I am horrible.
Or irresponsible. . .
or. . .something.
I have a great [or awful, depending how you view this] habit of carrying my rosary around in my pocket.
Yes, I am Catholic. I am very happy and proud of it - it sustains me and means a lot. To me. I don't agree with all of the Church's doctorines, but God means something to me, and although I don't bring up religion or politics - often - on this blog, let's just all agree to walk through together, mmmkay?
But I swear if I don't stop this they may well kick me out of the Church.
As I said I carry my rosary around with me. All the time. I am usually wearing a hoodie or a bathrobe, so into my pocket it goes. When I feel the need to pray, I pull it out. Or sometimes pain will strike and I can just reach in my pocket and just holding it, rubbing the beads and talking to Him will make it pass.
It's just me.
The thing is I have three beautiful rosaries.
One is made of wood from an olive tree and my beloved in laws purchased it in Italy when they were visiting. My MIL presented me with it when Steven and I were going through a very difficult time with his ex wife and custody of the children. This was over 15 years ago, and I wasn't even close to being Catholic. They knew I wanted to be, but never mentioned I wasn't. My mom just leaned over, while in court, placed it in my hand and said "This might help sweetheart." And it did.
The second is the rosary that my husband bought me when I began RICA classes to become Catholic, back in 2012. It has grey beads and I keep it in a small pink rosary purse [yes, they actually make these] This is the one that I carry when I drive or anytime I am out of the house.
Then there is the rosary of all rosaries. The one I pray with the most. It is a heavy, gold and ruby beaded piece that my [again] in laws gifted me with when I became a Catholic in 2013. It is an antique and I am not quite sure where they bought it, but that one stays in my rosary pocket of the quilt my lovely Tadpole Mary, and her cousin Anne, made me. This one never gets washed.
This is the beautiful quilt they made - you can see the rosary pocket and my red rosary peeking out.
However the other two? Yep, Jesus is getting a bath Often.
I suck, absolutely suuuuuck, at remembering when I do my laundry that they are in there.
Case in point:
Evie went to fold my clothes the other day. She came into the kitchen and said "Mom, you washed Jesus again."
I looked at her and said "What are you talking about?"
Evie replied "MOM! Jesus. Your rosary." And she held up the olive wood rosary.
I was chagrined Okay, I was appalled at myself. Damn. I took it from her and held it up - saying my prayers to the heavens...I mean, who washes Jesus? [and no I am not being flip here I did actually feel bad.]
Then I noticed. . .Jesus was gone. Oh double damn. If you don't know the rosary looks like a necklace with a crucifix at the end. You don't wear it as one, but that is the way it is styled.
Jesus had fallen off. In the wash. Or the dryer? We don't know. Sadly I haven't found him yet.
Skippy - 0, Going to Hell - WINNING!
I was a bit distressed at this turn of events, but my husband tried to make me feel better after I related the story.
He said "Look at the bright side Skip, now all of our laundry is blessed in holy water."
Not helping, not helping at all.
Then? Sunday night Steven was doing laundry. He sat down with me and he said "I will give you three guesses what I found in the dryer today. Go."
Evie started laughing but I was honestly perplexed. I knew I had my inhaler [another thing I wash often] and my glasses [ditto] . . .so I asked "What?"
Like a magician he revealed the grey rosary, holding it up and asked "Missing something?" with a slight smirk on his face.
I sometimes wonder how they ever let me join.
But Tadpoles? I have the cleanest rosaries in town.
Smile loudly. Lift is a gift. We'll see ya' on flipside.
Love and hugs, Janine