We met in the tiny chapel at the retreat center to say the rosary together, an assorted group of women Catholics- some living with terminal illness, others with disability, others there to support them as nurses, clergy members, family members and loved ones at the Genessaret Retreat.
I was there as a staff member. The woman next to me shared her rosary when she realized I couldn't hold one due to my quadriplegia. We exchanged a smile.
Around the room, I saw womens' hands holding rosaries -
hands that
welcomed everyone to the retreat,
put together bags containing prayers and cards,
cut up food for others ,
stroked the cheeks of those who wept,
reached out to dance at the party,
and now
held rosary beads, fingers gliding over each bead as a voice raised in prayer was followed in unison.
They were the most beautiful hands I'd ever seen. Hands used in service, reaching out like the hand of the Lord to those in need of comfort, reassurance. Hands that rarely stopped moving, except now to pause in prayer.
It was the first time I really had a chance to see those hands still. It was a Martha/Mary moment.
And, perhaps, the first time I truly understood the difference.
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