Traditionally, each set of Mysteries is assigned to a specific day of the week, and everybody pretty much agrees on Monday through Friday as I've outlined below. Weekends are less structured, and appear to depend on the liturgical season, an "Aha!" element I use to remember those ritualistic, slightly arbitrary divisions of the Christian year according to Christ's life. While I don't always adhere to the schedule--sometimes I want to pray about sorrow on a Monday, or joy on a Wednesday--I love the spontaneous connections that occur when I do pray according to the day.

Monday: Joyful Mysteries
Tuesday: Sorrowful Mysteries
Wednesday: Glorious Mysteries
Thursday: Luminous Mysteries
Friday: Sorrowful Mysteries

Monday isn't generally my most joyful day, and Friday's fun can't come soon enough. Considering joy on a Monday is a little out of the ordinary, a little uncomfortable. And therefore memorable. Thinking of Jesus' Passion every Friday is a lovely tribute to his sacrifice, but other than Good Friday, without the rosary, I seriously doubt I'd remember that very often. Praying by intent rather than by emotion is at the heart of how the rosary works for me. Praying becomes more like spiritual discipline, less like conversation.

On the weekend days, I remember the seasons of the church, an exercise in spiritual nostalgia that places me squarely in the Rosiclare United Methodist Church, a small congregation with a big heart, where the altar vestments change with the liturgical season: gold for Epiphany, the three kings, one of whom brought gold; red for Pentecost, tongues of fire; white for Christmas and Easter, holy and pure; purple for Lent and Advent, juxtaposing pain with royalty; a nice functional green for the boring time from Pentecost to Advent, known as Kingdomtide.

I learned to read both music and poetry through escaping to the hymnal during boring sermons, and I am still pretty amazing when it comes to making words out of the letters in the sermon title. My world is richer for the grand old hymns, spirituals, ethnically diverse worship choruses, staples like "Showers of Blessing" and "Just As I Am"; and the responsive readings and sacramental forms gave a sense of connection to other Christians, a feeling I find in the rosary as well.

The altar vestments are part of that rich heritage, like the familiar smells of the sanctuary. Old wood, old books, old ladies' perfume and hairspray. The love of that community envelops me when I pray the rosary within the context of the seasons, while the remembered colors and connotations connect me back to the important aspects of Jesus' time and teaching--the Mysteries.

Praying the rosary connects me to my Source.