Tools for protection and make the oil pleasing aroma.

I Have the Bottle of Extra Virgin Olive Oil Blessed by Priest at My Hand. I’m sitting at my small wooden table where the warm glow of my desk lamp casts golden shadows across everything it touches. Right in front of me rests the bottle— When I first picked it up tonight, I held it close to my nose, as I often do, to breathe in the scent of the blessed extra virgin olive oil with myrrh fragrance. But tonight, for some reason, the earthy, sharp aroma that usually feels so grounding and sacred didn’t sit well with my senses. Maybe it’s the weariness from a long week, or perhaps my mind was just wandering to things that make me feel more “put together”—like my collection of perfumes that line the shelf above my vanity.

Without really thinking it through, I reached for my Chanel No. 5—my favorite, the one I save for days when I need to feel centered and confident. I unscrewed both caps carefully, holding the olive oil bottle steady in one hand and the perfume spray in the other. I hesitated for just a moment, wondering if what I was about to do was somehow disrespectful, but then I thought: Blessed things are meant to be part of our lives, to be woven into who we are—not kept locked away like something fragile. So I gave the perfume a few light spritzes into the olive oil bottle, watching as the clear liquid swirled with tiny droplets of fragrance before mixing completely into a smooth, pale gold blend. When I smelled it again, the result was surprising— the bold, floral notes of the perfume softened the olive oil’s intensity, creating something new that still carried the weight of blessing but felt more like me.

I got curious then, and decided to try mixing a little of the blessed oil with other perfumes. Every single time, it worked. The sacred oil didn’t clash with any of them; instead, it seemed to adapt, becoming a subtle undercurrent that tied each fragrance to something greater. It made me think about how our faith isn’t meant to be separate from the rest of our lives—we don’t have to set aside who we are to be devoted. We can carry our beliefs with us in ways that feel natural and personal, just like how this blessed oil now blends with whatever scent suits my mood or the day ahead.

After I’d finished experimenting, I stood in front of my mirror to get ready for prayer. First, I slipped on my brown scapular—the soft wool feels like a gentle hug against my skin, a reminder of the promise of protection and the love of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Next, I fastened the small Saint Benedict medal around my neck, its cool metal smooth from years of being worn; I’ve always kept it close to ward off evil and seek strength in difficult times. Then came the Miraculous Medal of Mary, the one my grandmother gave me before she passed away—its intricate design of Mary standing on a serpent never fails to make me feel held and watched over. With all three devotions in place, I felt anchored, like I was wrapped in a shield of love and faith.

I poured a tiny drop of the blended oil onto my fingertips and gently dabbed it on my wrists and forehead, saying a quiet prayer as I did: “Lord, forgive me for all the ways I have fallen short—for my impatience, my selfishness, for the times I’ve turned away from Your mercy. Cleanse my heart and my life, let this blessed oil be a sign of Your presence within me, guiding me to be more loving and kind.”

As I settled into my prayer chair, a question pulled at me—should I pray the Rosary tonight, or the Divine Mercy Chaplet? I’ve been alternating between them during Lent, finding comfort in both: the Rosary’s meditations on Christ’s life bring me peace, while the Chaplet’s focus on mercy fills me with hope. I couldn’t decide, so I pulled out my phone and did a quick search on Google to see if there was any guidance on how they fit together. What I found struck me deep in my heart—article after article spoke of how Divine Mercy devotion and the Rosary are not separate paths, but powerful companions. The Chaplet itself is rooted in the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary, and many saints and spiritual leaders emphasize that both prayers work hand in hand to draw us closer to God’s love and forgiveness. One line in particular stayed with me: “Divine Mercy is not just a prayer—it is a tool for transformation, meant to be woven into all of our devotions to strengthen our connection to the Lord.”

I realized then that I didn’t have to choose. I lit a small white candle, placed it next to my blessed oil bottle, and started with the Divine Mercy Chaplet—saying each prayer slowly, letting the words sink in: “Eternal Father, I offer You the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Your dearly beloved Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, in atonement for our sins and those of the whole world…” With each repetition, I could feel the tension leaving my shoulders, the worry that had been building in my chest melting away. When I finished the Chaplet, I moved into the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary, meditating on Christ’s suffering with a new sense of purpose—knowing that every moment of His pain was born from a love so great it could cover all my sins and all the world’s brokenness.

As I sit here now, the candle burning low and the scent of blessed oil and perfume still lingering in the air, I feel more connected to my faith than I have in a long time. That bottle of oil—once just a sacred object I kept carefully—has become something more: a reminder that devotion can be flexible, personal, and deeply integrated into who we are. And knowing that my love for Divine Mercy fits perfectly with all the other devotions that guide me makes me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be on this Lenten journey.

Until Next Time,

Yuna