OK. We prayed a daily rosary, too. Just our intentions alone took up 15 minutes. Then three decades were another 45 minutes. We knelt on a thin rug over a tile floor. I learned to align my knees with the grout lines so that my knees were in the most comfy position.
Usually around the third decade, someone had to go to the bathroom. They stayed in the bathroom for about 2 decades. Then maybe someone else had to go to the bathroom around the second sorrowful decade. Someone else was asleep by the first glorious mystery.
Those were the sorts of things your mom was probably trying to avoid. She wanted her kids to do it better than my mom’s kids did.
But the one thing neither of our moms taught us was how to pray with your heart. They could only teach us the words… they couldn’t teach us what to do with our minds.
I composed a lot of lists, too. What was I going to do when we got up? What was I going to get people for Christmas? What would I do when I grew up?
But my mom made me show up and go through the motions, hoping that it would stick, and that something would get through. Because you make your kids do what’s important, before they understand why it’s important, and then you trust them to do what’s important, after you’re no longer there to stand over them and make sure they do it.
Eventually, I was able to get a glimpse as to why it was important.
Part of being adult is doing what needs to be done, even if it’s not necessarily the most fun/entertaining/compelling thing. You know it’s important, so you do it… even if 99.999% of the time, you don’t know if it’s effective or not. But there’s that one .001% of the time that makes the rest of it worthwhile, and you plug away…