This morning it is very foggy. Here in the South, we get that in the fall. Especially while Indian Summer is in swing. The period when the temps have been cooler but there is an upward temp swing for about a week. I awoke this morning around 5 and at 6, decided to take a walk and enjoy the mist shrouded morning.
I took my Personal Rosary with me and hung it around my neck and a newly acquired one, a World War One Military Rosary. This one, after working a few different ways, I put around my left wrist. I thought I would take a walk, maybe attend the early Mass and have the old Military Rosary Blessed.
Off I strolled in the dim mist. I live near a freeway so it offers an interesting contrast. The quiet, sleeping neighborhood and the busy interstate. The folks next door are expecting a new baby. I smile when I see the windows are dark. That won’t last long
As I turn onto the access road beside the freeway, the bustle of the highway is almost sudden, though it is the background of my life. My father was a Big Rig driver to and on the day he died. I understand that lifestyle of the modern day gypsy. Most, like my dad, would live no other way. They are their own men and they see the world. Like sailors of old, they are never in the same place long and they live their own lives. I cannot look at them without thinking of my dad. I guess I never will.
As I walk up the sidewalk, there is one area where the curb had been removed to allow for a driveway on the side to the house on the corner. You have to be careful walking here. The sneaker imprints of someone who accidentally stepped in the wet cement are there, along with a child’s handprint and several paw prints. You can tell the foot prints were surprised to find the give of wet cement. They dance off to the left and off of the cement. The dogs didn’t care, they went on about their way and the hand print, place precisely in the corner, is deep. I see these and wonder about the steps taken there that are not recorded in stone.
On up the sidewalk as many trucks and cars, even a motorcycle and a police car go by. Early morning commuters, ready to be at work at 7 or off to an early breakfast before the shift starts. Days are beginning.
I turn into the parking lot of the church and look at the cars still there. Each one has a full dose of dew, they have been here all night. I wonder what their owners are doing tonight. Are they spending the night in the church? Adoration is often held overnight. Perhaps a car didn’t start and a husband drove a wife home. Maybe someone is carpooling for an overnight shift. So many possibilities.
My eyes turn to the church. Shrouded in the mist, the brick façade rises from the hill and I turn to thoughts of the morning. I usually take this route, sit beside the church for sunrise, attend the Mass and head home, which is just behind the church.
I reach over and touch the new, old rosary on my wrist. It’s GONE!
My stomach drops and I feel a small panic. Not of fear but of disappointment in myself. This Rosary has been treasured for years by a soldier. Well worn, the silver plate is almost completely gone from the beads. Someone carried this Rosary all over Europe and brought it home safe and I lost it. I was devastated. I turned around and retraced my steps. Back across the parking lot and past the cars, onto the sidewalk, anything that caught the light caught my eye. To the footprints and around the corner. Walking slowly, scanning each step, side to side looking for the pattern of beads on a string.
Even though I am anxious to find this Rosary, I know it might not be found. By me. I have seen it many times, a Rosary disappears and someone is heartbroken. But, at the same time, that Rosary will be found, someday, if not today, and it will mean something to someone. It will be important in their lives. This happened with my daughter when she was little. I had made four crocheted baby blankets before she was born and she treasured them all. One, she carried to a church function and, playing in the room where charity clothing had been stored, she lost it. She was broken hearted but I told her, she still had three and there was a child somewhere who would receive Blue Blankie and love it and treasure it. He might never have had one had she not lost it. At 18, she still remembers that day and that story and that thought gives her comfort. She also holds her other three closely and still sleeps with them, today.
Over my shoulder, I hear another echo of a car. I look to check and this time, a neighbor coming home from the night shift. A wave and a nod and he’s off to bed.
As I left the light from the highway, I realized I was not going to see it in the dark patch. I would come back with my husband’s flashlight. When in the darkened area, I walked a little faster. Looking up, I saw the streetlight at the end of my driveway and with the mist and the pecan tree between it and myself, the light streamed through the limbs and leaves like the sun on a cloudy day. I just looked at the light streaming in the mist and it looked lovely, even for a harsh streetlight. As I approached the end of my driveway, I looked down, and there was the old Rosary. Waiting for me, almost welcoming me home.
Yellow Ribbon Rosaries
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They stand on a wall and say, ‘Nothins gonna hurt you tonight’ ~~ Lt Cdr Galloway; A Few Good Men
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Chattanooga TN 37412
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