons to us. Please, Mother, though I am so weary and painfully slow right now, don't let indifference grip my heart. Let my Love grow more and more sensitive and quick to respond to Him Who has first loved me. On my way to Holy Mass this morning, I learned that once again our dear old Sr. Alexis was being deprived of Holy Mass because Sr. Aquinas said she didn't have time to mess around with her. I remember what regret struck my heart as I heard myself hoping God would have time to mess around with Sr. Aquinas. Then, with pangs of sorrow still piercing my heart to find there such displeasing thoughts as I sat awaiting the reception of Jesus Christ, to the same heart so devoid of charity, the words of St. John Cantius bolted from the page of my missal to living reality. "Let your weapons be patience, sweetness, and love. Roughness is bad for you own soul and spoils the best cause." Please, Mother, hear a weak and weary plea for help from one who boldly reminds you I am your own little one.

Wednesday, Oct. 21

I happily bring to you this evening my postcard from Fr. Eugene, and its message, "No, not this week, but most likely next Wednesday!" O Mother, thank you for another seven days of blessed anticipation, for a lifetime in which we await together Perfection.

Here's a note from Ruth and word from Br. Matias, a Little Brother of the Good Shepherd. He speaks of a home in California at which the buildings are being enlarged. Mother, your little hobo awaits. O how I shall run to accomplish God 's Holy Will once it has been revealed to me; and right now I'm sure it is His Will that I watch and pray. Yes, the flesh is very weak. How inclined am I to "help" Our Father relocate me. How hastily I mumbled today at the thought of being placed with a bunch of physically handicapped. It would be crushing, like returning to St. John's without legs that can take little ones where they wish, and hands that can feed and dress [others], and a back that can lift even those heavier than I.

[Editor's note: Virginia is recalling her two years at St. John's Hospital for Handicapped Children in Springfield, Illinois. While there she was still strong enough to be of assistance to other children, which she loved to do. The thought of being in that type of environment without strength enough to be physically useful is obviously very distressing to her. See the section on her "Early Years."]

O Mother, I try hard to forget those former luxuries and press on to know only Jesus Christ and Him crucified. To have a living reminder of the past surrounding me every day would be crushing; but then do I not beg for this daily martyrdom? Yes, Mother, please take my confusion and mete from it only what is deserving of Our Father. And if, as I fear, you find nothing there for Him, please, I beg you, put it there yourself. May I suggest to Ruth living with the blind or retarded or emotionally ill, or unwed mothers? There it seems we handicappers might supplement one another. Still, if this is not part of Our Father's Holy Providential Plan, please tell Him again, "I am ready for all; I accept all." Thank you, Mother, for permitting these love notes from your little one. Somehow everything falls into its beautiful place when I bring it to your feet, and so happily I abandon everything here and rest in the security that your love wraps about me. Blessed be night that lies in expectation. Welcome to confusion's darkness that prepares my poor soul for the dawn!

Thursday, Oct. 22

Fr. Lees again today, "bugging" me for an article. "I do wish you would set your mind to an article in Mary's honor…I think the letter to Our Blessed Mother is a practice people would like to know about and emulate. I know the material is in that little cranium of yours. Dig!" Well, Mother, somehow I feel I might be able to do it now. The way he puts it, there seems little alternative. Refuse something that might make you better known and loved by your children, that just isn't up my "cranium." May I write to you; loving thoughts come so prodigally as I sit listening here at your feet. Will you please guide me in the morning? Thank you, Mother; you're too lovely to hide even my own poor vision of you from a world hungry for the security of your embrace.

Matthew sent me a beautiful booklet from the dedication of the Monastery of Mount Saviour. Please tell him of my loving gratitude. It's such an honor to be his adopted little sister, a thrill to remember that we who have remained prayerfully united in exile shall one day know one another in the all-penetrating light of Divine Love. Please lovingly embrace Matthew and every member of Christ's Mystical Body for me this evening. I love our family and long for Love's perfection.

Mary Lou, Harry, Andrele and I just returned from the movies. Walt Disney's "So Dear to My Heart" was playing at the Sipe, and I remembered enjoying it so at the Villa [orphanage], yes, that long ago. Tonight it held a new joy for me, simply sitting with a little sister so dear to my heart. Thank you, Mother. Afterward we drove to the Dairy Queen and ordered their largest Coke. Look, Mother, here's the cup of the gigantic "55 cent-er." O it's such fun to be a little one constantly buggy-eyed among all the wonders Our Father sends, even mammoth Cokes. What little ones can make distinctions in regards to values? How foolish to try. We long to embrace each moment in such eagerness that we may squeeze from it all the tears and laughter hidden there to shape our Eternity.

Friday, Oct. 23

Your little hobo is so tired tonight. Her path has been an exacting one today. Please don't find a note of complaint here, and if you do sing but louder with me a joyous song of praise. My stomach is still grumbling and the pain that I am feeling tonight is dull and constant. I'm weary, Mother, but I remember that through your loving kindness I live and die for another. With your embrace I whisper, "Where is the sting?" and slip into sleep's oblivion knowing you won't leave me alone.

Saturday, Oct. 24

Please send Raphael to assist a very weary hobo, to make her Love strong. All other weakness…I welcome.

Sunday, Oct. 25

"My kingdom is not of the earth. My kingdom shall be where two or three of you shall meet in love, and in wonder at the loveliness of life, and in good cheer, and in remembrance of me." Gibran. A mass of lacerations, bleeding, strength pouring from Him, upon His head the only earthly crown worthy of His incomprehensible dignity, our King speaks to us, "This is why I was born, and why I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth." Please help me to bear witness to the Truth that is Jesus Christ. I know this means crucifixion; yes, Mother, this is my bold and sincere request.

Monday, Oct. 26

The inspectors were here today, and Sam was beyond recognition. Paper towels for the first time since last year, extravagant dinner, O so many little things that are not Sam. It's just so hypocritical. How often do I perform for others? For God? For myself? "Look to Him that you may be radiant with joy, that your faces may not blush with shame." Please teach me to be so conscious of Jesus that I consider not my worthiness at His approach but simply rejoice in His glory.

Tuesday, Oct. 27

Our precious Br. Mario took time from all his exciting preparations to write. Please help me to see more and more the beauty of his littleness, and let me be a worthy little sister to him. He's picking out invitations and holy cards. I can just see all the happiness singing in his heart and the maze of happy thoughts racing through his blond head. It's such fun to somehow share this with him. This morning I doodled till I finally completed a little poem for "his" day, so you see how contagious is the happiness of our family, and how truly we share what is most precious, jumping all boundaries of time or space.

At last here's a letter from dear Sr. Blanche. She sent a picture of her new habit, and truly she looks as cute as any little nun doll. How little can we truly see in the apparent, for between the lines of her letter lurks the sanctifying odor of suffering. My heart is grateful for the hurt; with you it watches and in its helplessness offers Jesus to His Father, and many, many souls. O Mother, I see today how you are helping me to stand with you beneath the Cross. You cannot remove the pain of it. That would be to remove the Cross, and never could I be a Little Sister without it. The pain is that one immortal Fiat; the Fiat is the pain. But somewhere in a region where not even joy nor anguish enter is the constant Presence of Christ my Peace. I believe this with all my heart; please help my love to grow that my faith may increase and bound with joy till it is annihilated in Vision.

Wednesday, Oct. 28

Mother dear, he is here. Fr. Eugene is spending the night at Good Sam! And tomorrow we'll go to Calvary together and he'll be with us, our own chaplain, as we gather in Jesus' Love. O my little heart, how it must grow to contain so much joy.

Shortly after I'd scooched to my little corner in chapel after supper, there we were in Love's embrace. Then he blessed the loveliest corner in the world with his holy presence. We were here only a little while when there was Fr. Keith! So my two precious little brothers have met.

Fr. Keith has assigned me the topic for next week's gathering: Humility. O how Jesus longs for me to learn of this. Once before in Elwood, and once during the Charlies' eight day retreat there, was I asked to speak of Humility. I remember that Fr. Keith once said the person presenting the topic would profit most. O please let it be that way for me. I remember all Jesus taught me the other times, so how joyfully I welcome the burden of presenting this topic once again. "Dread is the sign of duty," our little brother Charlie says, and I know he's right. It's my lack of humility that prevents me from welcoming the chance to stand before the precious friends of Christ and make a fool of myself by speaking of that which is so very, very far from what I want so to be. O but you're my Mother. Please help me to remember that and I'll be little and, O coveted goal, least.

Thursday, Oct. 29

Before Holy Mass this morning Fr. Eugene and I knelt together at the Communion table to adore our God. O Mother, please don't let me ignore one precious second of this exile when we who travel always together and to our common Home met and embraced and were strong as we leaned upon one another and found Christ so wondrously perceptible to us.

After the Holy Sacrifice we met our dear little sisters Jean and Mary Lou, and for one blessed meeting Christ came to us visibly and sat in our midst during our loving silence and shared with us a fact and took all our tears and laughter to his heart. Many times we will gather without the prescribed chaplain, but we'll remember today and know we lack nothing because Jesus has promised to be with us always.

Father Eugene brought me back to Sam, and the privilege of Confession's cleansing was mine once again before he left. In reparation to my poor Jesus I offer the poverty of my Fiat.

My tears flowed heavily as Father prepared to leave. I didn't even try to suppress them, for I've never felt a human love accept and love my weaknesses so. O how it hurts to know I give him such pain, him whose sensitiveness exceeds that of anyone I've ever met. But I remember that the cross is our most precious possession in this exile and somewhere deep in my heart, beyond all feeling, I rejoice to give him but the best. Here's my heart, Mother; plant the Cross deep within it and I trust that watered by my tears and nourished by the tender love of another, my Love shall grow and someday be strength to that upon which it leans so heavily today.

Friday, Oct. 30

"What if this present were the world's last night?" I'd peck a note to you and die peacefully in your arms.

