January 2026 – Prayers Over The Kitchen Sink

Little Mamas

Help Me Write a Rosary of Stories!

This story first appeared on motherhoodthroughthemysteries.com

*Scroll to the bottom of the post for more information on sharing your story.

The best part of my day comes late at night, when everyone’s asleep. Our loud, bright house turns still, soft and quiet. The giggles of the day are replaced by the peeping of tree frogs. The stampede of little feet gives way to my barefoot tiptoeing.

It’s that dreamy slice of evening when all my family’s needs are met: all the bellies full, stories read, prayers said, and foreheads kissed. Everyone entrusted to me safe, at rest, and cared for. The reward for my exhausting day: a still life of my many blessings.

I do my best to move silently about the moonlit rooms. I turn down lights and tuck in loose sheets. I sigh and linger in the doorways where my sleeping children rest. I send silent prayers of gratitude into the starlit sky.

I soak in the silence and clear my mind along with the evening’s clutter. I love these little trinkets of our happy, messy life: sketch pads and magnetic blocks, stacks of books and empty juice cups. But my favorite find by far is always Baby.

I can always tell when my little girl is getting sleepy, because that’s when she finds Baby. Some nights, it’s a doll; other nights, it’s a teddy; some nights, there are three or more! But no matter where I find them, they’re always lovingly swaddled and sweetly laid. My heart can’t help but swell with pride. She’s such a good little mama.

In the daytime, she’s my shadow, always by my side. Whether I’m digging in the garden dirt or putting on makeup, you can be certain that she wants to do it, too! They say imitation is the greatest form of flattery, and seeing myself in her royal cuteness always does my ego good!

Sometimes, it’s sweet, like when she helps her little brother. Sometimes, it’s beneficial, like when she acquired a taste for red pepper hummus. Sometimes, it’s funny, like the slanted look she gives when she gets sassy.

That is, until I remember all my pre-coffee grumbling. Or how I screamed at her little brother as he streaked across the house. How I put off playtime so I could write, but once I finished, it was too late. Or the way I dismissed her help with a wave as I rushed through making lunch. Was I really way too busy to let her stir the macaroni?

It’s inevitable: I won’t always get it right, but when I’m reminded just how close my mini-me watches me through those almond eyes we share, I worry about all the little ways I could be falling short.

But I have hope that the good will outweigh the bad. That my perseverance will be more impactful than my inexactitude. That my humility will give her permission to try again or ask for help when she needs it herself one day. That what will have the greatest impact on her won’t be the days when everything is flawless — the coiffed family photos or big birthday parties — but the way we navigated all the mundane moments in between.

Those whirlwind days, those sleepless nights, the times we laughed and cried together, the ways we’ve grown and overcome. Our life, our real life, unfiltered and radiant, sometimes off-center but a constant source of love.

That is my prayer, because I know one day, she will be a mama for real. Whether physically, spiritually, or figuratively, the motherly attributes in her little soul are sure to make a great impression in the future.

It’s why I ask God every morning for the grace to be a good example to her and to all of my children. I try to be the best mom I can be by imitating the virtue of His, hopeful that my kids will encounter the deposit of grace that Jesus and Mary have both given me, despite my many flaws, and follow suit.

In this sense, I’m just a little girl myself, toddling around in my Mama’s big sandals, playing dress-up in her mantle, trying not to trip on the armfuls of overflowing fabric. But she extends her gentle hand through the holy Rosary and leads me on the path of her Son as the mysteries of their lives console, strengthen, and sanctify my soul.

I’m a much better mother when I remember to be a daughter first. Motherhood is serious business; there is no denying that. Sometimes, I scold myself for all the ways I don’t add up, but when I find her comfy little Baby, all snuggled up and sung to sleep, I give myself a break. I pick up the sweet bundle; smile Heavenward; and say, “Lord, I guess I must be doing something right!”

Because my daughter is my sweet little reflection, and she finds joy in caring for others and peace in performing small, simple acts of love. What can I say? She’s a good little mama.

And maybe that means I am, too.

* Motherhood Through the Mysteries is a storytelling apostolate that connects the mysteries of the holy rosary to daily life through a Rosary of Stories. I am praying for 14 special women to share their experiences of motherhood and faith to create a new round of stories. If you’re interested in writing with us please email your inquiry at motherhoodthroughthemysteries@gmail.com by February 28th, 2026.

