The Rosary in my Pocket

It shows its age. A large-ish rosary, though not as large as the one that used to hang off the belt of Sister Mary Denise's Dominican habit. Originally, it had black beads. The ashy brown wood is showing through at the center of each bead. The paint has worn off from years of use. The junction between the initial chaplet of 1 OF, 3 HMs and 1 GB is a round representation of the miraculous medal set within a star of David with rounded edges. The crucifix is black wood, with a metal Christ affixed, silver colored metal backs the cross and just reaches around to touch the front of the four points of the cross. This favorite rosary of mine belonged to my great grandmother. My mother gave it to my wife, to pass on to me when she had learned that I was re-introducing myself to the practice of reciting the rosary during Lent a couple of seasons back. When I received it, I could see my wife watching for my reaction. She knows that I'm a major "softie" and simple gestures, meaningfully thought out, carry great import for me. I held the relic of a simpler faith in my hands. I felt a sense of continuity that I found to be reassuring. This continuity was not only with the life of the child I was who would process out-of-doors around the parish grounds reciting the rosary during the May crowning ceremonies at my home parish with Monsignor Henahan reciting the beginning of each prayer over the public address system , but continuity with a simple faith that my great-grandmother held to. Grasping these beads, holding onto this chain, this anchor in the midst of a life of poverty and the societal ills that appertain thereto, she walked through a life. When I reach into my pocket and am reminded of its presence it speaks to moments that I will carve out again and again. My spirit, my Lord, my fondly remembered acquaintances, my questions, my firmly held opinions, my uncertainties..... We, all of us, in our turn, will shout, or whisper, or sing or observe mute moments. We will take the thread of time and turn it about upon itself while gathering in a chapel of the heart. All of us will continue the search with unsure hands for the wellspring of truth that we hear burbling somewhere in the echoing distance.