Saturday, Oct. 31

Dear Br. Mario's invitation came in today's mail. Please remind him how truly I am sharing his anticipation and his joy in making his Profession. Our hearts will be one in Him to Whom we are both consecrated. He chose for his card St. Teresa's "Who possesses God is wanting in nothing; God alone suffices." This is my prayer for this precious little Brother you've given me, GOD ALONE. It contains all I would give him were I not so shamefully poor. But God is your Son; please let me give the perfect Gift, through you.

Sunday, Nov. 1

Commemoration of All Saints

With all those marked by the precious seal of the Cross, I unite myself in an oblation through Jesus to the glory of the Father. It seems on this beautiful feast of Jesus Christ triumphant I could go on and on in this note to you, but exile keeps interrupting with weariness and pain, and a heart devoid of all but desire. Please transform my all into a hymn of glory for Divine Love. I ask much; teach me to ask for All. Mother of saints, please don't forget a sinner who loves you.

Monday, Nov. 2

Commemoration of All Souls

"I pray for them, for they are Yours." And they are my very own brothers and sisters. They have ended this earthly exile. How long this other? This morning I went to chapel at 6:20. After 8:00 I was still waiting for Father to come feed my heart. At last we had to go to breakfast. But as I waited I too was one of those burning in the inextinguishable desire for God, knowing that when every particle of self had been sacrificed in holocaust Christ would at last come to fill the blessed emptiness. Please let my desire enflame the Fire of Divine Love and hasten Jesus' triumph in all Holy Souls. I ask much, I know; please teach me to ask for All.

Wednesday, Nov. 4

Only this morning I wrote to Ruth telling her of a growing conviction that Jesus just isn't ready to move his little hobo now. Somehow I was happy just to tell her, happy in a true Fiat, in the thought that I may stay a little longer with Sam to gather all his precious sufferings and with you and Jesus continue saving the world. NOTHING MUST BE WASTED. Every heartbeat seems to tell me so.

Then as I happily tore open today's letter from Sr. Christina, there it was before me, God's Holy Will expressed by one who truly loves me and Him. "About the possibility of your coming to New York, I've thought of it too. And this one thought seems to prevail. I wonder, little Virginia, if by coming would you be taking something away from Jesus?" O Mother, it's so wonderful to have this conviction I have tonight. Perhaps soon more precious little crosses of confusion will appear, familiar, nearly friendly, on this hobo's path to tell her it is Jesus' way. But for this sweet moment I rest a little in the sunset and dream of a Dawn.

Sunday, Nov. 8

Me again, lovely Mother. There's lots to tell you but I fear that weariness is greater than these silly but loving words.

I've just returned from a weekend in Elwood. My little sisters and I went for our adoration and discussion last Thursday evening. We had our discussion AT FATHER KEITH'S HOUSE. Doesn't that sound grand? That little brother of mine seems like he has a new toy as he tells us, "Come to MY house," the one where Msgr. Chapman used to live. And he was such a busybody trying to serve refreshments. Afterwards I bid farewell to Jean, Mary Lou and Mary and went home on the farm with Mary Joan. Sincere and loving gratitude from your little hobo. Lessons were many this weekend. Please help me to remember and practice them.

Here is the agony, and ecstasy, of all the crawling I've done these past three days. O Mother, it's become such a draining affair that I can lay sprawled upon the floor and rejoice to be so clumsy and low and filled with the ache of fatigue for my one Little Brother Whose delight is still to be the least, the King of little ones Who invites me to be queen for a lifetime.

Saturday morning Mary Joan took me with her to Fr. Keith's 6:30 Mass in the hospital chapel. Then the Sisters insisted, in their sweet persuasive way, that I have a bit of breakfast before going home. When I returned to the chapel I could hear Father and Mary Joan speaking. O to speak with him! Please beg forgiveness for my desires. They contrast so with my needs. Father waved his hand as I watched him leave, as I tried so vigorously once again to let go. I'll keep trying. Then I was left alone with Jesus as Mary Joan did her shopping.

It was sweet to be there, washing His feet in my hot tears. "She could not cling to Him in tears, nor give Him other than a freedom glad for roads and towns, nor seek to be about His feet and slow them to her needs." [A Woman Wrapped in Silence?] Please help me, Queen of all co-missionaries, and of my poor but desirous heart. Like you I do want to remain out of sight, out of mind, just his least sister. O but when will my heart learn what my mind tells it? Let these tears wash me clean of all but Jesus. He is all I have; am I not satisfied???

This morning we returned to the hospital chapel, where Father offered the Holy Sacrifice facing us. It was the first time I'd had the joy of seeing each of his movements in those moments when He is strong and one with Christ. And I offer tears. They don't flow as often as before. I'm so grateful. Yet sometimes I wonder if I can endure another moment of heartache without them. A Father Who knows His little one holds my all in His hands. After Holy Mass I was permitted the grace of the Sacrament of Penance. There I was to speak with and hear the Voice of God and I was filled with nothing but tears. For about two hours they kept flowing. Yet somehow my poor heart is cleansed and refreshed. Please let it, with you, magnify God.

Don't think I ever told you of "Candy," the teenager living with Julie. She's a lovable little blond, unwanted by her family, boldly pretending it doesn't hurt. Today she was baptized into the Episcopal Church and invited me to attend the ceremonies. So I had the wondrous experience of attending my first Protestant services. How very happily impressed I am. I sat in the front, so I heard and saw everything. The minister is truly a man of God. And I was given a prayer book and hymnal, both opened to the precise page, which I happily used. In my heart Jesus seemed to whisper a thousand times, "That all be one," and it seemed this morning His prayer was on its way to fulfillment as He permitted His little hobo to gather with those other sheep and know that He was so near.

Monday, Nov. 9

"You are a temple of the Holy Spirit." Please, my beautiful Mother, teach me the staggering meaning of this truth. Today I've watch Zachaeus, with the height as well as the bold freedom of a child, climb to see Jesus. I want to go with him; I want to climb the tree to which Jesus was nailed. And He'll call me down again and ask me to shelter Him. And I'll look closely and see His image in every fellow pilgrim. And Zachaeus' first spontaneous words will be mine too, "Lord, I give…"

Tuesday, Nov. 10

Every morning at 6:30 the Holy Sacrifice and Triumph of Calvary will be offered in our little chapel to save the world, for WE HAVE A FATHER. O it's so wonderful. Please shelter him. He seems a bit disappointed in Sam right now. How well I know that emptiness. O but that's because Sam's goodness lies at a great depth. Please let him sound it much, much sooner than I have.

Mother dear, Jesus wants me to learn of the desert. All day He's tried to tell me of it, of Charlie, of mortification, of our blessed nakedness before our Creator. My heart is so slow to understand but it is waiting for these lessons as the sands await water's refreshment, or blood's crimson robe.

Wednesday, Nov. 11

Too tired tonight to think of words for my Mother but, please God, never too weary to tell you once again how dear to my heart you are.

Monday, Nov. 16

"There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved." Charles Morgan.

Since last Thursday, I've been at Gram's. It's good to be here again, in this little corner with Jesus, pecking a loving goodnight to Our Mother. This is Happiness.

Thursday morning we gathered in Jesus' Love at Jean's. Mother dear, my precious little sister looked so very well and happy. It was such a blessed relief to find her so.

"COMPAINING"

"It was the mysterious ways of God's love that occasioned Teresa of Avila's playful complaint: 'If this is how you treat your friends, Lord, no wonder you have so few of them.' Although by her standards I may not be one of his intimates, I do really want to be one of them. Would that I could see more of His love and less of my frustration in the constant daily trials of my life." U. S. Catholic

I've been searching for a spot in which to spend a day in the desert, fool that I am. I live daily in the desert. Alone with God? Yes, so very alone, tossed into a sea of suffering and unhappiness and loneliness and cruelty and nagging persecution, just less than enough to make me feel a pride in this hourly martyrdom. So filled with joy and love, happiness at times I think I can no longer contain anything. But I must go to my room and close my door so as not to offend another with my pleasure. O Mother, it's so hard. PLEASE teach me to love her more and more and more, she who is preparing me for Jesus.

Just as I'd returned from a delightful morning with Jesus and my little sisters, Daddy phoned to say he was on his way to take me to see Grams. She's been in bed for a few weeks. It seems she's a little despondent, and we're trying hard to get her to eat and get up a little to bring back her strength. But maybe she's very tired. How are we to understand? Please teach me compassion, and respect.

Father Lumbardo brought the precious Bread to nourish our souls Friday morning. Our Lover pursues us always! Dad was gone all day. It hurts so that we never be together, that he must be about so many things as I sit alone in the living room when I'd thought we'd have a weekend together. If he's there, he's in bed. Guess my pride is hurt that my presence means so little to him, that I came in "handy" as a Grandma sitter, as he and Aunt Vi wandered to town, to a café for coffee, or just somewhere for a chat. Please help me to overcome this sensitiveness and to be grateful that I could relieve them thus. So I don't mean much to them myself, should I be surprised? What do I have that others might respect and love and desire? Please love your presumptuous little hobo, and teach her how little and insignificant she really is. In this discovery is my happiness.

Only yesterday did I last have an Hour with Jesus. O to take every precious second and give it to Him! And now and then when the multitudes are a little quieter, to go aside and rest a while with Him.

Thursday, Nov. 19

After they had attended the Holy Sacrifice at St. Joan of Arc's my little sisters Jean and LuLu came this morning, bearing donuts and ready for our own hootenanny. We listened to the Demonstration Mass by Fr. Rivers, sang the glorious praises together, and decided that we who claim to be Christians have the world and all beyond to sing about. Please teach us to place our little lights, our smiles, our songs, for the world to see and be joyful with us.

