Religious fervor has its ebbs and
flows in my life, but, remarkably, in recent years—the flows are a more common
occurrence. This is true for one reason
only: frequent visits to the Blessed Sacrament.
I know this without a doubt as some years ago I started walking the
short distance from my home to the chapel to sit with Him there. (Jesus is
practically my next-door-neighbor as I can see our Catholic Church from my
kitchen window.) Those early visits were
short. I found it to be boring; and I would
put in my ten minutes then hustle out for seemingly much more important things
to do…
But the Blessed Mother wrapped me
up in the mantle of her grace. She is a
persistent mother, and escorted me more and more until I didn’t have to be coaxed
and prodded. I understand now—as much as
this puny, simple, sinful brain can—the great value of this Pearl, and I’m
hooked.
As it
can be with puny, simple, sinful humans though, it’s hard to keep my interest
for long. I get distracted easily by flashy
colors and loud noise. In my lukewarm complacency,
I will be full of fervor and devout prayer for a while, then I think, “Woe,
there, Teresa. That’s good enough. No need to overdo it.”
Sometimes,
though, when I’m firing on all cylinders, I spend my day as a living
rosary. What is that, you ask? A living rosary (which, incidentally, I just
now gave that name) is me, and the
precious, priceless times when I cooperate with my queen and I pray a continual
Hail Mary throughout my day. As a slave
to her Immaculate heart, I unite in her powerful mission to save souls.
Our
minds our forever flitting from thought to thought, especially in the hectic
chaos of life in the trenches. Within a
living rosary I become the beads, so to speak, and unite my life and
experiences through the heart of Mary to her Son. At each sorrow, or fear, or thanksgiving—I
commend all to the Blessed Mother, so she, in turn, will present it to Jesus. All in
Jesus, through Mary. My life—in the
Sacred Heart in the Blessed Sacrament, through the Immaculate Heart of
Mary.
So, when
that obscure person pops into my mind—the one I haven’t thought of in years—I
pray, “Hail, Mary…” My mind goes to my
husband at work, as he is trying to tackle some computer software code, I pray,
“Hail, Mary…” That distressing image or
concern for a family member prompts an immediate intercessory prayer, over and
over and over. Each of my children is a forever thought, a constant worry, and I
earnestly pray from a mother’s heart to a mother’s heart: “Hail, Mary, pray for
us, now and always…”
When I
see that colorful butterfly, floating amongst the blooms in my front gardens, I
smile and pray a Hail Mary that through her pure heart, a perfect song of
praise will festoon the throne of God, my Creator. At the grocery store, as much as my eyes are
open, I see countless petitions: the frazzled mother with two carts and cranky
children, the person who voices their displeasure in the parking lot, the old
man who seems to be in so much pain… “Hail, Mary, full of grace…”
A
distressing story in the news, the election, a Facebook friend’s comment, are
all opportunities to cooperate in a call to link arms—like links in a rosary
chain—with my brothers and sisters in this battle for souls and pray for the
conversion of sinners. In the bathroom
or laundry room—the bank or in the blessed sunshine, I raise my thoughts to
her, and beg for grace in our world, in my home, dispensed from the hand of her
who is our life, our sweetness, and our hope.
And at the
end of the day, I crawl into bed and smile when I can recall the day in which I
cooperated with that tremendous grace. I
feel the pleasure of God, and know
that the gift of ordinary holiness does not come from me, but only from God. There is such joy in doing His will, and I
know for me, it starts with time before the Blessed Sacrament. Then this living rosary goes out into my
little corner of the world and I do what is seemingly so small and
insignificant, but actually has incredible power: I pray.
“Hail, Mary, full of grace… Pray
for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
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