Stop And Smell The Roses

Reflections on faith and human suffering

- Monica Araneta Tiosejo

When I was a young girl, my grandmother told me that every time I pray the Rosary, each bead becomes a rose that I offer to the Blessed Virgin. Afterward, I end up giving her a fragrant garden in full bloom. It sounded like a beautiful way to grow my faith, tending to it as one would flowers.

My grandfather, on the other hand, taught me about meditation and humility, the roots and the soil, if you will. The Rosary started out as a corded band used by the monks of the early church and, with it, they would chant “Lord Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me” over and over again.

This quarantine has made me more prayerful. It’s been a time to meditate not only on the great mysteries of faith but on the unimaginable.

As a food writer, I never imagined I would write about these things, but as a Catholic, it seems like the intentions I set for the invocation to the muse and for the supplication to God are the same—to feed, to nourish, and to survive.