I was sitting in my living room this morning, listening to the Hallow app, doing my morning prayer routine, and soaking in my surroundings with feelings of utter peace and contentment. Every wall, every tabletop in this room is decorated with reminders that our goal here on earth is to one day become saints in Heaven.
There are framed pictures of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary hanging above the loveseat, vintage prints that I discovered a few years ago buried in a box of paperwork in the basement of my husband’s a childhood home and was given permission by his siblings to take and cherish. There is an icon of the Blessed Mother and Baby Jesus hanging above the bay window, a souvenir that my husband brought home from a trip to the Holy Land, back when he was working as an international commercial pilot. And there is a statue of Our Lady of Fatima, which he purchased on a working trip to Rome, up high in a place of honor in a corner niche. Not to mention a little brass sign that reads "Rosary Room," because this is the quiet place where we often say our Rosaries.
You might think that some of the framed artwork and photographs in this room have nothing whatsoever to do with sainthood or our beautiful Faith, but there you would be wrong. There is a trio of lovely botanical prints on the wall above the loveseat, gifts from our oldest son and his wife. But they aren't just special because they're beautiful to look at; these prints are from a shop which many of you Catholic blog readers will recognize, Rose Harrington, and each of the five flowers depicted on each print represents a different mystery of the Rosary. (We have prints of the Joyful, Sorrowful, and Glorious Mysteries, but the shop sells the Luminous as well.) There's also a sweet framed photo of my husband holding our newborn oldest grandson, with me peeking over his shoulder, emblazoned with a quote about the importance of grandfathers--a gift from son #3 and his wife. Again, this picture reminds me of life's ultimate purpose--not only because grandparenthood is an unequaled joy and privilege, but because I'm confident that my husband, a man of deep commitment to practicing and living out his Faith, will be a saint one day. Hanging on the wall above the couch are canvas photo portraits of all of our grandchildren at age one, but again: I expect that these beloved children will one day be numbered among the saints. That's what I think of when I look at those precious faces.
I have added a few saints to the mix this past week. On the little table in the bay window of the living room, I have placed small framed portraits of two heavenly helpers about whom I knew very little before they wove their way into my fictional stories but who have become dear friends to me: St. Gertrude of Nivelles (patron saint of cats, among other things), to whom I dedicated Marguerite's Diary; and St. Barbara (patron saint of field artillerymen), to whom I dedicated The Boy in Blue. I also have a small framed cross-stitch image of Our Lady of Knock that means the world to me, for two reasons: because it was handmade by a beloved 12-year-old granddaughter and given to me as a Christmas present; and well, because that apparition of Our Lady took place in Ireland, and I love all things Irish (dontcha know!).
Saints everywhere I look, that's what I see when I sit in my living room. [Sigh...] Someday, I hope to see all of them together, in person--the great canonized saints and my own humble string of Pearls--in the glorious presence of Our Lord.
We're off to TN to morrow for a week or so, and I will probably be too busy enjoying my two wee granddaughters to think about blogging. See you on the other side, dear readers.
