Many years to my son Pickles (obviously his screen name) on his nameday today!

I can’t remember if I ever shared my St. Michael story.

One night several years ago I had a nightmare. One of those hyper-realistic dreams that was almost dreary in its length and attention to detail. We were in some future dystopia in which Christianity was absolutely outlawed and all Christians were rounded up and martyred. 

Father and the children and I were trying to escape to a safe location which was a waystation to get out of the country. Because it was more dangerous to travel in groups we kept splitting up, he taking three older children and I taking the two younger ones. At our last stop we had been forced to flee ahead of schedule and I didn’t know if I would see Father and the children again, alive or dead. I was traveling under cover of darkness through a rural area, trying to keep one child hurrying along but forced to carry the youngest who was three and tired. He was heavy and we were slow. Dawn had come and we still weren’t hidden yet. The dirt road we were on was bordered by high, dense hedges and I was hoping to find a turn-off soon. Ahead of us I saw an intersection through the morning fog, but at the same time I heard the unmistakable noises of men approaching from one of the intersecting roads. I stopped and looked behind me but the road stretched out straight and without cover. Hoping against hope that they wouldn’t turn in our direction, I started to hurry away from the intersection as quietly as I could, praying that we would be hidden in the fog if we were far enough away and motionless. The toddler was whimpering and I was out of breath. Behind me I heard shouts. I looked over my shoulder and a group of three men with machine guns were standing in the middle of the intersection facing us. Desperately I looked left and right but the hedge was like a solid wall. One of the men raised his gun and I screamed, “St. Michael, save us!”

In the space between the men and our pitiful group there was suddenly a blindingly bright light that lit up the fog. A figure with wings was standing in the road with his back to us. He was bigger than a man, at least 15 feet tall. He raised his sword.

And I woke up.

May St. Michael ever pray for us and protect us from all assaults!