This is the rectory for our parish.
It came from a Sears house kit some time in the early 1900s. No kidding. The house was the original convent that served the parish school!
Stay tuned. All this talk of Sears closing has left me feeling nostalgic for the old Christmas catalog — and the hours I’d spent marking all the things I wanted.
Now, I’d be content to look through old catalogs and records to see if I can pinpoint the design and year of construction!
As the Month of the Rosary comes to end, I’d love to see pictures of your favorite rosaries. I’ve been posting mine on social media since I have quite a collection. Some have sentimental value and others are workhorses placed around the house in strategic places for my daily prayers.
Add a link to your pictures of your favorite rosaries! I’d love to see them!
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Years of keeping a regular weekly holy hour has made it clear to me that I still don’t know how to do this right.
I’ve had a few very profound experiences in those opportunities for Adoration, but to be honest, it’s not a regular occurence. The more common experience is that I just show up. I never have to worry about Jesus showing up; he’s waiting for me. The weak link in the relationship is me.
Truth be told, I still, after all this time, struggle with what I think is the “proper” thing to do during Adoration. I teeter between going prepared with reading material, journals, and a list of prayers — things that I think are good and pleasing to the Lord — and showing up empty-handed ready to sit in silence and listen. More often than not, it’s a bit of a mix. I fear I am taking my agenda instead of being open to the Lord.
I fidget and get distracted in the silence.
I alternate between moments of sublime awe and spiritual desolation when I feel nothing at all. The latter would worry me if I didn’t also have moments of consolation like I experienced today. Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament at a cloister took me by surprise. The monstrance faced the nuns in the cloister. I had a perfect view of the side of the monstrance, and couldn’t see Jesus no matter where I moved.
I felt like Zacchaeus hanging off the tree.
I thought of the hemorrhaging woman who wanted to get close enough to Jesus to just touch his cloak. And in the silence I heard come closer.
Closer to his Sacred Heart. Closer to his Love. I didn’t need to see to know my Lord was there.
