Treasure in Heaven

This is the Rosary bag my mother gave me. I cherish it not just for its beauty, but because it came from her.

Yesterday evening, my wife and I went out to have a drink and some dinner with friends. As I packed my bag to go meet them in the city, I paused when I looked at my desk and saw the Rosary bag my mother had given me. I don’t know where she got it, but when I was last with her in California, I saw it and admired it. I cannot express the beauty of such a simple thing. It really stayed with me and my mother, remember this, sent it by mail. I received it with joy, immediately putting my little Anglican Rosary inside with my book of prayers. It was a wonderful gift and I still cherish it.

But looking at it in that moment, I couldn’t help wondering how long it had been since I prayed the Rosary. How long had it been since I’d done the daily offices? How long since I’d been in Church? How long since I had focused more on God than on the things in my life? How long since that Lenten Rule had been a rule and not an option? That beautiful Rosary bag was not just aesthetics; it was a powerful reminder of the simple, unfathomable beauty of God and how much I had been ignoring Him.

Where Moth and Rust Do Not Corrupt

It’s really easy to explain it all away. I’ve been doing job training. It’s taken a lot of effort to wake up at 4am and then work through the day on only a little sleep. I’ve been anxious about work. I’ve been exhausted. The list goes on and on and each excuse is true. That’s how my life has been going recently. But just because it’s true, doesn’t mean it’s a valid reason.

This is the back of the Rosary bag, showing the Virgin and Child.

Yesterday, I grabbed the Rosary bag on my way out and tucked into my messenger bag. Even if I haven’t been good at prayer lately, it doesn’t mean I can’t pray or keep reminders of God around me constantly. God is never far from me or anyone else. No matter how much it seems like we ignore Him. Throughout this rough, very tiring week, I have kept reminders of God around me where I can see them daily. The Rodary bag, my prayer book, a cross by my desk and by my bed. When it gets hard to pray, even a small thought towards God is a good thing.

At times like these, I remember what Jesus said: “The Sabbath was meant for man, not man for the Sabbath.” It’s a good reminder when I’m beating myself up about missing my prayers. Prayer is there for us to talk to God, but we do not have to be so legalistic about them that missing them means guilt. God knows everything. God will not desert us ever. His grace and love is not dependent on how well we say our prayers. I have to keep reminding myself of that and resolve to do better from now on.


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