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World at Prayer blog
Reflections of Family and Faith
"The family that prays together stays together." - Venerable Patrick Peyton
Family Rosary | The-Rosary-In-Our-Hands
Growing up in Uganda, I came to learn early on in life the praying of the Rosary. Our family was active in the Church, and we had regular family prayer. Uganda is 41% Catholic, and it is the land of the Ugandan Martyrs, whose feast day on the universal Church calendar is celebrated as the Memorial of Saint Charles Lwanga and Companions. The Catholic Church in Uganda is vibrant with full Churches, full seminaries, and full convents. The Catholic Church in Uganda runs some of the top schools and the best healthcare institutions in the country.
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The-Rosary-In-Our-Hands | family prayer
As an adult convert, one of the most thrilling and surprising aspects of Catholicism is the enjoyment I experience from practicing and learning about my faith. It’s like an infinite spiritual playground that continues to evolve and unfold, which leads to deeper and more profound personal experiences. The Rosary has been one of those growing spiritual journeys for me (and maybe for you, too). Until a few years ago, my perception of the Rosary was that praying it was what “good Catholics” did. So I did, too; I prayed the Rosary with a group, but rarely on my own. Just as Mary draws us closer to herself and her Son, she has worked her motherly “magic” on me, too! I’ve been praying it nearly every day over the last six months, which is a miracle for this girl who has a tendency to think, “I don’t have enough time.”
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The-Rosary-In-Our-Hands | family prayer
My dad was the first person to teach me to pray. As a little girl, I remember him kneeling next to my bedside, showing me the Sign of the Cross, and reciting our prayers. As a child, I didn’t see him much; he worked a lot to provide for our family. In my early adulthood, we didn’t always get along due to his vocal opinions. I came to see him as this loud, rigid man. I loved him but didn’t always like him. Both headstrong and controlling, there were power clashes between us, yet his Catholic faith was strong and never shaken.
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The-Rosary-In-Our-Hands | family prayer
During my freshman year of college, I was thinking about joining a particular household. At the Franciscan University of Steubenville, “households” are like Catholic fraternities and sororities. One of the regular commitments of this household was a Sunday evening Rosary. Let me paint the picture for you. Twenty college-age guys sitting comfortably on couches and chairs in a nice warm room praying a very repetitive devotion late at night. Someone was bound to fall asleep. On this occasion, someone did. Somewhere around the third Glorious Mystery, a good friend of mine started to nod and snap back. Nod and snap back. And then, after a valiant struggle, just nod. Everyone else in the room seemed to silently acknowledge that our friend was, shall we say, no longer with us.
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The-Rosary-In-Our-Hands | family prayer
In January 1991, my cousin was sitting in a tank in a hot desert, awaiting orders to go into Kuwait. The newspapers were filled with troubling stories, and the world felt like a sea of uncertainty. Every Saturday for months, my family — aunts, uncles, and cousins included — gathered at my grandparents’ house to pray the Rosary for protection over my cousin and the success of the mission.
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The-Rosary-In-Our-Hands | family prayer
Growing up in a small village in Ireland, it was from my Grandmother Hannah, whom we called Nanny, that I observed and learned the power that prayer holds to ground and shape our lives through joy and struggle. She was the first person I saw praying the Rosary. Never far from her gnarled, arthritic hands, the beads moved between her fingers in a fluid rhythm as her lips murmured the familiar words.
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