In watching "Dr. Kildare" on TV tonight I heard Dr. Gillespie speaking of love. He mentioned what it meant to many, but to him it was simply contentment. It's time for rest now, for content. And it's Thursday night. "Can you not watch one hour with me?" my beloved Lord and Brother Jesus Christ asks. Can I not be content to sit at His feet, to gaze upon Him Crucified, Him Majestic, and be satisfied in the possession of Him and in being possessed by Him? Who could teach me better than a Mother to watch with her Son?

Octavia just brought me a hot cup of tea; blessed be God. O Mother, it's sooo cold here. What of my dear old brothers and sisters? Please see that they don't suffer too much. When Octavia entered she found today's mail atop the chest of drawers, too high for me to notice. It's fun to receive mail at such a late hour. Here's the letter Br. Mario wrote after his Profession, so filled with gratitude and humility and joy and love. Let these but increase daily with Christ in his heart. Br. Patrick wrote too, just so, so HIM.

Fresh snow is on the ground and on the housetops and trying to cling to the trees. Everywhere I looked it was there to remind me of your immaculate love and enflame my desire to please Jesus WITH you. When I scooched into the chapel this afternoon, I noticed some pleasant rearranging. Two statues, the ones nearest the tabernacle, have been removed, thus focusing attention upon the table of the Sacred Banquet. The Sacred Heart has taken position in the pew with Sr. Raphael; and little Therese, she's atop the cupboard in the sacristy! Any day Father may come to the altar with a rose petal on the burse.

Friday, Nov. 20

Look, Mother, a postcard from Fr. Denkinger, the Episcopal priest I met at Candy's baptism. He's so good, sincere, a father of two. I just can't forget him. The love of Christ brought us together; when will we be one in Him?

Just a few minutes ago I hung up the phone after a wonderful conversation with LuLu. Two happy hours together, O blessed be Love and Littleness and Kids' stuff!

Saturday, Nov. 21

"I rejoiced because they said to me, 'We will go up to the house of the Lord.'" O little thing which God has chosen to confound all the elders, please take me with you today.

This morning, in the book of Liturgical Readings, St. Ambrose called you "A companion to the priesthood," and tonight I call you Mother and in my child's heart dream of imitation.

Please thank Our Father for warmth this evening. At last my feet have circulation and my fingers are not blue. Please don't let us go through again the agonies we've endured the past two days. My jaws nearly locked shut this morning, something in my throat that made swallowing difficult, muscle spasms everywhere in my body, and another of those headaches I thought were gone. If I suffer so, what of these dear old folks? If my body was covered with "goose bumps," what of these with hardened arteries? Here is all the suffering the cold has caused my dear old folks, their comfort tonight and a plea that it may last to ease the fall of twilight's curtain.

Sunday, Nov. 22

"Behold, I make all things new!" Yes, what was magnificent is no more, and what was little and vile He has assimilated in Himself. O God, who is like You; please come in Your terrible majesty and let me not be one to tremble at Your approach. The Church's holy cycle draws to a close, and here we stand awaiting our Judge and our reward. "If You should keep a record of our transgressions, Lord, who could stand it?" Here is my poor heart. There is nothing there to please You but the Cross that has been eternally rooted therein. I know You look for nothing more than this, the sacred sign of our salvation. My Mother, please tend to it, and as you behold the poverty of the soil in which it is planted, water it with your precious tears that it grow tall enough to hold Jesus Christ and Him Crucified in the only Triumph.

Monday, Nov. 23

O Mother, a letter from Fr. Eugene! Has it really been nearly a month since we were together? My calendar says so, but my heart can't believe it. There is no parting when love is divine, just togetherness and remembering and anticipating of Eternity together in the beauty of Him Who first loved us.

Tuesday, Nov. 24

Today, we celebrate the glories of St. John of the Cross. Through his intercession, please Mother, teach me to pray with Jesus His very prayer. Somehow the last few lines of Merton's "Sign of Jonas" have echoed in my heart all day. (I know he'd like the idea of my connecting him with his friend, St. John.) "What was fragile has become powerful. I loved what was most frail. I looked upon what was nothing. I touched what was without substance, and within what was not, I am." O blessed be Divine Love, blessed even be a little nothing aflame with desire to return Love for Love.

This afternoon, as I napped, I dreamed of Velma. Though my mind has quit referring to Elwood rather than Kokomo as home, my heart finds it hard to forget. It seemed it was Christmastide, and Velma was here with me. Sam was a beautiful place. She was sweetly helping me with little necessities, as if she were always here. I remember even seeing Fr. Keith in the corridor. He didn't stop, merely waved, as if he were such a part of the place we could chat anytime. I had a fancy apron on and the words engraved on it were, "My Christmas gift for you is joy." I knew I was wearing it for Velma; she knew it too. I awoke to the ringing of the telephone but was too slow in picking up the receiver to know who it was. Somehow I expected to hear Velma's voice, though I might have burst out with something like "Joy to the world!" and she would have hung up anyway. Why all these memories tonight, a review of all the tears and laughter of my three months of Nazareth? Why this lump in my throat? Will my heart ever forget? I doubt it; make this memory become joy for her for whom I've been such sorrow. Tell Jesus of this; He'll understand, for He has loved you.

Wednesday, Nov. 25

Here for the delight of Our Father, and yours, I bring the letter I received today from Sr. Christina, my precious "Sister Smile of Jesus." More than any sunbeam or fresh flower has she been just that to me. It's very early for this hobo to retire. I want to lie in the arms of Our Father and count blessings till morning, but sleep will come, it too a blessing. And in the morning, refreshed, I can run to Him and forget numbers and just look at Him and know Our Father is good and in Jesus' Love I adore Him. O to thank Him for a Mother who can love the likes of me!

Friday, Nov. 27

Yesterday morning as I sat at His feet, Jesus asked, "Where are the other nine?" and I was so shamed to think that His Sacred Humanity looked for a little gratitude and found next to nothing. O yes, I was there, but I wasn't enough to satisfy His Sacred Heart and my own heart was like the little butterfly flitting from one creature to another, admitting its beauty yet too restless to see what made it so.

When I returned to third, the girls informed me that my phone had been blaring and I sat by it ever so long, ready to pounce at the opportunity to return to Elwood in my presumption. But it rang no more. So as I sat watching Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV, Daddy arrived to take me to Grams.' All the way there was a big lump in my throat and tears welling in my eyes. I'm sorry for being such an ingrate on Thanksgiving Day. Everything takes me further from Nazareth; why can I not happily be about Our Father's business? It was exquisite happiness to know that the heartache was hidden for the dear pleasure of Him Who alone could love it. We use the term GIVE thanks; I give all to Him Who loves me and give boldly because I can remind Him that His Mother is mine and I his lil' sis. If the pleasure of giving is wisely denied me, then let me thank God for the purification of my gift. I shall truly give thanks to Our Father when He looks at me and smiles to find there a semblance of His dearly-beloved Son.

So after our turkey, the remainder of the day was filled with kiddies and the dog. Daddy napped. Late last night I read a few words from Charlie's pen on the mercy of God, then tried the hitherto unsuccessful practice of keeping watch with Jesus Thursday night, the night of His anguish and loneliness. It seemed I could have stayed with Him all night. Was it gratitude or anguish or love or wonder that kept me there? Where will this broadening desire to imitate my little brother of the desert lead me? It isn't for me to ask, I know; please help me to follow faithfully this chosen path to Calvary, my only triumph. I am an infant who wouldn't comprehend the answers to the questions of my heart even if you gave them to me. Mother, I need you so; please show me Jesus.

This morning He came to Grams and me, so tiny that Msgr. Klein carried Him in his pocket, and I in the minuteness of my heart. He is here! Though I must sleep now please see that His Presence in the tabernacle of my very body is never lacking adoration.

Saturday, Nov. 28

After Benediction at noon, we held a little practice session for our participation in English in tomorrow's Divine Liturgy. O Mother, it's all so thrilling to find at last our proper place, we God's People, in Redemption's living reality. I hear much criticism; all this change is hard on my old folks. But they'll grow to love it all, Mother dear, if you ask for them the grace of a young heart always. Please? I know that we'll have the bare minimum of participation set down by our Bishop. It's hard not to desire more. Please help me to be content, to be very little among God's little ones, lost in their midst, rather losing myself and all my environment in the loving Plan of God.

It's a few minutes after midnight, and Holy Mother Church has launched us into a new year of grace. O that the life of Christ in its entirety be lived in our hearts. During this holy season you'll be so dear to us as with you we wait in longing for, and joyous anticipation of, Christ. We are Christians-in-waiting; when will we be worthy to look upon God's Face? You alone can teach us this readiness. Please do, Mother.

Sunday, Nov. 29

The bookcase where your beautiful image, The Rockingchair Madonna, is usually enshrined seems bare tonight. I've put that carving away till Christmas and already I miss it. It's such an insignificant way of perceiving what so many feel as they await Christ, and how can I guess what their anguish is if they know not Him for Whom their heart cries? Still, I gather the cry of a world and bring it here to you tonight. Please see that Our Father is glorified in our daily crucifixion. Instead of the carving there is my little vigil light in the center of a tiny wreath, whose green sprigs of hope catch the light and whisper of the beauty of night and a promise of the dawn. In my heart is the tiny prayer that greeted me this morning as I leafed to the First Sunday of Advent in my missal. It's on a holy card I got at the Cape, beneath a picture of you holding Jesus, little ones playing at your feet. "Give us Jesus. Donnez-nous Jesus!" Amen.

The Liturgy in the vernacular this morning was thrilling. Father, usually so fast I cannot read my missal, slows very much when he is to pray with the people. I can actually participate. O the joy of bringing to my lips prayers that had to remain locked in my heart, the Our Father, the Gloria, the Sanctus! Father's sermon on the intention of Our Holy Father and our Bishops in the renovations within Holy Mother Church was excellent. Yet, the joy was dulled by the continous complaints and stern opposition of our poor Sisters that filled the day. Please help them to see how loving Holy Mother Church has been to us. It's so hard to have no one to share these things that make me happiest. So I stay out of the way in my little corner, so as not to antagonize, and happily remember this note to you and begin storing all that I am to give you in the last of the day's pleasures.

