The Rosary I Didn’t Finish by Ginny Moyer

IMG_4670-225x300Big disclaimer: I don’t pray the rosary on a regular basis.  But every now and then, I get these strong cravings for it.  I’ll be sitting there, just minding my own business, and suddenly I realize that I want nothing more than the feel of those beads sliding through my fingers.

This happened just the other day.  Both boys were napping, and I was savoring the peace and quiet, when I was hit with a sudden wave of rosary-longing.  There was, however, a logistical problem: my rosary, a lovely green one, was in my bedroom in the back of the house.  And our house has hardwood floors.

Hardwood floors sounded great when we bought the house, back in those well-rested days before having children.  But over the last three years, I’ve seen their downside.  When the boys are napping I move around the house like a ninja, holding my breath as I creep down the hall, and I still get CREAK!  and SQUEAK! and BUCKLE! with every step.  And, you know, I just wasn’t ready to see naptime come to an end.  It all seemed hopeless, until I remembered my son’s wooden rosary, up in the drawer in the front room.

Bingo!

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If you can imagine Little Tikes having a Marian Devotion division, that’s what this big chunky rosary is like.  It was a gift from a lovely lady at a parish where I did a book talk.   It’s been in that drawer for a while; when Matthew first got it, he was pretty young, and I was afraid to let him play with it without supervision.  So it has been rather forgotten there in the front room. I grabbed it, settled onto the couch, and began to pray.

About two Hail Marys into it, the baby began to cry.   I rolled my eyes. Down the hall I scurried on tippy-toes, trying to get to him before he woke up his older brother.

So much for the rosary, I thought as I brought Luke back to the living room.  I sat there on the couch, holding him.  He was happy being out of his crib, sitting on my lap, having things to look at and reach for with his pudgy hands.

I gave him the rosary to hold.  He was intrigued by it.  He held the beads, fingering them as if he were trying to memorize it by touch.  And I looked at those chubby hands with the huge colored beads, and my heart constricted with love, seeing my littlest boy taking a quiet moment to explore this strange and wonderful new thing.  I paused, as I often do these days, and fixed that sweet image in my mom-memory, tucking it away to keep forever.

I guess, in a way, I did pray that rosary after all.

Copyright 2009 Ginny Moyer

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