“And when you pray, you shall not be like the hypocrites. For they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the corners of the streets, that they may be seen by men. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward. But you, when you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly. And when you pray, do not use vain repetitions as the heathen do. For they think that they will be heard for their many words.”

—Matthew 6:5–7

Fifteen years ago, I flew from my home in Jacksonville, Florida, to New York City, to see an exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My hotel was right across from St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

I’d briefly lived in NYC about a decade prior, but I’d never visited the cathedral, one of the most famous churches in the country. Millions of people step through its massive doors every year, Catholics and non-Catholics alike.

When I crossed the threshold, one thing that struck me was the relative silence. Even though the building was crowded and people were walking around and taking pictures, everyone spoke in hushed, respectful voices. We were clearly in a holy place, and the tourists behaved accordingly.

After admiring the church’s Gothic Revival architecture, I wandered to the gift store. I wasn’t sure what I sought, but I love souvenirs and figured I could find something to remind me of my whirlwind adventure.

I bought a small glass paperweight with a replica of St. Patrick’s stunning rose window, as well as rosaries for a couple of my Catholic friends.

As I stood in front of the display, a shimmering light blue rosary caught my eye.

My mind drifted back to when I’d taught high school Sunday school at our church and made prayer bead chains with the students. After I explained the long history of prayer beads in the church, we used heavy twine and pony beads to craft our own. Each color bead represented a different area of our lives—parents, siblings, school, work, church, and so forth. I showed the students how to use these chains like a rosary, holding each bead in their fingers while they prayed for that area, then moving to the next bead.

The kids loved the activity, and so did I. I’ve often floundered in my prayer life, for lots of different reasons. But these prayer beads gave me a specific and tactile way to present petitions and offer thanksgiving to God.

Would a rosary be that different from those prayer beads? I wasn’t Catholic, yet I wondered if I could somehow find a way to adapt the spiritual practice.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I added the shiny blue rosary to my pile of trinkets and checked out.

After I got back to Florida, I researched how to pray the rosary, googling “Is there a way for non-Catholics to pray the rosary?” I found a website offering something called the “Ecumenical Miracle Rosary.” Interestingly, it was developed by a Lutheran. The structure seemed a bit complicated to me, but I figured I could try it out.

I stuck with the full process for a few days. As is typical, my interest waned and my frustration grew. I got annoyed with myself for not being able to remember what to pray or to meditate on as I worked through the different sections.

One major stumbling block in my life is that I can get very fixed in my ways. If I create a system or method for doing something, I don’t deviate from it. Or, if someone gives me a system, I feel compelled to follow it to a T.

Over the years, I’ve had to ask God to help me with this—to shelve my perfectionism and completionist tendencies and legalistic ways.

With the rosary, I realized that I needed to adopt a “less is more” approach.

When we next entered the season of Lent, I wanted to incorporate more prayer into my days, and I felt the rosary could support that endeavor. I decided to keep things simple: I’d recite the Apostle’s Creed while holding the crucifix; say “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner,” on each of the ten beads in a row; then recite the Lord’s Prayer at the standalone bead. And instead of going through the entire rosary in one sitting, I’d pray one or two sections at different points throughout the day.

The simplicity of this approach allowed me to focus on the words I was saying, my mind calming as my fingers moved from one bead to another.

Tears stung my eyes as I finished the first section of beads. Outside of sitting in church during a worship service, I couldn’t remember when I’d felt so present with God during my prayer time. The steady rhythm of moving from bead to bead invites to slow down, breathe deep, and be still before the Lord.

Instead of being a mere souvenir, the rosary became a conduit, reminding me that God can work through even the simplest prayers—and that prayer is not about performance or perfection, but about presence.

With love in Christ,

Amanda

xoxo

Scripture taken from the New King James Version^®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.