Rodrigo

This morning, on a church pew, I found a forgotten copper rosary—its chain broken, the beads scattered. I sat there and restrung them one by one, my fingers clumsy yet focused. It made me think that faith is sometimes like this string of beads—broken, scattered, yet still able to be patiently gathered up and reconnected. I don't know who it belongs to, but when I placed it beside the icon, a long-lost peace unexpectedly rose in my heart. Perhaps repairing itself is a kind of prayer, even if all we repair is someone else's brokenness.