Daily Rosary Hack

rosaryhackLinking up with Blessed is She today!

Disclaimer: this is such a little thing that it hardly warrants an entire blog post, but it has made a difference for me and might perhaps be helpful for someone else as well.

My devotion to praying the rosary daily started out as a Lenten cop-out.

For Lent I gave up listening to the radio in my car so that I could increase the amount of silence in my day. As Lent wore on, the sacrifice got more and more tiresome. I already listen mainly to Guadalupe Radio, and I was missing some of my favorite faith-building shows and podcasts. Enter the tweak.

My little compromise was this: I can only listen to the radio after praying the rosary.

This practice has been so fruitful and beautiful that it actually outlasted Lent! Praying while driving has always been good for me because I have a hard time sitting still and listening when I’m in my house. While driving my brain is still and focused, and perhaps more importantly my kids are strapped down. Ahem. Buckled up.

Admittedly some days I am more focused than others. I think that’s just how it goes, always.

So this is how it works for me. I grab hold of my rosary as I back out my driveway, and hold it in one hand while I drive with the other. When I get to my destination, I mark my place with a bobby pin. When I get back in the car, I finish praying.

Another help: the Rosary Army podcast. Before my conversion I received my first rosary from them for free and downloaded the podcast which consists of a man and woman praying the rosary. It’s a great help for those occasions when you aren’t able to count the beads yourself, or if you’re a newb and don’t know the prayers by heart!

One more: I sometimes find myself wanting to pray the rosary while I am cooking or cutting vegetables and it’s difficult to hold a rosary in hand. Those times I count out 10 beans and just move them back and forth from one pile to another on the counter to keep count.

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Make the Wait Worth It

weddingI keep writing about the same subject, but perhaps it’s as helpful as writing about the reflections in the many facets of the same gem. Here we go again!

I fall, sometimes, into the dangerous trap of seeing Oliver’s conversion as a goal which, once attained, will make my life easier and more enjoyable. I would be able to hang religious images in my house, and I might have someone who can take Lillian out of Mass if when she becomes unruly. I might be able to create family celebrations around feast days. I might be able to pray over my dinner, or hold a rosary in a thunderstorm without being questioned. I subconsciously think that if I can just hold on until that moment, then my entire life would be renovated and made new.

But that’s selfish.

Extremely selfish, I might add. I ought to desire Oliver’s conversion solely because I think it will do him good to have a relationship with a person, Jesus Christ, and be able to ultimately inherit eternal life with Him. It’s wrong of me to ever view my husband’s spiritual life as a problem to be fixed. The view is too narrow. I should always be praying for him in every aspect of his life.

The goal mindset also discounts God’s ability to use this indeterminate wait to allow me to grow in holiness and shape me into someone entirely new. Someone who may be able to more consistently rise above her selfishness to desire the ultimate good, even at tremendous cost to herself, of her spouse.

My homegirl, Servant of God Elizabeth Leseur says this of the same trial in which I have been living:

And then one’s self-love does not like a state of things that makes one less esteemed and appreciated and apparently unequal to one’s task. That perhaps is the true, hidden fruit of this trial: a little useful humiliation, less dangerous sympathy and admiration, very deep pain that does not elicit any praise.

Y’all. Don’t waste the wait.

Trust God and allow him to infuse your wait with meaning. There is no “happily ever after” here. We are all pilgrims. There is only more journey.

[Funny story. Oliver and I were married as two non-Christian, unbaptized people in a Catholic Church before the Blessed Sacrament by a Church of Christ minister. It sounds like it could be the start of a joke. For serious.]

On Tending My Garden

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In my vocation as wife and mother, God has given me three people to nurture, three little plants in to keep in my own little garden.

I keep a close eye on each one. I pick off the beetles and caterpillars. I cover them in the frost. I give each one the nutrients fit for the particular plant, watching soil acidity and drainage. Making sure that each receives the correct amount of water and sun. Under this discerning care, the plant thrives and produces its fruit.

At least that’s how my garden should be tended.

Sometimes I feel as though I’ve made an awful mess of my garden. I’ve treated my peppers the same way as my tomatoes while ignoring my pecan tree altogether, all the while tapping my toes, scowling while waiting for that fruit to drop into my crotchety crossed arms.

That is to say, I’m learning to love my family selflessly and the process takes time. Time and practice. You learn in the doing.

There are times in my marriage when my husband says something that, in some small way, by word or look or sigh, resembles a type of soft persecution. He loves me, but not always in the way that I want to be loved.

In my hurt pride I am tempted to withdraw my love and affection to weep and mourn remember to trust less next time, at least until he gives me what I think I deserve. I find I have a tremendous capacity for self pity.

But that is the exact opposite of what I should be doing.

He is not my enemy. We have a common enemy.

My duty is to love more and be patient and tend my pear tree with the same tenderness as I do my delicate sprouts.

But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. Matthew 5:44-45

In Honor of the Sacred Heart

This week I have been thinking about teaching my Lillian how to pray.

I have found it tricky (on the level of defusing a bomb) to be a Christian out loud in front of my children, and in secret in front of my husband. Sometimes it’s like living with a divided heart. Oliver does not enjoy seeing religious images popping up in our house. And yet enjoy seeing beautiful reminders of my faith throughout the day. Our little compromise is this: I can hang up crosses received as a gift, and I can put some images in my bathroom and on the wall immediately above my little bedside table.

