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.
I was still shell shocked, fighting the fear that she would not be coming home with all of my might. The sights and sounds of that room were new and mortifying. My husband and I physically leaned on one another, and I slid down a wall, too weak to stand. We began our prayer, the friar leading.
At first, I found myself staring off, fighting intrusive thoughts of funeral arrangements. “She was just getting to know you again, Jesus! Please give her more time.”, pleaded my soul. My daughter is a cradle Catholic, too all the way through confirmation but had been through many phases in recent years, as teens tend to do when they are figuring out who they are. She is a remarkably gifted artist and before her sickness she had been sketching and painting Sacred Heart imagery everywhere.
As the prayer progressed, I slowly came to. I looked around, taking in the surreal moment. My daughter had not only me, her mother, but both of her grandmothers begging Our Lady, Mother to us all, to intercede and spare her life. Father said, “Today is Tuesday, when we typically pray the Sorrowful mysteries, but I think we should meditate on the Glorious Mysteries instead.”
Prayers Over The Kitchen Sink 