It’s a standing joke among my priest friends that if they received a nickel for every strand of rosaries that I asked them to bless, they would be rich men.

I suppose that down through the years, I have given away hundreds of rosaries to those who have lost their faith, or left the Church, or were in the midst of a great trial. And strangely, as it might sound, the recipients will often return with stories of how Mary has interceded on their behalf—a brain tumor that no longer appeared on x-rays; a granddaughter returned after many years absence; the peace it brought to a dying man; a young boy lying in a coma after being hit by a car who regained consciousness when a priest pinned one to the child’s pillow. The stories go on and on.

Giving away rosaries began nearly twenty years ago. My husband, Paul and I were invited by friends to attend a healing service in a small non-Catholic church. It was an informal affair. A minister spoke briefly then a group of people gathered at the front of the church to lay hands on those wishing prayer. It was quite lovely.

Paul and I were seated towards the rear, observing the service. I was quietly saying my rosary, a special pleasure for after decades of secretly wanting a silver rosary; my husband had surprised me with one for my birthday. It was a beautiful strand, imported from Italy, thick silver beads with a crucifix that lay on a lattice type cross. I’m seldom attached to ‘things’ but this I dearly loved and never removed them from their case without giving thanks.

As I prayed my rosary, I kept one eye on the proceedings up in front where I happened to notice that a street lady was making her way towards the front of the line. I have a special love for the poor and downtrodden, so I stepped up the prayers, asking the Lord to meet her needs.

Finally, it was her turn and I waited for them to place their hands and begin to prayer.  Instead, I watched in horror as they turned her away. I couldn’t believe it. What kind of Christians were these people?

My heart filled with compassion and my eyes with tears. Unbelieving, I watched this broken woman walk back down the aisle and slip into the aisle across from me.

I stepped up my prayers, asking our Holy Mother to deliver this poor, wretched woman from whatever ailment that had led her here.

Then in a quiet voice, I heard Mary say, “Give her your rosary.”

My first thought was that she must mean the plastic ones in the back of my car that I had bought for CCD.

I heard her voice again. “Give her your silver rosary.”

I’d love to tell you that I obeyed without question, but I did not. Instead, I began to ‘explain’ why that would not be a good idea. The woman wouldn’t appreciate the value of the rosary. I had waited thirty years to finally be given such a beautiful strand…and so on and so on.

Then I heard her voice again. “Give her the silver rosary.”

And I knew in my heart that she would not ask again. Rather than disappoint Our Mother, I took a deep breathe, steeled myself and took the three small steps across the aisle with my beloved silver rosary in hand.

The street lady had been praying and looked up when she felt me standing over her. I held out the rosary.

“These are filled with prayers,” I said and slipped them into her hand. “I hope they give you comfort.”

Funny, how we never really look into the eyes of the poor. We see them pass, get an impression of their poverty, their despair but keep our eyes focused on the ground. This day, however, I looked directly into the eyes of the destitute and saw an angel smiling back at me.

Since that day, I have prayed over hundreds of rosaries. Sometimes I hear the Our Lady say, “Pray for peace” or renewal, return, faith, health, healing, reconciliation…the list is endless. And then I stick them in my purse and wait, and inevitably, someone will come across my path and I’ll feel a ‘push’. I remove the rosary and slip it into their hands.

“These are full of prayers,” I tell them. “I hope they give you comfort.”

Each time the response is the same rather Catholic, Protestant, Jew, atheist…doesn’t matter.  They take them relevantly into their hands, their eyes flush with tears. I always chuckle when I discover their need which always aligns with the type of the prayers that were said over them.

Then the stories filter back.  This one found healing. Another reconciliation. Another new spiritual depth. Another a true miracle. Some elect to keep the rosary, but most pass them on. New stories surface.

Recently, with priestly counsel, I have answered the call to begin a ‘Ministry of the Holy Rosary’. Conducted through parishes or groups, it begins with a small seminar that explains the power of the Rosary and how it can be used as an evangelical tool, a healing vessel, or a chalice of hope.

After refreshments, or lunch, a mass is conducted where the priest blesses the rosaries set aside for this special ministry. Participants are then instructed to begin a nine day novena through the rosary, for the person who Mary will send to receive this gift of prayer. And don’t be surprised if that person is not of the Catholic faith. Because of one strand given to a local Bible Belt Protestant and the miracles that had ensued, I am now sharing this wonderful devotion with other Protestants.

Mary came once to give the gift of the birth our Savior, and perhaps, now, she is giving him again to heal a world filled with turmoil through the Rosary.

For those wishing to conduct the “Ministry of the Holy Rosary” program in your parish or group, contact Katherine Valentine through TMG Catholic Speaker’s Bureau: Speakers@MaximusMG.com