repetition

There is nothing extraordinary to report about today; in fact, it was as routine as it possibly could have been.

4:30 a.m. Alarm goes off. Hit snooze three times. After the third time Oliver licks my face, in that panicked "MOMMY I NEED TO GO" sort of way.
4:47 a.m. Let Oliver out...shower...coffee...news.
5:30 a.m. Hair...makeup...wish I would have ironed last night.
5:50 a.m. Out the door
6:00 a.m. (okay, maybe 6:05 a.m.) arrive at work.

You get the picture...emails, voicemails, etc. Everything happened the same way it does nearly every Tuesday of nearly every week. This may sound mundane, but I didn't have to think about what was next, at what time, and which location. I went through the motions of my day and my mind was freed up to "stop and smell the roses" so to speak.

I remember the first time I prayed the Rosary. I could not meditate on anything other than my burning knees. But now, as the decades glide bead by bead, the prays flow, my mind is freed up to meditate...and the words become the longings of my soul.

Prayers said repeatedly do not equal meaningless devotion...any more than the daily repetition of our lives equals a life lived in vain.