Please hold me close; I'm so cold. The patients don't seem to be complaining. It seems the chill has soaked me to the bones and even though I feel warm, I'm not. Intentions, intentions; today I began my Advent fast, and just now I had a big piece of cake and a cup of hot tea. I eat much when chilled; please help me to save some comforts for the Little One you're bringing to my poverty.

Monday, Nov. 30

It's so toasty tonight. Mother, please teach us to be truly grateful tonight, and at all times, because we know Our Father is good.

Tuesday, Dec. 1

Br. Mario has volunteered to go to Peru! Isn't that wonderful, Mother? He anticipates waiting two years, during which he'll tackle Spanish. Please let him learn it easily. He's needed there among the poor of Peru, he's needed here in our midst. And wherever he may be I'll never lose his lovable littleness in the Mystical body of Christ, that vast doctrine which so often explains my joy and my anguish.

As of 7:00 this evening my little brother Charlie has been dead forty-eight years. But how can I speak of death as I happily think of him who is so vibrantly alive to me today? This evening, after I'd finished Holy Mother Church's night prayers in my short Breviary, I stayed there at the feet of our Eucharistic King to await the hour of Charlie's defeat, identical with his triumph. It seemed he was with me there, again, kneeling before Christ, his hands tied, a gun at his head, waiting for death and reviewing his life. How forcefully the words he once wrote returned, "All my plans turn out to be mere bits of paper." Yes, my heart whispered, I understand, Charlie. I weigh my deeds with my intentions and cringe at the imbalance; I weep, I resolve and I fall. This is my life. One seed has fallen and blossomed in the desert; another throws herself to the sand and begs them to cover her that she keep him company there and in Eternity. Little Sister Death, bring night upon us, and Christ's Resurrection.

Monday, Dec. 7

Hello, Mother, how happily I find myself here alone with you again for our goodnight embrace. I've just returned from the exciting Cleaver home, where I had the privilege of being present for Queen and Dick's 14^th anniversary last Wednesday night. It was SUCH fun, and Our Father knew well just when His weak Little Sister needed a Nazareth. Yes, I'd been such a stinker that day. I am ashamed, beg forgiveness, and thank God that He is loving enough to send these constant reminders of my unworthiness and of His changeless Love.

It's been a weekend of kiddies, seven of them, their tears and laughter, their spontaneity, Jesus looking through the purity of their eyes. O no wonder God likes kids!

Yesterday Dick and I went to 8 o'clock Mass, Queen and the kiddies to 10. Somehow it was a privilege receiving Our Father's Gift with Dick. Mother, how my admiration for that man increases with each time we may be together. Please return to him what he so unconsciously gives to me.

Early this morning Fr. Keith came to the house to tell me of my appointment with Mother Rosaline, which he'd arranged that I might unburden my heart concerning Sam. I was so anxious, Mother. The opportunity seemed SO important, yet somehow I feel I accomplished nothing in those 15 minutes at the Motherhouse. How I longed to say what might eliminate the sufferings of my brothers and sisters here, but Mother Rosaline turned it to a personal account and finally accused me of simply misunderstanding Sr. Aquinas. I'm sorry I failed to alleviate my people's suffering, and at the same time I do want to say thank you for the misjudgment. So I remain lost here among the forgotten ones, to remind them that One remembers them.

Dick and I had such a pleasant day together. While the car was being worked on, we snooped around the mammoth mart called "T-Way." It's SO big, makes me a little dizzy for I want to see just everything. Row after row of merchandise, yet nothing to alleviate this hobo's poverty is to be bought there. By some prodigality of Love, my need has the whole world for a market and each section marked "yours, please take."

[Virginia's renewal of her vows]

Dec. 8, 1964

I am poverty.

Our Father,

Today Your People offer again the humanity that gave birth to her You looked upon and smiled to find Immaculate. This is the third anniversary of the day on which I first buried my poor little seed in the desert. Yet how often, with my false sense of values, have I lifted it to see the superficial and broken again the thin roots that want to hold me there beneath all Your creatures, a little one beside Him Who yet delights to be the Least. I come, good Father, that You bury me again today, forever, in Jesus' Love.

I CONSECRATE TODAY:

Through Him Who alone is Priest, all that You have given me and long to hear Him whisper over the bread that is myself, "This is My Body," that I may give You--not myself--but Jesus.

The burdens of all my brothers and sisters, so heavy upon my heart, yet my joy when my soul can focus to see but Christ beneath His precious Cross.

These words from my Sister Smile of Jesus and the blessed security in Your Holy Will they've offered, "Would you be taking something away from Jesus?" Yes, Father, I DO LOVE SAM because of all that You might offer me You see that this is best for me and I don't doubt Your Wisdom.

My little sisters Jean, Lulu and Mary, that each day You may look upon all of us and be well pleased.

Dear Sr. Aquinas, that I may be swifter to understand, slower to condemn and a witness always to the Love Jesus and I have for her.

"Would that I could see more of his love and less of my frustration in the constant daily trials of my life." My whining complaints, yes even these I consecrate that they be transformed into the prayer of the poor, into the prayer of Him Whose entire being cries, "Our Father!"

The chastity of his love who is so gloriously CHRIST to me.

All the thrills of Christendom in this blessed era of the Church Militant.

The lovableness of everyone since the Incarnation.

The blessedness of being a fool.

Jesus' longing, "That all be one!"

My singing heart and the prayer that rises to my lips and voice.

The contentment that is Love.

This and all else that is Your beloved Son, Father, I beg that You receive from me through the hands of your Bride who is my Mother.

Maryily in LOVE--

Little Virginia of Jesus

Tuesday, Dec. 8

Immaculate! My Mother Immaculate! How can I know the meaning of that word; how can I know what you are? I am your very child, yet I resemble you so shamefully little. Still, today I renew my consecration, trusting that your dazzling whiteness will turn all that is not Jesus in me to the darkness of oblivion. Mother, please let me wear your dress.

This afternoon the Sisters from St. Joan of Arc came here to carol us. It was such fun singing with them as we sat on the floor of the TV room. My people do love music. Please let your Magnificat always echo in my soul, and let them somehow hear it there and be glad because God is eternally happy.

Sunday, Dec. 13

Mother dear, I love you; it's just me, your little sleepyhead, never too sleepy for your sweet companionship these blessed last moments of my day. I've been at Myrna's this weekend, nodding, sleeping, struggling to appear alert. Thank God for rest and for friends who can love even so dull a companionship as I must offer.

Today is Gaudete Sunday; Holy Mother Church tells us to brighten our smiles, to expand our hearts, for Christ is ever so near. Eight years ago today, as she told us of her joyful anxiety, she ordained our Fr. Keith. Yes, Christ is near, already living with us, but we don't recognize Him. He suffers so because He loves us and we don't even know Him. All day He's spoken of Fr. Keith's happiness, inseparable from my own. Thank you for letting me share what is his.

Monday, Dec. 14

This afternoon I was wakened by one of the little Gold Teens desiring an interview for the Tribune. O Mother, I'm weary of newspapers, and I'm just plain weary. I know she didn't understand all of what I said. So for the third time I'll be splashed on the page of a local newspaper. Why, Mother? If only by my humiliation, please see that Jesus is better known and loved in all this.

Tuesday, Dec. 15

It's so small, this sleepy little love ya, but it's my all that I bring to you, Mother. Now that I've placed it in your tender care, I abandon my weary self to slumber and dreams of dawn and newness and strength in Him Who has called Himself our Light.

Wednesday, Dec. 16

Father Keith was actually ordained on the 16^th of December, so once again my soul magnifies the Lord with yours for his Holy Priesthood, one with Jesus'. O Mother, please remember my missionary; I am not worthy to live and die for him, yet that I do at all times through your loving tenderness.

The Salvation Army came to us today with treats and their "War Cry." Somehow that magazine always seems to hold something special for me, and today it concerned Sam: "Indeed, by coming down in such a gracious manner, the new King, lying in swaddling clothes in a splintered crib, consecrated forever all the humble and hard places where so many of His people live today!" Sam is consecrated, set aside especially for God. And I am a part of it. Please help me to be worthy to be His.

Thursday, Dec. 17

The Sisters' annual Christmas party for the aides was today. Somehow it held a somber note as compared to the laughter and singing last year. Poor Sam does need vitamins. Please, Mother, you know our deficiencies.

Sister Aquinas is so thrilled over the new Short Breviary I gave her today. She's all smiles and hugs. If only the little gifts I long to give her every day could produce the same effects! Surely it's possible; please guide me always, Mother.

Friday, Dec. 18

Daddy came today and we shopped for a TAMBORINE. So now I can tell my Brothers I've taken up an instrument to join their band. It's much more difficult to hold than I'd figured, and singing and beating it at the same time, whew! I have an idea of a wooden piece built in so that I can hold it better. Just imagine a visit to the clinic to bring Mr. Owens a novel problem! Or maybe Fr. Eugene and I can iron it out together. We'll see. I'm so tickled to have an instrument and somehow I'll learn to play it. Let a little hootenanny sister beat and shout love ya's to all, please.

Saturday, Dec. 19

"Paper in my window, Tears dried on my face, My heart sings a carol. He has blessed this place."

Today has been a bit of Christmas, for Fr. Jim O'Neill was here with his friend Fr. Peil. We all sat on the floor here in my frosty little corner and spoke of Him Who is our Love. Queen of co-missionaries, just what am I to do as I am plunged further and further into the lives of priests and other religious? Surely the Spirit of Jesus' Love will take possession of me, especially at these times, to make me a good little sister to everyone, to Jesus, to let me become so small that I may always adjust to others' needs.

