Although the entire house is asleep, I find myself fighting a million domestic distractions while praying the rosary.

How will I survive the day’s agenda?
How much laundry is piling up?
What am I making for dinner?
Do I have any errands that need to be run?
Will Pete sleep late enough for me to do X and Y AND Z, too?

And as I’m supposed to be mediatating on the last decade – Jesus dies on the cross – I find myself with only 3 more Hail Marys and I don’t think I’ve done an ounce of meditating. I look at the crucifix, and I have this thought:

The women were standing vigil at the cross. It was afternoon and the Sabbath was coming soon. They needed to be home with all their work DONE by sundown. They wouldn’t be able to do it the next day, the day of rest. And I really can’t imagine that for a minute they thought about the undone laundry or the dough left to rise but never baked or the water that needed fetching. The most important thing for them was to be there at the foot of the cross, praying, weeping, supporting each other.

And why, oh WHY, can I not give 15 minutes of my day to this meditation?