I’ve always had a special devotion to Our Blessed Mother. Even as a child I remember praying to Mary during my bedtime prayers and then drifting off to sleep while clutching a string of rosary beads in my hand. Back then, it was the actual rosary more than the prayers that went along with it that made me feel safe in the darkness of the night. My rosary became something like a lovey to me, an object that offered comfort and security when I was feeling particularly vulnerable or scared.
Honestly, not much has changed. I’m a big girl now, but I still keep I keep a rosary in my purse and bring it with me everywhere I go even when I have no plans to pray a rosary. I have another one tucked away in the drawer of my bedside table. I even sometimes still sleep with my rosary. Just the other night I went to bed and fell asleep fingering the beads. I woke up with it still in my hand. I almost always do.
Sometimes I wonder what Mary thinks of my attachment to her and to her beads. I’m sure I’d be a more admirable servant of God if I actually prayed the rosary more. Oh, I say the rosary plenty, but being that I have the attention span of a housefly, I frequently have a tough time with the repetitive nature of the rosary. Somewhere along the second decade, if not sooner, my mind starts to wander. I’ll spare you some of things I start thinking about when I’m supposed to be meditating on the mysteries of the rosary, lest you think I really am a hopeless cause.
But even when my meditations are about as aimless as a little leaguer’s pitches, I believe with every angle of my heart that Mary is a powerful intercessory who gives us the gift of a well-paved route to her Son. She’s also everything I should strive to be as a mother: compassionate, loving, nurturing, forgiving, helping me in whatever way she can and someone who provides me with a source of comfort – a lovey for a girl who’s all grown up to hold onto when life gets lonely.