Sunday, Dec. 20

My beautiful Jean was here this evening. Yet the comfort of her presence was so soothing that I fell asleep. It was a wonderful visit, for there we were together, pretending nothing more than what we were, wanting nothing more, content. And if this gave way to the weariness that nags me these days, I knew I needn't apologize. We are waiting for Christ, and if we slumber the tiny mighty One can send a choir of angels to waken us, and in glad confidence I know He will.

Monday, Dec. 21

In Mother Rosaline's card today came "A Prayer for Courage:"

My Mother, how well you know of courage. Please beg of Our Father this grace for me.

Father Keith was here a little bit ago. Why do I become so incapable of expressing myself to him each time the opportunity presents itself? Is it that Jesus wants to be my All and must tear from me all these consolations I've taken for granted all these years? Mother, it is dark. Please hush me that I may watch for the Star that will lead me to Light.

"O rising Dawn, Radiance of the Light eternal and Sun of Justice: come, and enlighten those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death."

Tuesday, Dec. 22

"Young Donna's mother asked her if she was praying for God to help her become a better girl. 'But God has so much work to do, mommy,' Donna said, 'I just ask Him if He would help you get used to me.'"

"I feel more and more that we cannot waste time, that God counts on us, to whom He has given so much, to pray and bring about the conversion of so many who do not believe. Everything we do, all the suffering, deceptions, all the joys and indifferent things of our life, must be offered to Christ for the coming of the Kingdom. Of course, God is with us--Emmanuel--now, but so many people do not know it, or won't believe it. Virginia, woe to us if we waste the opportunities we have of winning these souls to Christ. Pray that we all be faithful, all be fervent, and just do day by day, minute by minute, what God wants of us." Anne-Marie. Mother, it was so beautiful I had to quote it. Please see to the accomplishment of this our prayer.

Only this afternoon did I get my Christmas greetings in the mail, all 225 of them. So many words, yet please guide my loved ones to read therein but one tiny Word which you hold.

Queen called this evening, and just a little later, Mama. Speaking with Mama was much more strained than one year ago. I was so sorry it had to be so. Please store this too in your infinite love for your Baby. So often Mama didn't understand my words; and what of my Love?

Mother, it's terribly late, and I truly must be scooting. Just had to peck a few words and love ya's to you, and tell you how anxious I am to see your Baby's Face. Please prepare me for it.

Jan. 3, 1965

Here's your little hobo, Mother dear, consoled and happy that you are here to receive all that I am and LOVE IT. Yes, that is the mystery I'd be a fool to try to comprehend; I believe.

Where can I begin my account of the blessings with which my poverty has been adorned these past days? And how am I to know even if they are lovelier than those subtle blessings that weigh upon my heart here at Sam? It's not for me to be concerned. I simply bring all to you that you may make it somewhat presentable to Little Jesus. Surely after all is in your hands I'd be a fool to have any further concern for it. Yes, I AM so often a fool. But YOU LOVE ME. 0 for the littleness to let myself be loved!

My beautiful hobo haven, it was so warm this visit; the promise of spring seemed in the air and the rain and the anticipation. 0 but never has His Majesty come so jubilantly. He Who came last year to show me His weakness invited me this time to fling myself upon the consolation of His strength. His image in the abbey church kept inviting my gaze. It seemed He wanted to stoop and with one hand scoop me up to hear forever the beating of His Heart. Please direct my anguished joy to Him that at the end of exile I may come upon His Majesty and find the sweetness of home.

Fr. Eugene was one of four priests that remained home during all these blessed days. 0 thank you for the cradle of his heart where I can rest my weary head and hear the silence of God's Almighty Word. We began our little trek to the abbey church about ten Christmas eve. There was Matins at ten-thirty, then Midnight Mass and finally Lauds. 0 the joy of it; I could have begged to stay for more. But when Father had taken me to my corner and I was relieved of the wheelchair I was just too weary to know how to hop into a nightgown. Father found me the next morning just as he'd left me, put me in the chair, ran a comb through my hair and in 5 minutes there I was attending the Holy Sacrifice offered through his beautiful hands. And I KNELT at your Baby's lowly crib! Thank you for Jesus!!!

After Compline together Christmas night I spoke with Father a little about this terrible rebellion within me, of the crushing confusion of never knowing if I truly echo your Fiat. He was gentle. Though the content of his few words brought me no relief, yet I knew once again all was okay and I must rest in such darkness as to never know if I have a Fiat, if I have anything. Mine should be nothing, for I am Jesus'. Is this not enough, I ask my weeping heart. What more could He do for me? Christ is here, and I am a hidden heaven, hidden mostly from myself. Is this not what I've begged, annihilation in Jesus? Please gently hush me, for I'm disturbing angels' songs. There was one angel, the littlest one, who wept hot, bitter tears at the ugliness, the irreverence of his gift, yet somehow I remember that Our Father was pleased. Only His pleasure can make me smile; please teach me to smile always.

Surely you too love my "pancake priest," dear Fr. Obeso. He was such a joy to me this visit. He's spending some time here to learn conversational English, and one morning when we had pancakes he told me the story of how a PANCAKE led him to Jesus' Priesthood. How great is our God to use such humble means: a pancake, a manger, a cripple, to accomplish His tremendous designs! And in this irresistible command my heart feels to PRAY FOR HOLY PRIESTS I put dear Fr. Pancake forever.

What of Fr. Lucien? Somehow my suspicions of his terrible burden have been confirmed. He avoids me now that I see him not in his hour of confusion, his weakness, knowing of my great love and respect, not knowing that on weakness above all else love grows. Please speak to him of his to give, Mother dear, and if you think it may help tell him how truly and joyfully his least sister has shouldered this burden with him. Tuesday we offered the Holy Sacrifice at 4:30 A.M. in the guest house. It WAS in English; what did it cost him, Mother? Then we went for a cup of coffee, and he was gone to Ferdinand for the rest of the week. My thoughts and prayers follow him often. And I thank God for his trial and the victory I feel confident will come to my dear, grand, silver-topped Father. Please let it not be delayed.

Did I mention Meredith Black to you last January? On one of those days of utter weakness I received a letter from Fr. Eugene requesting prayers for this girl my age. She seemed such a blessing, such a tangible reason for all that suffering. And last Wednesday I got to meet her! She's a lovely young lady, and I felt we'd always known each other. There are so many designs too exalted for our lowliness; please thank our Father for these sneak peeks that lift us that we may run more swiftly to Him Who is the Beginning and the End of all.

Thursday and Friday were days of rest, of desert, of retreat with you my beautiful Woman Wrapped in Silence. 0 how I love you and long to be like you and weep to see that I am not and finally bow in gratitude that God doesn't let me forget my lowliness. Thursday night I longed to keep watch, to offer only Jesus to His Father in the last moments of the old year and the fresh ones of the new. But instead I fell asleep sooner than any night, and in the morning He seemed to say that whereas I wanted to give Him a particular gift He took instead my will, which is all that He asks. Please thank Him for showing me this.

Once again Fr. Eugene summarized what he wanted to tell me during his homily at Holy Mass this morning. "All things work together unto good for those who love." Yes Mother, 0 for courage and patience and external gaiety that can pretend not to feel a lash until alone at Jesus' feet when all this that must not be wasted I lay bare that He may continue saving the world.

I've just unloaded the suitcases and happily plowed through the stack of cards and letters that greeted me here. Now it in time to rest, and even this must be approached with reverence, another gift that I may become someday the Little Sister Jesus wishes me to be. Please let me always know you're my Mother; otherwise I fear I'd surrender to despair. 0 but I have the promise of your Immaculate Heart and HOPE.

Tuesday, Jan. 5

Goodnight, dearest Mother. Please let me be refreshed by the darkness of slumber that I may better follow the great star that leads to the dawn in your Child's eyes.

Wednesday, Jan. 6

My beautiful Mother wrapped in silence, please let every person be a living Epiphany to me, and by some inscrutable design of our Father, me to them.

"There have been some to say theirs was a bitter Wisdom that could stoop to humbleness When they had sought a king's house for a King. But these were men who saw a star and went To follow it, who heard a Name and cut The ground away and could not sleep until They found the Bearer of the Name, and these Were men so simple they were unconfused By simple things, and as the shepherds, found No strangeness in His swaddling bands, nor wonder That the Child should ask no more than her.

"She smiled again, and the light was radiant, And her hands were lifting Him that they might see." (A WOMAN WRAPPED IN SILENCE)

And what of me? How did I come with such distinguished company, and what is my gift that I will lay beside these riches? Mother, YOU are my treasure; YOU I offer our Creator Who now needs nor wants more than you.

Thursday, Jan. 7

Today is Fr. Lucien's feast day. What do I not owe him? Through him I've come to a realization of God the Father, and never could I have understood Jesus' Love without it. Now he suffers alone, and my shoulders ache to help him bear his burden. 0 to tell him it is shared! I offer this painful helplessness for his consolation today.

Tonight, after their hour with Jesus together the Elwood bunch came here to Lulu's to join us in the discussion of this month's topic. Did I hear and comprehend and apply what was said of "Action?" No Mother, yet I can't be sorry. Fr. Keith was there and I could follow him with my eyes and my heart and see that he's feeling pretty well and listen to every word and act of his. I gave him the Mexican crucifix I found for him at hobo haven and basked in the light of his child's face as he so obviously fell in love with it at first glance. He carried his cross all evening, reminding me that, like Jesus, this is the best I may offer my dear ones in this land of exile. 0 but the Promise we may remind one another of always!

When he first walked in, he laughingly tossed his gloves into the lap of his little co-missionary as I sat there in the kitchen corner. I put then on; they were fur-lined and so warm and I remembered the sacred hands of a priest that had just worn them before me and kept them on all evening. His beautiful hands. Please remember that since you've given me away I have nothing, and tell Jesus to look upon the work of his hands and call it my own in our eternal Communion.