Jesus Speaks for Himself

“It is finished.”

I went online and ordered a beautiful crucifix. I had other, smaller ones in our home that hung on walls and above doorways, gifts from baptisms and first communions. The one in my oldest daughter’s room displayed a golden corpus Christi on a pretty pearly white cross.

But this one was different. It was larger and more realistic with Jesus in the fullness of his passion. Our Lord depicted with all of the human nakedness and woundedness that one could imagine. When I opened the package it came in, it took my breath away but, as I hung it on my wall, an unexpected thought arose:

“I don’t want them to see you like this, Lord.”

Of course, to me it was exquisite, but I thought of the impression this raw depiction of Christ could make on my family and friends that were less acquainted with the Gospel. I wanted them to know the Jesus that I knew, who’s strength I boasted of.

I didn’t want to present what seems so dark without immediately explaining how it’s really the light! I didn’t want them to see the ugliness of the cross without knowing the beauty of the resurrection on the other side. I didn’t want them to see the Savior as this victim, this lamb led to slaughter, but as the Almighty, the King of Kings! I didn’t want to scare anyone off or give people the wrong idea.

But I put it up anyway, because I knew that if I wanted to show myself and others the truth about Jesus, if I desired to honor Him by displaying the fullness of His glory, His power, His strength and His Kingship;

THIS WAS IT!

Because this is what holiness looks like. This is what true love is.

During my lost years trying on different protestant churches I was told that a cross with a corpus Christi was offensive by a woman who was showing me around. We walked into a theater-like room complete with a stage above which a large cross hung, backlit with blue and purple lights. She pointed to it explaining, “We don’t keep Jesus on the Cross, because He isn’t there anymore, He’s in Heaven!”

At the time it made sense to me who was trying to reconcile my love for Jesus while also rejecting the context of Catholicism which I no longer understood at the time. It brought to mind a moment from my childhood when I encountered an icon of a suffering Christ. It was a small portrait in a golden frame that hung on the wall of my Catechism class which my mother taught that year.

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Things I Never Would Have Chosen

Help me write a Rosary of Stories!

This story first appeared on motherhoodthroughthemysteries.com

*Scroll to the bottom of the post for more information on sharing your story.

Motherhood has humbled me.

Not only in the body changes, the naked birthing, the being-covered-in-who-knows-what while putting everyone’s needs before my own, but in my expectations.

My motherhood journey started off on a dark and winding path: as a single teen mother trying my best to build a life for my daughter and I through a haze of heartbreak and post-traumatic stress.

With everything to lose and even more to prove, I dedicated myself to a stable path, studying and working in the medical field. I loved my job, worked well with the physicians, and enjoyed helping others. I wanted security, benefits, and all of the things necessary to provide. I didn’t realize it at the time, but choosing a career that required responsibility and projected professionalism was an attempt to build up others’ confidence in me.

A young mother has much to live up to.

Every move I made felt highly scrutinized. I was shunned by most of the moms at school and Saturday morning dance class and my friends just couldn’t relate. But I was blessed early on, meeting my incredible husband and soon after felt the Holy Spirit drawing me back to faith.

It took some time to get down the road, but once Jesus took the wheel, I knew we’d end up where God wanted us to go. We got engaged, got married, and had two babies in two years while raising my daughter. We all grew up together, grew in faith, and grew as a family.

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It was a beautiful time, but it held its challenges. The most difficult and enduring of these challenges involved my oldest daughter and negatively impacted her emotional well-being. For the first time in my motherhood journey, I was dealing with problems too big to kiss away. It was painful to watch my daughter suffer and not be able to fix it for her.

I bartered with God. We had come so far, finally on the straight and narrow path. Why would God allow this sweetest time to be shadowed by stress, worry, and pain? Why would He let our best-laid plans be overturned by psychological suffering and a worldwide pandemic?

This was my second chance!

I was following the path God brought me to. I wasn’t perfect but I was doing my best to live right. I understood the difficulties I had the first time around, but I was far removed from the sins of my past. I had cultivated a lifestyle I could only dream of as a full-time-working single mom. Staying home with my babies, serving my family and finding God amongst the pots and pans.

