Many times I found myself praying the Holy Rosary (even if in bits and pieces, the Holy Mother of God knows well how to sort them out)… ~ Dr. Mario Enzler, former Swiss Guard
Quiet minutes to myself, the first of this new October. After 9 days of grindingly hard work and unexpected tumults, everything stills this morning. The only speck across this silent dawn is that we have to make that trek into the city. I’d rather stay home, sleep in a bit, get some rest and put the house into better order, but it’s a necessary trip.
I say my first prayers of the day at my altar. It’s Saturday so I seal my heart in Mother Mary’s, my little Saturday offertory. Since it will be a long drive to the city, I remind myself to say a few Hail Mary’s along the way. Although I’ve done my daily readings and said my prayers all week, it has been one of those weeks with too much crammed into it. Despite the trip we will make today, despite the mental list in my head ready to be ticked off, I know I need to slow my step and quieten down, for the gullies of my heart are dry and in need of wetness.
A sudden, bright white~gold in the outside sky catches my eye. The sun is coming up from its eastern bed, reminding me that we have to get going soon, when I find myself reading an article about a former Swiss guard and his faith in the Rosary.
Many times I found myself praying the Holy Rosary (even if in bits and pieces, the Holy Mother of God knows well how to sort them out)…
Without warning, tears prick my eyes.
All these days, I’ve tried to keep my heart in God’s. I’ve prayed and prayed, but in drifts and drabs,
in bits and pieces
Each time, I’ve called for my guardian angel. Called for him to join his prayers to mine and to carry my meagre efforts to heaven, because I knew that my prayers this week were especially small and paltry indeed, paling before the great needs of this week.
even if in bits and pieces, the Holy Mother of God knows well how to sort them out
And with those words, my Heavenly Mother blew her breath over my weariness. With those words, I fell against Her maternal heart.
So often this week, I had entreated heaven to scrub clean my offerings of myself. So often, I had scraped the earth of my days to find something of value, something I hadn’t held back for myself, something I hadn’t tainted with my many sins.
I felt I had given so little to my God all of these 9 days.
Yet, my beloved Mother was now telling me She had received each morsel of my heart, of my days lived in the depth of unexpected storms, and in unexpected joys too. Of the unseen work of hours and hours upon end. In the many falls and in the struggle to rise once more and start over each time.
Bits and pieces. Each one received and sorted out.