After Mass the other day Father used his long hooked pole to fetch the dried out crown of baby's breath off of the statue of Our Lady, and on a whim he plunked the little wreath on Kateri's head. He muttered something about it looked like it belonged there on top of her mass of curls.
It made her day.
She went home and drew this self-portrait, including her crown of flowers. Look at this happy, happy picture-
She beamed as she wore her crown all day. Look, Daddy, Father gave me a crown! The next morning when she woke up the first words out of her mouth were to ask who the priest would be that day. When I told her it was Father P. she rolled over to wake up her sister saying, Wake up, Eliza! Wake up! It's going to be Father P! That was over a week ago, but this morning on the way to Mass she again asked who the priest would be, and again she gushed her approval, Father P! He's the best priest! I'm sure dear Father P. has no idea what affection his little gesture has inspired.
I think he's made a friend for life.
