I stole something when I was about 10 years old. We lived in a small town and I used to have to walk downtown everyday to pick up our mail at the post office. Some days my Mom would give me a quarter to buy myself a treat on the way home. Usually I'd buy a chocolate bar or candy, but sometimes I would browse through the old five-and-dime department store (you know, the kind with the creaky floors?) trying to find something for 25 cents.

One day I saw a beautiful white rosary. But it was 30 cents and I only had 25. So I went home and told my Mom about it and told her I was going to save my money until I had enough to buy that rosary. But she told me I couldn't, because I wasn't a Catholic. But oh, how I wanted that rosary. I pleaded with her, but for some reason, she stuck to her refusal and wouldn't let me buy it.

Well, one day I was back in the store, looking longingly at it, knowing I had enough money in my pocket to buy it, but not my Mom's approval. The temptation was too much and I stuck it in my pocket then ran all the way home and hid it in my room. I slept with that rosary either under my pillow or in my hand every night for years after that, but always had this niggling little feeling of guilt for having stolen it...but in my convoluted thinking, it wasn't a fair guilt - I WANTED to pay for it, but Mom wouldn't let me. Stolen or not, despite the guilt, that rosary kept me company through many long, dark, lonely and tumultuous teenage nights.

When I was 16, I got a part-time job at that same store. After a few months working there, I got up the nerve to confess to the manager about having stolen the rosary, and asked him to let me pay for it now. He did. But I still had to keep the rosary hidden from my Mom, (not afraid because I had stolen it, but because I had gotten it despite her refusal to let me have it) and when we moved I was afraid to pack it, thinking she'd find it, so I hid it way back on the top shelf of my brother's closet and didn't take it with me to our new house. I missed it terribly.

Years later, I joined the Catholic church and was given a beautiful one as a gift. I'm no longer a Catholic (long story), but still sleep with that rosary nearby. But as beautiful as that one is, I'll never forget how safe and companioned I felt by that stolen little 30-cent white one.