Saturday, Jan. 9

"Craving for a deeper knowledge of existentialism and phenomenology"? In reading these words today's mail brought, I smiled with relief at my sufficient, if meager, education. Why must all these things concern us, since John has told us in all simplicity that God is LOVE?

Sr. Mark shares with me some dear lines a friend wrote from France. My mind loves them; please, Mother, teach them to my heart.

Sunday, Jan. 17

Please accept the peck of a hobo whose heart you've taught to beat for only Jesus.

0 Mother, after not having written for a week my prayer is a maze of disconnected joys and heartaches so inseparable the mere thought of trying to put a semblance of them on paper is humorous. And I love your smile…

Wednesday afternoon Velma and I rode to Indianapolis to enjoy the movie "My Fair Lady" with Fr. Keith. It was so uplifting, and even if I'd not found it so Father's delighted giggle would have made it so for me. Poor Elisa how I can sympathize with her, I who am anything but a fair lady, with a foot hanging out one side of the wheelchair, my head at the other, arms waving, giggles or tears, shoes flying through the air. 0 but the grace of seeing oneself thus and finding Our Father's sense of humor, please thank Him for this. If I can make others smile at my oddity, then surely CP has ceased to be a handicap.

When we returned to Elwood late that night the glad privilege of being a hobo in PAT'S Nazareth was mine. 0 Mother, I'd never dared to hope for this. But what is the audacity in my soul that thirsts for the Beatific Vision? Please fill me always with calm wonder before God's almighty Love. Together we chattered and worshipped and fell in love. Always have I loved Pat, but from a distance, with a glance that spoke of Christ. But now through her Christ Himself has spoken and we both sit in the hushed excitement the Word has stirred in our hearts.

Yesterday evening I went to spend a little time with Julie. And this morning there was much merriment as we divided our time between Fr. Keith's Mass and the Episcopal Communion service. Yes, Fr. Denkinger even phoned last night to tell us how welcomed we'd be. The sidewalks had been cleared of God's superabundant shower of crispy whiteness, and he even explained how communion was distributed to invalids. It was such fun to ask Fr. Keith if we might go to receive with them and hear his panic-stricken "No!" 0 how alive becomes Jesus' prayer "That all be one!" as more and more similarities are discovered and my loving admiration increases.

Such a blessedly high pile of letters awaited my return, and with Jesus' strength I know I shall be able to continue giving His Love to my growing list of correspondents. Fr. Pwamang's Christmas card finally came from Ghana. It is so welcome, for knowing of the Communists' infiltration of his country I wait from one piece of mail to the next to know that he's all right. Here's my first letter from Doris Hayden, with possibilities of visiting her and her eight little ones someday. It seems your little hobo will truly earn her name these coming weeks and months. Never have invitations poured in like this. They are all longing for Jesus; 0 please don't let me disappoint them.

Ruth [Areche] was to have surgery the 15^th. How is she? Please take special care of that energetic little wheel of yours.

Here's a precious note, in English, from my dear Fr. Pancake! 0 how happy the thought of him; his learned simplicity, his eagerness, his condescending love, his gentleness. Please let me never forget him in this poor life mingled so wonderfully with those of your priests.

How joyfully I receive word from our Little Sisters in Chicago. Sister says of misery: "We wonder sometimes how long it is going to last…But our hope tells us to hope against all hope, and the Lord knows what is going on here below." Yes, Mother, you know how I need this lesson impressed upon the heap of poverty called my heart. PLEASE make me a good little sister of Jesus! Let His very sentiments be my own because I am His. Little Sr. Francisca works in a rubber factory and Little Sr. Dolores in a clock factory. 0 my joy to be one of the least of this glorious family!

Well Mother, we've reached the end of the wonderful pile of letters and I shall close too, grateful for dark, silent night where alone lies hope of Dawn.

Monday, Jan. 18

In today's mail was a note and promise of a parcel from Sister Virginia on behalf of all the Sisters of Mary Immaculate at Daffiema-Wa, Ghana. It will be fun to receive the native table mats. 0 how blessed to be so realistically united with my brothers and sisters near and far. "Lord, I am not worthy!" Speak but the Word that these who have been my joy may feel His peace returned to their souls.

And here is blessed encouragement in my vocation from Fr. Heitz, who visited me Epiphany. "The task that you have undertaken seems to me to be mountainous, but I am sure that this particular and specific vocation God has designed for you personally, and equipped you abundantly to live accordingly. I can only pray that God continues to give you the strength and the grace to pursue this wonderful mission in perpetuating and extending His own mission of redemption." AMEN. 0 Mother, I feel so very sure of my way of life. And I do understand others' doubts. When they voice them too often I begin to wonder, but there is always the gentle smile of Our Father, as this letter today, to speak of approval and to make my fantastic dreams yet more universal.

Tuesday, Jan. 19

Helen entered this little corner at 11:00 tonight, and for an hour she unintelligibly talked and wept of grief heaped upon her by the Sisters. 0 Mother, the faith my poor heart must exercise to go on believing these are truly Brides of Christ! Since Christmas I'd enjoyed a glad abundance of peace, and it seemed that none of Sam's trials could disturb it. I simply took them, felt the pain and almost joyfully uttered Fiat to it. But now all this is gone, and tonight there is in my heart that same rebellion that gripped me last December. "The Lord giveth; the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord!" Yes, His gift of rest was so comforting. Yet perhaps mine to give him was nil while I possessed it. Do thank Him for taking it again and beg Him to take all of me that at last I may don the vestments of Jesus Christ and Him crucified and find that Our Father is well pleased.

Wednesday, Jan. 20

"That they may be one!" Last night my sleepy head forgot Holy Mother Church's plea on behalf the Eastern Christians, that they who are separated may return to Communion with the Holy See. And tonight we beg for The Reconciliation of Anglicans to the Holy See. Please enflame these desires in our hearts, reminding us that WE are the Church, the Body of our beloved Lord and Brother Jesus Christ, and Him crucified.

Daddy and I had hamburgers together at the shopping center this evening. Such a closeness I felt. I spoke much of what is in my heart, and though the light of understanding was hard to see, I do know that there was no ridicule. Perhaps this was but today's gift. My many disappointments have made me fear to hope for more. But this IS today, and I want to tell you how happy I am for it.

Thursday, Jan. 21

Mother dear, you who hold us beneath your heart, to our darkness showing Christ our Light and so lovingly waiting for us too to become resplendent in that same glow, we beg today for The Reconciliation of European Protestants with the Holy See. How you, our own Mother, must long for your children's unification. Please put in the poverty called my heart the same desires as those which fill your own. But I know it's too small for that. Rather take my heart, my all, remembering how thoroughly I belong to you, and let my love and my life be your own.

Friday, Jan. 22

That American Christians Become One in Union with the Chair of Peter your children plead today, confident that you will hear that yearning of Jesus' Heart and in your powerful sweetness approach the Father with our request.

From Lima, Peru, where Br. Xavier is now in language school, comes his letter today. His invitation: "I beg you to join us in our mission work in Peru. There is so much to be done here, and you can help us, our work, and our new little community by your prayers and good works. Will you adopt us too?" Mother, I have nothing; I've given my poverty to you. But I know you will care for my brothers in Peru and everywhere. 0 the sweet confidence of knowing you're our Mother!

Tuesday, Jan. 26

It was so nice, the surprise visit in Elwood. I'd known Fr. Ferrell was to be there and had written him a note to tell him I was sorry I had to miss his visit. Then Myrna called Saturday morning to see if I could come. Thank God! I try again and again to congratulate myself on my detachment from Elwood, but who am I deceiving as hot hears stream down my cheeks?

We all gathered at Queen's Saturday night, and the throat that till then was merely sore soon became voiceless. I'm glad. I was just a little sponge this time and couldn't doubt that Jesus wished anything else. I've learned much. For once I was a little nothing of whom nothing was expected. And yet I cannot but hope that my receiving itself was a giving. Love would not have it otherwise.

Sunday evening, after Fr. Ferrell's talk on morality, we gathered at Gracie's to continue our discussion and questions concerning his topic. The only corner I could find was one where I could see hardly anyone. It seemed so lonely, as if I had to exercise faith that my friends, their smiles, their concerns and frustrations were there with their voices. And I could not express my joy that they were with me.

Two seats from me sat Fr. Keith, so near yet, as Jesus must wish these days, not near enough that I might have a chat with him. But his hand found its way to the spot where my own rested on the couch, and there was I embracing the sacred hand of a priest, more of that priest for whom you sweetly offer my entire poverty. Then it was as if all the words around me were trite, and I was happy in the thought that Father was so near and that he really knew how deeply I loved him. Thus it is that at every gathering I leave with a treasure so different from the beautiful friends that surround me yet a treasure so precious and essential to my soul I could never wish for their gifts created for hearts so much bigger and more beautiful than mine.

A letter from Fr. Lucien arrived today. Great; that's all. 0 how I love my dear Father. He knows doesn't he? He's too wise not to have guessed it from our first chat. But do tell him again, please Mother.

Wednesday, Jan. 27

"The only faithful revelation of the Father's love was the silent, palpable, defenseless presence of the Son. On the Cross, He was bidden to manifest Himself and He answered--by staying right there. That's how much He loved us (for loving means placing one's trust in somebody forever): He loved us to the point of hoping that we'd love Him like that, love Him up there on the Cross, and that we'd always be able to see Him in all the poor and all the outcasts, the executed and the pursued, the dying, those who've wasted their lives, the lonely, the weak and the oppressed."

Mother, I beg not to disappoint Him. 0 to love as Jesus loves, as much as Jesus loves, with His very Love! 0 to love to the point of placing infinite trust in everyone, to give them something to which their goodness will respond. They've been waiting so long for someone to expect big things of them. Don't let me stunt their growth by my limited expectations but let my demands on them be just as fantastic as Jesus'.

