My family were gathered for yet another rosary; not me and my children, but my sisters and our parents.
Now and again a husband or two would join us.
The little ones would be there showing off their prowess at reciting the Hail Mary.
Dad was chronically ill, but he loved to attend. He could nod off at will when at one of his daughters houses, but not so at mass.
Mass was no longer an option for him. He was too disabled to squeeze into a narrow pew.
We knew he had some kind of dementia setting in, but at that time it showed itself intermittently.
And so, going along with wherever my dad was "at" - we would pray our rosaries.
We would sometimes repeat the same mystery several times, in deference to Dad's failing memory; sometimes the Hail holy Queen was said two decades early.
But it didn't matter. The rosary had surrounded us with its chains of mutual love.
One Sunday afternoon, dad shakily removed a stunning silver set of beads, which were identical to the wooden ones he'd brought the previous month.
"Haven't you another pair like that?" I asked, but he (and mum) insisted he hadn't.
Knowing how devoted he was to Mary, my sisters and I exchanged glances; we'd heard of rosary beads which mysteriously changed their colour...but we'd never quite believed it.
Several months passed, and several more family rosaries.
Dad's old hands shakily took his rosary beads from their box....and this time he had brought the wooden ones. So he did have two pair after all!
The silver ones had been a gift from a grateful parishoner.
(He had been a Deacon for 15 years.)
"Well, you had us going there" we all agreed - we explained how we had thought something out of the ordinary had hapenned, when really it was down to an oversight.
"That's as funny as what hapenned to me..." chirped one of the group. "I went to bed after saying my rosary and my little plastic beads lit up in the dark. I had to wake my husband to check I wasn't seeing things!...He quickly went back to sleep and then I calmed down, realising they must be those luminous ones".
""Aren't they the ones I bought you?" asked another sister - "Surely they are glow in the dark ones! Here check them out with mine...."
But they weren't. They were one of her daughter's first holy communion sets, and they refused to be persuaded into flourescence under the usual conditions.
A few quiet moments passed, we all exchanged glances again, and got on with our prayers.
What did it mean? Perhaps it was just a love token from God:- He is our loving Father. He knows that in our dullness of spirit we need little encouragements at times.
And that's why we just took up our prayer books and said the rosary again as usual. One has to continue in prayer through fair weather or foul.
Fragrant prayerWhen I was about 17, a lady from outside my parish gave a talk on Padre Pio.
She had one of the mitts he had worn.
Sure enough it had the fragrance of violets.
At age 47, I sat one spring day on the bench at the end of my garden. The honeysuckle I had dilligently planted the year before through the arch above it, was showing forth green buds, but the garden was empty of blooms.
The chores were done, and I took out my beads.
I had intended this to be my scented bower for contemplation, but my new neighbours dog had other ideas and taken the adjacent patch of land for its toilet. (Such is life!)
I closed my eyes, half remembering my dad, now passed on.
Suddenly I became aware of an overwhelming scent of roses and lilies. It seemed miraculous at this time of year, (not withstanding next doors dog!)and I tilted my head back to take in the scent.
Opening my eyes I could see the washing line was direectly above me and I realised that the new fabric conditiner I had used was emitting the strong floral bouquet as the sun warmed it. I chuckled inwardly at my stupidity.
I looked around the garden which I had always planned with my dad in mind. I had been desirous of surrounding him with flowers and such, to give him a quiet place of respite from his pain. But he never had the chance to enjoy it. He passed away before the flowers bloomed.
Then I imagined my dad smiling down at me, saying "look!
I am now in the most beautiful garden ever! Don't fret, because God had accomplished what you could not for me!"
I think God had taken care of things for me...and dad!
There seems to be a craving in society for spirituality; alleged apparitions and mystical expereinces are in abundance. Sometimes that search manifests in pagan practices.
Its a minefield out there.
That's what I like about the Catholic Church, it examines alleged mystics in great detail so that lesser minds like mine don't go astray. (I can imagine someone with an imagination like mine is easy bait for the devil!)
I often think in this regard of the line from scripture saying that wheat can be sold with a measure of cockle in it....or words to that effect.
We are all more open to a reasonable arguement, something that seems "mostly good" or contains elements of good.
So much for the wheat - but what about the cockle?
The deceit is hidden by the veneer or appearance of goodness.
In our desire to be confirmed in our path to holiness; on our journey through the spiritual deserts; we have to be careful of mirages.
A thirsty man may run toward water, beleiving it to be real. And having discovered it was a deception, finds he is now further off his chosen track than ever.
For these reasons, John of the cross tells us not to hanker after visions and mystical experiences, but to let them pass, and continue to fight the good fight, in love and prayer.
The writings of Saint Louis de Montforte echo the same wisdom. Life passes so quickly, and after all, it is so easy to be Mystically mistaken.
IMAGES: Composite mystical garden (c)J. Lewis 2.Rosary beads 3. Garden angel.(c)J. Lewis4. bereavement card
