My husband and I agreed: It’s not that it’s magic, or anything. It’s definitely not magic. But it’s unmistakable: Saying a decade of the rosary together every day is changing our lives. Not drastically. Just a little bit. But undeniably.
We are not the kind of couple you’d look at and say, “Oh yeah, they’re big into the rosary.”
I never liked the rosary. I was never sure if I was supposed to be focusing on the mystery, or the prayer, or my intentions, or some combination. It was what you did as a penance, or because your parents made you. I never knew if I was supposed to be coming up with some brilliant new insight into the life of Mary, or finding some kind of spiritual comfort in the familiarity of the *lack* of brilliant new insight, or what. And darn it, I always lose track and end up saying either nine or eleven Hail Marys.
But more and more often, dealing with the problems that naturally come with full lives, we found ourselves saying, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I just don’t know what to do.” And while there is some relief that comes with realizing your own limitations, sometimes we really did have to do something, and we were just at sea. We do both know how to work our way through a set of beads, though, so at very least it seemed like a rosary couldn’t hurt.
We already go running together most days, so we decided to make a decade of the rosary part of the routine. Since we’ve made it a daily practice, literally come rain or shine . . . well, things have been better.
Surely, part of the improvement is attributable to human psychology: When you decide to commit to doing something to make your life better, that in itself helps. By making an effort, you’re signaling to yourself that you’re worthy of effort and worth taking care of; and this is a thought that, repeated often enough, is very likely to improve your outlook on life. It’s a self-fulfilling self-help routine.
But that doesn’t explain everything.Read the rest of my latest for The Catholic Weekly.
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How serendipitous! A few days ago I picked up a copy of St. Louis de Montfort’s “The Secret of the Rosary” from a free book bin at a thrift shop. I’ve been carting it around in my purse, and you’ve inspired me to start reading it.
I had never formed the habit of saying the Rosary, because my parents went rather light on religious observation with us. But when my mother was dying of cancer I had to do something. So I began to say a chaplet of the Rosary every day, from a whole mixture of motives: hope for a miracle, hope for comfort, hop for a renewal of devotion, hope for insight. And I was given some of all these things except – perhaps – the miracle. Even there, I would say that rather than a miracle, I or we received God’s providence, and the gift of learning to understand the difference. I learned, too, that the Rosary can be best used as a tool for a kind of meditation. And one doesn’t have to worry about it. Sometimes it happens – that is, sometimes you find that a new insight comes to you as you repeat your prayers – and sometimes it doesn’t.
I have since given up the habit, originally because it was becoming too rote and I thought that perhaps I should return to simpler prayers, but perhaps both laziness and emotional burnout were involved too. I wonder, now, what might have happened if I’d stayed with it. As with marriage, commitment counts. I am trying to convince myself to begin again.
Simcha, I feel the same way about the Rosary! I like how you described that. I *do* respect it, because Our Lady means to care for us, and I believe that asking Her to intercede for us opens our hearts to Her Son’s graces, but I’ve never (yet, at least) become a dedicated devotee.
And I so appreciate how you described why you don’t pray sometimes; I feel that way too: “I’ll do it wrong.”
I was encouraged by a priest friend of mine today to stop being perfection oriented….to let go of trying to do everything perfectly all the time….to allow myself to feel uncomfortable vs trying to make sure everything is perfect.
I felt bad about not praying a Rosary every day, so I committed to one decade a day. I’m still doing one decade a day…and not feeling guilty about that. I have so much to let go of, and so much to receive/learn/be given….
Thank you for reminding us/me that He appreciates us coming to him with our empty plastic bowls and an authentic admission that I don’t have enough and want more…..that I need Him.
Growing up in Latchford Bridge the rosary was a huge part of my family life. Every night before bed – all kneel down in the living room for it. My brother was smart. He’d kneel strategically so that he could look through the door into the TV room and watch the muted TV.