"He loves those who realize they're just bumps on a log but feel nonetheless sure they'll do something great--because God moves mountains when we ask Him to, with faith."

I'm happy to be His bump on a log, to be anything if only I am His. Whether He wishes to glorify His Name by moving mountains through me or by letting me remain completely useless and utterly flung upon His mercy for every second of my existence is of no concern to me. To be HIS is not to express how I want to serve.

"Silence is the profound activity of listening love." All is quiet now; it is precious Night. Please let me hear you speak again His Name.

Thursday, Jan. 28

Blessed be the name of Jesus in our gathering this morning! It was our first time at Peg's and a wonderful exchange.

Then Jean and I stopped for a big hamburger and Coke and were on our way to MARY'S. 0 Mother, just to hear her little hillbilly phrases, to see her smile and most of all the peaceful resignation that fills her entire being is such joy, our privilege to behold. Please let Love grow to yet greater strength within the tremendous capacity called her heart. Thank God for our precious little sister whose own joy has rejoiced our hearts today.

Friday, Jan. 29

There is but one phrase my heart keeps shouting as I come to these precious moments of giving my day to you, Mother: "Live, Jesus!" Please accomplish this miracle in the poor heart that finds its consolation in your tender care. How truly you are my hope.

Saturday, Jan. 30

0 Mother, please help me, I'm confused. Sister tells my friends I'm too demanding and she tells the aides not to "spoil" me. What does that mean? They used to give me a shove if I was going to the other end of the hall. Not now. They used to help me to the restroom. Now I get snapped at if I ask for a bath on the days I used to get one. My room isn't cleaned. My most consistent request is to be pushed to chapel. No one SEEMS to mind that. I'm sorry. Please increase my desire to be LEAST among these poor, forgotten little ones.

Sunday, Jan. 31

Jesus appears to sleep. His Presence is so very subtle at times, but when I cry for Him He is saddened by my lack of faith in His Love, in His living Presence within those around me. Only my love can reveal it to me. "Lord, save us from ourselves!"

Monday, Feb. 1

"We have to hope against all hope; we have to trust that what we call failure is really a sign of the mysterious victories God's love'll carry off." Everly.

Here is my day, Mother, in it nothing of which I can be proud, thank God. Success is so subtle, failure sometimes so prominent. And who am I to presume to judge either? I just hope against all that is in me that somehow in my life mysterious victories glorify Our Father. In simplicity, I bring you today.

Tuesday, Feb. 2

Another feast, and because I love you so, Mother, it's been a glorious day. How often have I paused to thank God for this love of you that rejoices my heart? It too is a grace, a tremendous gift I treasure. And the more precious it becomes to me the greater the love that floods the poverty known as my heart. There is so much good in my life I must fail to recognize, great graces such as this one. What I am yet ignorant of please include in that perpetual Magnificat your soul sings for your graces and all of ours. During the Holy Gospel and at the Consecration in this morning's Holy Sacrifice we held lighted tapers. I could feel the heat kissing my face and a couple times I heard it nip some loose hairs. One little candle, so warm and bright. 0 truly we have no right to hide our light. Let me never run for cover under the guise of "humility."

Somehow this has always seemed a day of sorrow to me. I've watched you offer your Child to God and return to be forever in the shadow of the cross that Simeon promised. But today Holy Mother Church has emphasized nothing but joy. She even halts the reading of the Holy Gospel before the prophesy of your broken heart. And the day is filled with the fact that you have offered the first Mass. There you stand consecrating your Baby to the Father. In turn Jesus is placed back in your arms. You are sent (Ite missa est) to take Him to those who wait for Him, though some know not what they await.

The world is filled with Simeons, just waiting. St. Augustine says, "First he recognized Him; next He adored Him; then he declared: 'Now thou dost dismiss thy servant, 0 Lord, in peace; because my eyes have seen…'" How many have ever recognized the Light of the world in my eyes? I'm glad this is hidden from me, that I be not tempted to despair. I do know that MY eyes have seen Him. I hold those precious images in my heart. Please let me never let them go till together we are plunged into the Beatific Vision.

Wednesday, Feb. 3

"Newman once wrote that the religious services which sickness, care and turmoil keep us from relishing; those that weary our fickle heart though they're actually being celebrated, and though we believe in their sacredness; those that we're inclined to judge too long, that we dread before they begin and wish to see done while they're still going on--those very services, we understand later, are filled with the presence of God." Everly.

The Holy Sacrifice, the Blessed Sacrament are so little relished. 0 but let me not pass judgment on those who grow weary of them. Remind me of what Newman wrote, especially in my own tepidity.

Ruth and I went shopping for Valentines this evening. It's fun to browse through the shelves of cards and suddenly find one that says just about what our heart is saying. Strange that Christians should have to have a day on which to send love ya's, to make it official because I LOVE YOU has gone out of style, isn't proper just anywhere, anytime. Please help us to make it common again.

"If people tell us, 'I love God,' we should withhold our judgment and hesitate to canonize them. Perhaps they're merely going through a pious phase. But if they say, 'I love my neighbor,' then we can begin to esteem them as extraordinary beings. Perhaps we've met someone, at last, who can put up with God." Everly

Thursday, Feb. 4

More and more must I surrender human consolations to kneel at the feet of Jesus Crucified. He is so silent. Perhaps I ramble on and on of suffering as I sit so cozily at His feet. Make me be quiet that I may better realize HIS pain and that my only suffering be that He must suffer so. He is so terribly silent, yet doesn't His form stretched out there scream all I need to hear and yet more my heart hasn't yet opened to?

Wednesday, Feb. 17

The stars are out again, always, though daylight still fills the sky. For I stand amazed beneath the vastness of friendship's brilliance. And when the stars appear soon I shall laugh at them, as I do so often. For there they sparkle and thousands of little souls look upon them. Yet, as Fr. Lucien once reminded me, "Not a star that floats through space will ever see God face to face." And so I love the stars, and mostly 0 how I love to laugh with them at their brilliance and my own humble dignity.

I've missed these notes to you each night, Mother, though we've surely shared all things in our Beloved Jesus. There are no joys without Him and my precious joys in Him are mine only because you show me where His Love is hiding in all life's riddles. Please go always with your little one become hobo for Love's sake, and make Jesus always at least a loved and frequent distraction in the multitudes, and when daylight is gone and the pressure of the multitude is eased though never forgotten, let blessed night wrap me in Him and Him in me.

Often I am fearful when I "feel" I am losing my Eucharistic devotion, so essential for a true little sister of Jesus. 0 but I do run more and more to the heart of the Holy Sacrifice and when it is finished each morning I stay but a few minutes in my Beloved's caress but hasten to rush into the lives of many and hope my blindness will not hide His radiance in my eyes. To each soul and in every event let me bow in reverence of His Presence.

Your little hobo has traveled many miles these past few days. First to Lafayette, then to Elwood and finally to Muncie. Yes, "For the sake of the Gospel I'd be willing to travel to the ends of the earth and live till the end of time." Please let my motives become more pure and my success apparent to only Jesus and to myself whenever He sees that my tremendous weakness requires it.

Just a week ago today Fr. Keith came for me at Velma's and together we walked in the wonderful freshness of dawn to the Holy Sacrifice he was to offer in the little hospital chapel. 0 the joy of seeing my missionary in his hour of greatest strength. His hands, those very hands that put my coat around me and lift my clumsy body and grow stronger and stronger because an ever greater Love is their strength, those hands are so strong that they raise the Son of God to His Father. Yes, I know that is where his regal strength is lifting me too. Let my foolishness not offer resistance.

After breakfast we spent our morning together at Jesus' feet. 0 Mother, how can I be grateful enough for this new gift that has been given us? I've just recognized it. The last four or five times we've been together I've noticed a completely new joy in his presence. Before I always anticipated his presence with greed. My heart was so filled with anguish, and I just knew a word from him, or the mere telling it to him, would alleviate my suffering. Or else I'd have some big surprise to share with him, to feel the selfish pleasure of seeing him pleased. But now…what I tell him is spontaneous and quite trivial. Yet I don't hesitate to share my littleness with him. Golden opportunities are presented to me to unburden my heart and instead I watch him read the newspaper and laugh with him at the comics. And I don't want it any other way. For at last Jesus--and He alone--is sufficient, and being together in His Name is earth's precious gift to us hobos here.

Thursday morning found me once again with Father as he offered man's gift of Jesus to the Father that He be well pleased. Then I got to stay in Jesus' Eucharistic Presence as Father studied for his afternoon classes with the Sisters. It seemed just the role of a little co-missionary. And 0 the joy of doing so for another, for I'm sure that I am willing to endure 0 so much more for him than for just myself. On the way back to Velma's, Father asked me what Jesus had told me during my morning at His feet. Dear Father, always so wrapped up in ideas. And I don't know a time when Jesus had told me less. 0 the strange darkness and aridity in which Love grows. My only consolation in sitting there at His feet was that He was there. He said nothing; nor did I. Was it not enough to be in the presence of one I loved? Again, just being together is enough. Please help me to rid myself of a selfishness that could foolishly desire more.

Father Edgar and Vie came for me Sunday to take me for a few days at the rectory. It's so very hard to be there, to listen to opinions so very opposite my own yet refrain from expressing mine because they're immediately condemned and could lead to arguments and hard feelings. Love is ridiculed; even studying the Gospels is superfluous piety. I kneel to read the Word of God and pause to let it permeate me and am asked if I'm sleeping or meditating. The latter would be considered the ridiculous.

"The Council [Vatican Council II] is the most terrible thing that could happen to the Church." This and more and more like it thrown at one so excited at the prospects of renewal. 0 Mother, I've bitten my tongue much these past few days.

Then there was night again, God's precious night. Perhaps a little of Jesus' longing for it is at last mine. Peace and blessed loneliness once again with Him who alone can dispel my loneliness.

Thursday, Feb. 18

"Let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing; And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection…rest in reason and move in passion." The Prophet.