A cross had been placed upon my shoulders at a time when all I wanted to do was bask in my undeserved blessings. I learned that the crosses mothers carry for their children are the heaviest because they’re saturated in tears.

It was desperation that led me to adopt a regimen of prayer that included a daily Rosary and Divine Mercy Chaplet. It was then I began to relate to Mary in a deeper way. She knew what it was to watch her child suffer, and to grieve every stripe, thorn, and fall.

But there was always hope to light the way.

Motherhood has taught me humility. Not only in my life, but in my expectations.

I no longer think “I only want to be happy.” or “That couldn’t happen to me.”

Instead of thinking “Why me?” I think “Why not?”

Why Jesus? Why Mary?

I no longer let false humility hinder my prayers. I no longer try to earn the love of God.

For all is gift.

We often forget that following Jesus means following Him to the cross.

Where we nail our wants and desires. Where we pray in Gethsemane through blood, sweat, and tears, for God’s will to become our own.

I’ve learned that suffering is a gift. That we don’t change God when we pray; instead, He changes us.

Though there are still ups and downs, I’m happy to say that things have gotten much better. God keeps blessing us, keeps delivering on His promises, and always abides.

The thing about crosses is that they always lead to resurrection. Through grace, the instrument of our torture becomes the ladder we can use to climb to Heaven.

God brought beauty out of the ashes of that time. A richer prayer life, a Confirmation, a marriage proven strong enough to weather any storm.

And He brought me, you (yes, you!) and all the women who so boldly share their stories through our little storytelling apostolate.

Motherhood Through the Mysteries was inspired through that daily Rosary I took up, fueled by the hard things in my life. The things I never would have chosen.

Jesus and Mary showed me how to walk the hills and valleys of the human experience with virtue and grace. They taught me that humility has a lot to do with trust in God and His plans for us.

That no matter how heavy our cross on earth, a crown of glory outweighs it in Heaven.

Let us strive in hope, Sisters, to one day claim them, so that we may lay them at the feet of Christ, our King.

* Motherhood Through the Mysteries is a storytelling apostolate that connects the mysteries of the holy rosary to daily life through a Rosary of Stories. I am praying for 19 special women to share their experiences of motherhood and faith to create a new round of stories. If you’re interested in writing with us please email your inquiry at motherhoodthroughthemysteries@gmail.com by February 28th, 2026.

The Most Powerful Rosary

Telling the story of the most powerful Rosary of my life; Join the Rosary Confraternity!

As a cradle Catholic and a Marian devotee, I’ve prayed countless Rosaries. I’ve prayed them in good times and in bad, in sorrow and in joy. I’ve prayed them as a child, a young adult rediscovering my faith and a seasoned mother. But the most powerful Rosary of my life was prayed this past year.

It wasn’t in the car or in my bed, at the park or over the kitchen sink but a hospital room where my daughter lay on life support. When things became dire I called for spiritual help.

The Franciscan Friars of the Immaculate came to my aid, coordinating for my daughter a blessing by the hospital chaplain and an anointing of the sick given by a priest from the diocesan headquarters across the street. Father assured me that he would come to the hospital as soon as he could to pray with me and my family.

It was day two in the ICU and a sudden decline and iffy prognosis left my husband and I terrified. Naturally, we called our mothers. It just so happened that they arrived at the same time and in God’s perfect timing, the friar followed. We greeted them all with somber thanks in the cold, stark waiting room while a procedure was performed.

The friar offered words of encouragement and passed out Rosary beads of Marian blue, silver and white. Of course, I was already clinging to my own, a large, strand of wooden beads that had long ago been blessed. I asked for confession for my husband and I so that nothing would hinder our prayers. We received absolution in a small, adjoined conference room before heading back into this spiritual battle.

“The holy Rosary is a powerful weapon. Use it with confidence and you’ll be amazed at the results.” -St. Josemaria Escriva

Our group processed through the halls to my daughter’s room, which was directly in front of the nurse’s station since her vitals were so poor. I walked in and placed my wooden rosary in her hand. The moment it touched her, my husband exclaimed that her oxygen saturation spiked. Momentarily, the screen displayed a number much higher than the grim ones we’d been seeing— a spark of hope.