Red Church; Gold Roof

It’s the little things. Saint Therese, The Little Flower, emphasized how the little things make a difference.

Let me ask you a question, if God or Mother Mary were going to talk to you how do you think it would be done? A burning bush? A whisper in the night?

And, in this world of “too big to fail” and it’s going to be “huge”—the significance of the little things get lost in the shuffle. The boy who Kasich hugged at a town hall meeting: neither of them will forget that moment. I still remember the lady at the Laundromat who gave me two dollars when I was short and the woman who let me in front of her when I was in the wrong lane for turning. Those were all instances of God saying, “Hey.”

Yesterday I went to Mass. I go Saturdays because I don’t love Jesus enough to get up early on Sunday. Also, there is something quiet and more peaceful about the Saturday mass. There are little children sometimes, but usually their parents have them in hand. It’s not all hustle and bustle “we gotta go to church because it’s Sunday.”

I get the St. Patrick’s early so that I may prayer the rosary and just be still. I was the only one in the sanctuary. I’ve been to this church three times now. St. Patrick’s is my church here in Illinois—it’s not St. Mary’s, but it’s a good place.

God welcomed me personally. I loved the rosary. I always have—even when I was a pagan. It’s jewelry and can be blingy.  

I was raised protestant until I over-threw “the-patriarchal-fire-and-brimstone-subjugating-Judeo-Christian-heirachy” and became a “in-touch-with-Mother-Earth-and-the-power-of-femininity-and-self-in-the-true-faith-of-the-Celts-I’m-a-witch-shockery.” Yes, I went from Christian to Wiccan to Pagan. All Wiccans are pagan, but not all Pagans are Wiccan. I digress. This is a whole other post.

My points: I have loved the rosary through all my interactions with God, because the rosary represents both Christ and Mother Mary.

“Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with Thee. Blessed art Thou among women and Blessed is the Fruit of your Womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death”

So simple and so powerful.

The rosary makes sense to me. I have a mother and father made in the likeness of God. So, wouldn’t there be a Mother and Father God?

I keep my rosary, a special Pope Francis and Mary Undoer of Knots edition, in my bra. Right next to my heart.

I was kneeling yesterday and praying the rosary—probably trying to refocus my mind from wandering. I always hated meditation, because I am physically incapable of sitting and doing/thinking nothing. At least with the rosary, I have prayers.

A woman. A soft woman. Ya’ know how you meet some people and you just feel their “softness,” “compassion,” or “sincerity?” This woman exuded softness. She lightly touched my shoulder and gave me a One Decade Rosary. “For your prayers, for what’s wrong,” I think she said. I’m not entirely sure. It’s cheap. It’s already come apart like three times. When she gave to me, I felt so blessed.

“Hey, God, Christ, and Mother Mary. I got your message. Thank you ever so much.”

She came back and offered me other choices of bracelets or One Decade Rosaries. I said no, that what she gave me was perfect. She had it blessed and gave it back to me.

“Thank you so much and God Bless you,” I said.

That cheap One Decade Rosary that the soft woman gave me means more to me than any expensive-blinged-out-rosary. Why? There was no reason to give it to me. There was no ulterior motive. Giving me the cheap One Decade Rosary was an act of altruism. Altruism, dear hearts, is worth more than a 350,000-dollar plate at a George Clooney fundraiser.

God said “Hey” to me. He and Mother Mary know I like stuff. I like things. Being Catholic is perfect for me. The One Decade Rosary is a precious gift.

The first thought that came into my head was “now I am definitely going to make the church red and gold in my cross stitch.”

What? Yeah, the inner workings of me. I am cross stitching a simple picture of a church, bordered by flowers, and the quote: “With God Anything Is Possible” Matthew 19:26. The pattern calls for a purple roof on a white church. We are talking simple colors here. Easy stitching. But I’d be thinking, really thinking about making the church red and gold. Self-doubt. It wouldn’t look good. I’d mess it up. It’d be stupid. Red is the color of Christ. Love, blood, Passion. Gold is joy. That is what The Church is to me. God and Mother Mary are Love and Joy. Unadulterated. No-self doubt.

This is paraphrased from a Christian musician: If you define yourself by what Christ is in your life and your place of authority comes from Truth and Christ, then whatever anybody else says doesn’t matter. (I just happened to put the Catholic Channel Sirius on while I was driving home—not the norm since at that time really old re-runs are on).

I just put this all together now as I was writing.

Even what I thought the One Decade Rosary meant to be as I begun this post has changed into something so much more complex. Ever look at a dragonfly’s wing? Small and complex. A hummingbird? A Bee? Hail Mary? Small and complex.

“I am large; I contain the multitudes.”  But Whitman never says physically large.

So, thank you to the Soft Woman, God, Christ, and Mother Mary.

A red church with a golden roof it shall be.

“Hey, right back at you. I’m listening. I’m trying. I'm listening.”

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.

PS: Could this be an answer to the question I asked? The next thing.