It’s a small space, but I am trying to turn bedside table area into a little oratory so that we can have a beautiful focal point to gather in front of after breakfast to start our day. (For more info about oratories plus picture inspiration, go here!)

So far I have a crucifix, an image of the Visitation of Mary from The Little Oratory book which I won in a giveaway and a print of the Holy Family that I got from Edel last year (Lillian LOVES that one!). I can’t afford very much, and my husband wouldn’t be comfortable with anything too “shriney” popping up in our bedroom. I keep thinking that I may as well create some images for myself!

So here is a one-two punch: the prayer Anima Christi and the Sacred Heart of Jesus all in the same image! These two do not technically go together, but as with so much in the Catholic faith they still kinda do! Click on the image to view the full size, and right click and save if you would like a copy of this 5×7 printable image for yourself! Enjoy!

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Why I Remain Catholic

Can I tell you something private?

Living in an unequally yoked marriage is hard, y’all. Really, really hard. When you don’t agree with your spouse about what’s most important in life? Yeah. Hard.

There have been many times in the bleak loneliness in which I’ve thought that it would be easier to throw off my Catholicism and resume living secular life. I wasn’t raised Catholic; I spent years of my life espousing Wiccan, Pagan and Deist ideas. My parents aren’t religious. My spouse isn’t religious. You wanna know what keeps me Catholic?

I believe that the claims of the Catholic Church are true.

And my troubles? They’re nothing in comparison to the gift of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist.

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Grounded in the Eucharist

Linking up today with Blessed Is She!

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My eyes bore into the wood grain on the table while my fingers trace the edges of the stray bottlecap from my open Fat Tire brew.

My father-in-law had gone into his familiar speech about why nearly every Christian in the world had misinterpreted Scripture because of a pesky little mistranslation of the word, “aionios”. If only people could understand their mistake then Christianity would become a very different thing. A correctly translated “aionios” read with simple reliance on the Holy Spirit free from denominational lenses would lead people to clearly see that there is no eternal Hell and no eternal Heaven, but only states of being that are endured for a time before giving way to other, non-defined states of being.

My father-in-law sounds very authoritative when he gives this speech. We listen dutifully. Oliver, the agnostic, has taken up care of the dishes and I have taken up the task of boring holes in the table with my eyes. I’ve become increasingly uncomfortable. Always an avoider of conflict, I am usually quick to agree with someone as soon as I possibly can. The eternity of Hell? Yeah, maybe I could waver on that.

An icy realization hits me. What if the Church is wrong, and our entire dogma is based on a series of biased mistranslations? What if everything I believe is off-kilter and I’ve just been a damn fool? I imagine my life turned upside down as I shed my denominational loyalty as a snake sheds its skin. Perhaps it should be just me n’ Jesus, as the Protestants say it should be.

I run through a mental checklist of everything that’s important to me and stop short as this Scripture emerges and trumps everything else:

So Jesus said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you. John 6:53

The Eucharist.

As Catholics we believe that when we take the consecrated host into our bodies at Mass, we literally ingest the body, blood, soul and divinity of Jesus Christ. The Lord of Heaven and Earth, always meek and humble of heart, gives us the gift of not only forgiveness of sins and adoption as children of God, but his actual flesh and blood to eat as we are united in his one body through the bread of life.

In comparison to the issue of the reality of the Real Presence in the Eucharist, every other issue falls by the wayside. What use is conjecturing about the end times or the nature of the afterlife when there are more pressing issues at stake? When I encounter doubt, my love and belief in the Eucharist keeps me grounded and faithful to the teachings of the (nearly) only church which offers it.

We also have really cool Marian Apparitions, but that’s an issue for another time!

towhomsmall

On the Absence of Dad

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Happy Easter! With eyes that say, “hurry up and take the damn picture so I can let go of this kid’s arm!”

I was nervous about going to Mass this Easter with my littles in tow.

I usually go to a specific Mass, sit in my designated spot right next to a pillar (otherwise known as a toddler blockade). I go to this particular Mass because it’s typically not crowded and I sit behind a kind family always willing to grab my rambunctious toddler and hold on to her while I wrestle with the baby. I go to Mass alone, yes, but not always without help.

This Easter I had to attend Mass alone and with no helpers. I recall one moment in which Baby Cara was strapped to my chest and Lillian bumped her head on the pew as a result of a certain level of mischievousness and started screaming, suddenly in dire need of being picked up and comforted. I had a baby on my chest, a toddler on my hip and sweat on my brow. Other parishioners couldn’t help but observing, “you have your hands full, don’t you?” My reply, “Yeah, it would be a great time for my husband to convert!”

There are occasions at Mass when I see families attending together and my heart aches. At moments like that it’s helpful to remember how lucky I am to be at Mass a baptized Catholic.

God spent years tending to little seeds planted in my bitter heart to bring me to this place. The fact that kneel before the blessed Sacrament and sing Alleluia every week without a hint of cynicism or irony while earnestly trying to quiet babies and occasionally hissing at a toddler through clenched teeth is a blessed miracle!

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