I’ve got like this holy corner on my desk. It didn’t start that way. There was probably a rosary, maybe two, thrown in there out of the way, with a couple of loose crucifixes for twine rosary-making. A holy card joined the collection, then another, and finally, I threw it all together in a little basket.
I’m pretty sure I need a bigger basket.
I assure you I didn’t start out to be a collector of holy cards and other tiny religious objects — it just kind of caught up with me, not unlike my 50th birthday. It just happened. One day I was a carefree, spiritually messy 20-year-old, and then, BAM, I’m a 50+ year-old church lady, posting about holy cards and secretly (and diligently) praying novenas for your salvation. Yes, yours. Don’t worry, I got your back.
As if that wasn’t enough, I have a traveling collection of holy cards that spill out of my journal. Those are my go-to cards, let’s call them my essential prayers and devotions.
I was at my parents’ for a nice visit over Christmas, and my dad came out of the bedroom with a pile of cards, whining about feeling like his morning devotions were getting out of hand and shows me a handful of cards. I pretty much called him a lightweight and showed him my little collection in my journal.
My mom, the greatest straight man I’ve ever known, sucked her teeth and judged us. Hard. She got up and disappeared into their bedroom and came out with the epic collection, full of tattered cards and laminated ones in addition to pamphlets of novenas and plastic colorful rosaries. She wins.
Am I scaring you a little? Yeah. I’m a little amused that it has come to this, too. But relax, it’s good. I like it. It makes me feel good, this prayer thing. You could give it a try, too.
