I just did the sign of the cross. Well, I did it after I finished my Sunday morning run. No, there isn’t anything out of the ordinary about today’s effort but as I slowed down to walk to my house, I did it. Didn’t think about it, I just did it.
I always joke about the saying “you can take the girl out of Catholic school but you can’t take Catholic school out of the girl” and its many variations and today I found it accurate about me. I’m not religious. I’m not into churches and religions. I believe in God. The only Catholic I can claim in me may be the fact that I accompany family to mass a few times a year; I like to sing church hymns (I broke out into song a couple of weeks ago as I was driving because I remembered a school feast day); and that I still get a hankering to say the rosary probably for the soothing, meditative state all the repetition brings about—very rarely and never successfully because I don’t know how anymore (church people keep futzing around with the thing. The “mysteries” that were difficult for me to remember as a child and the newer ones will now remain mysterious to me).
I’ve meandered. All I wanted to say was, I liked it. That I made the sign of the cross as I finished my Sunday run, “my worship” as I think of it, and was counting my blessings seemed very fitting. I don’t know what doing it means to others but today, for me, it meant thank you.