Just as it would be most unhealthy to rest always or to be in constant motion, please, beautiful Woman, assure us that you are directing your little ones' growth that we continue on our way to God without hesitating to determine if our stride be too fast or too slow.

Mother, I'm so relieved you're here. I was so frightfully confused after Fr. ___'s visit this evening. He called Fr. Keith a crazy priest and laughed when I refused to argue but remained silent and torn and in prayer. Yes, so many more of these statements concerning Jesus must have reached your ears, Mother. And you were silent because you knew that if His words and deeds could not convince them differently, you certainly couldn't change their minds about Him. My friends, my outings are resented. Why does Sam become more and more unpalatable? Please soothe a poor Little Sister who but fails day after day in her vocation. And bless the Father Who could permit such great weaknesses that I must fling myself totally upon Him in one sweeping gesture of hope.

Friday, Feb. 19

Today from Wisconsin came our first report on "Project Pollyanna." 0 Mother, it's all so wonderful and I bring it to your feet tonight for your sweet pleasure. It seems everyone is involved in the joy of it, givers and receivers alike, which is the usual kindness of Our Father.

Sr. Carol Marie's students have adopted Sam as the fortunate recipient of their eagerness to give. Packages are on the way. I'm so anxious to see just what their contents will be. One little fella even thought of a tube of Polygrip so our people won't lose their choppers in the cookies and candy. Their goodies will come every week for about six weeks, and I'll have the joy of distributing the contents and witnessing my brothers' and sisters' twilight smiles. Don't you think Project Pollyanna is delightful, Mother?

Saturday, Feb. 20

Please fill me so with the Word of God that whenever I speak others may somehow hear Jesus' Name, and when I am silent the light that is He shine from me, though I'll be aware of neither in myself.

Tuesday, Feb. 23

Please, Mother, help me to open my heart to everyone that Jesus too may slip in, almost unnoticed, and stay because He finds traces of you there inviting.

Wednesday, Feb. 24

The first packages of "Project Pollyanna" arrived today, just oodles of them. How happily I tore into them to see what my people would receive. 0 Mother, it's just wonderful all the thought and sacrifice and work those kiddies have put into this. There were candies spilling everywhere and chocolate hearts and Hershey bars and fresh ginger cookies. And there was a box with a little bit of everything in the personal line,with enough face soap for everyone. There was a valentine for everyone, containing one of the children's pictures and a precious note of friendship. "Grandpa" finally succeeded in getting his message across to me this evening. He's been hugging the picture of a little girl that he received ever since I gave it to him. And now he's made me understand that he wants me to bring her here so he can see her in person!

How shamed I am to admit that today was the first time I visited every room on 2nd floor. 0 Mother, my heart was wrenched in a combination of guilt and compassion. Most of the patients downstairs are confined to bed and beyond communication. 0 the mass of humanity, numb, lying day after day there on the Cross with Jesus! I couldn't even let them hold their bars of soap; they'd eat it. Why 0 why have I never gone to them before? Why haven't I had time for them? "Project Pollyanna" will bring me to them often. 0 what thanks I owe those great little kiddies.

Helen has just left my little corner. 0 how can I endure more? No not I but Christ! She comes to pound deeper into my rebellion all that is occurring in this CATHOLIC nursing home through those leading consecrated lives. And I sit here becoming less Christian than they by the condemnations in my heart. Please don't let them rise to my lips. I want to ask you to help me to remove them completely but I remember St. Paul's similar request and our Father's answer that His grace is sufficient. Jesus chooses to be manifested in weakness. 0 holy consolation!

Helen, Sr. Aquinas, Father, the aides, I'm bombarded with dissatisfaction. Please let me realize that I'm much too little to contain this. I may but immediately offer all through you and Jesus to Our Father for the salvation of the world. I beg your help and rest in confidence. And I offer this toothache that nothing my escape my mouth again but the Word of God.

Thursday, Feb. 25

A thick blanket of white covers our roofs and streets rendering travel impossible. None of our aides could get here, so little Lois, who'd been here since 11:00 last night, stayed till 7:00 this evening.

Our dear old folks have been precious today trying to help one another and to alleviate Sister and Lois' work. They staggered all over the hall with their trays as we held our breath. Aunt Kate wiped up some water that had dripped from our ceiling and with that moisture decided to mop the whole corridor. 0 how I longed to do something truly helpful. I was distributing medicine and overturned some liquids. It really wasn't very helpful. But we've had precious laughter, and dear, dear Sr. Aquinas is the beautiful one she always is in a crisis. So the snow has brought a big boost to Sam. We beg you to see that it is made possible for our aides to get to us tomorrow, and we thank our Father for this day when sunshine peeped into these twilight years.

Friday, Feb. 26

I'm sleepy, Mother, so I'll but murmur one request. Please get our aides through the snow safely tomorrow. O and did I ever tell you I love you? I must tell you again, because each time it's from a new depth.

Saturday, Feb. 27

Tonight I see but the picture of Jesus I just put on our bulletin board. My King in bitter anguish and intense pain. His body is but one royal red wound as He says at one and the same time, "I'm thirsty," and, "Take and eat." He is drained that we be filled. How can I go on bringing Him but emptiness? Sweat and blood, wine and water, mingle on his countenance of resignation, dripping from the thorns that dig into His head, His chosen crown. His tongue twists slowly for my own sweat and blood to quench its frightful aridity. And here I am just finishing a cup of hot tea! His arms are reaching, stretched beyond endurance. I must run to them. I too then will wear His royal red. Yes, in childlike stupidity and presumption I beg to be crucified with Jesus. The only semblance I see is that darkness surrounds the two of Us. Blessed be my darkest hour in which with Jesus I shall somehow save the world. Crucify me!!!

Sunday, Feb. 28

"Let's go to Jerusalem.…" Jesus' invitation leaves no doubt that He makes His Hour, His bitterest defeat and His eternal victory, ours. Though my heart already weeps at all He must endure, my soul sings joyous pilgrim songs. Through Him and with Him and in Him please show me how to truly say, "OUR FATHER."

Monday, March 1

Now is the month during which we remember especially your dear spouse Joseph. Please help me to know better this month him who is so dear to you. Whisper Nazareth's secrets to me, and place in my poor heart where I wish to make a Nazareth for Jesus today especially that holy silence of listening love that enveloped your Holy Family.

Our dear Mary has been gone for several days, home sick in bed. 0 how we miss her laughter and eager kindness. Please let our lovely ray of sunshine return soon. Sam has truly become dim without her.

The place mats from the Sisters in Ghana arrived today. They're cheerful in their splashes of colors. My dear Sisters, an ocean divides and unites us, and we live in the hope of eternal togetherness. Today has brought the grace of a much keener awareness of Africa. "My people, what have I done FOR you?" Nothing, in this is my pain, in my helplessness. I give…nothing, my truest gift.

Tuesday, March 2

Word from hobo haven again, this time from Br. Leonard, my first letter from him. It seems that plans have begun to renovate the abbey church, to build a permanent altar nearer the communion rail, perhaps to remove the golden altar completely. Ooo I am so anxious to visit my precious refuge once again, and what with the sacred season of Lent beginning tomorrow I'm made aware that it will be but a few weeks till my lonely heart will rejoice there and remember in wonder that "eye has not seen" nor has a heart guessed the splendor of an eternal hobo haven.

This morning I typed a few liturgical improvements for Father. I'm so weary of hearing every change ridiculed, of having the "mistakes" of the Council thrown at me each time Father enters, which is several times a day. I want to run from it; please teach me instead to make this too a means of sanctification, for if these uncharitable thoughts persist I shall surely be the least Christian among those whose unchristian actions revolt me.

Wednesday, March 3

Today begins the sacred season of Lent. Mother, please be incessantly with your little ones these days that they learn nothing but Jesus Christ and Him crucified, and triumphant. Lead us in the Way of the Cross and whisper to us of Him Who is Himself the Way and the Truth and the Light and your Son and our very Brother.

My heart will rest only in the truth that is Jesus. Let me care enough that beads of blood burst from my forehead, yet in the same instant let my soul thunder its loyalty to the Father's Will. For even in this desolation peace lies there, in His Holy will. Though my desires and my needs are so vastly different, let the heat of Jesus' Love melt them to one longing for Him. Let only Jesus be my treasure that my heart cease breaking at being torn in so many directions. Only Jesus!

Thursday, March 4

Hello, Mother, yes I know it's awfully late, so I'll just peck a quickie to you. We've just returned from our monthly discussion at Elwood. Though driving was but little less than hazardous everything glitters praise, the immaculate carpet on the ground, the silver-tinted branches of the trees and the snowflake my heart caught to bring you when you bid me goodnight.

All my sisters in Elwood are lovely, and Father seems well. 0 what delight to find him so. All the way home I seemed to whisper, "O that Father!" because just seeing him is consolation and I realize just how much my love for him is growing, how far beyond former modes of communication. Yet I know he must be aware of it; please tell him for me.

Friday, March 5

Just this evening the inevitable happened. Sr. Raphael called me on the carpet for not attending Benediction anymore. She told me that I'm throwing God's grace in His Face. I just can't feel this way about it. I am weary and ashamed of the far less than charitable thoughts that fill my head when I see cruelty inflicted on those dear old souls being taken to chapel. To take a pious position in chapel with such thoughts in my head would be hypocritical. My Jesus loved the outcasts, the sinners, but the hypocrites He could not tolerate. Please let me not be found in their ranks. It will cost me much more not to go now. I'll be more aware of what others are thinking; don't let me be. Please make mine a simplicity that delights in nothing more or less than pleasing Jesus.

A little seed of the desert begs you to water her and prays that she become strong. The Word of God, beaten, dying, says, "I speak with her face to face, and when she has sight of the Lord, it is not by means of parable and image." But this vision shakes the very foundations of my soul. My Love is Crucified. When 0 wh