Alone in the dimly-lit living room, I craned my child-sized neck up toward a shelf with a small drawer under it. A votive candle cast a moving shadow on the wall. In our home the red vigil light constantly burned in waking hours before a statue of the Sacred Heart.
When I was older, my mother would sometimes assign me the “chore” of lighting the candle in the morning. More often, I caught her or Dad at prayer as they dedicated our family to Jesus once again as they put flame to wick.
The shelf was the highest item on any wall, demonstrating its precedence.
When I went to Mom with a problem, she would say, “Go ask the Sacred Heart.” Today I wonder if she was stumped by a deep question, too busy to stop her chores, or wanted to teach me to pray.
If I did wrong, I might be sent to the living room with instructions to spend a few minutes before the Sacred Heart, reflecting on what I had done. I remember occasionally shouting to my mother in the…



This is only a snippet of a Spiritual article written by Loretta Pehanich

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