How St. Michael Became My Patron Saint.

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; may God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen.

It's kind of a funny story. I've never been what you would call devout. My family was very rational-minded, and it wasn't until I was a teenager that my mother decided to rekindle her faith. The problem was, she dragged all of us right along with her. So, even though I was fundamentally opposed to the idea, she forced me to become a baptized Catholic.

Naturally, I rebelled at every point I could. I deliberately played Devil's Advocate just to annoy the hell out of her. At times, I insinuated that I was an atheist just because it made her mad. I made it extremely clear that I hated church and everything religion stood for. I embarrassed her in front of priests by asking them hard questions that couldn't be answered 100% honestly. The scientist in me demanded absolute proof, and I knew no one could give me that. Faith isn't about proof.

One day, my mom cornered me after school. She handed me a book, Butler's Guide to the Saints, and said "Pick one." Then she explained to me that I was about to turn 16, and that I was going to have to be confirmed soon. Puzzled, I asked her what the heck being confirmed was. She told me it was when Catholics decided to accept being Catholic their whole lives. When she made that announcement, I quickly started to think of ways to weasel my way out of it. I didn't know that I even wanted to do that! And it didn't sound like something your mom could just force on you. But just try telling her that...Anyway, she continued to explain to me what it was all about, and said that Catholics have to pick a patron saint for this ritual. But they need to choose well because that saint is imprinted on their soul forever. When she said that, I flashed back to Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. "Choose, but choose wisely." Great. No pressure there. "So how am I supposed to pick a saint?" I asked. Evidently, that's what the book was for. It documented as rigorously as possible the biographies of all the saints. Mom explained that some Catholics choose a saint whose feast day coincides with their birthdays. Some choose a saint who is the patron of something that fascinated them, like medicine for example. I quickly looked at who ruled my birthday. No one stood out. Then I looked at some who ruled over my presiding interests. No go there, either. I faked a smile. "Okay, Mom," I said, "I'll look this over and get back to you." The funny thing is she actually believed me!

So later on, my parents went to this weekend retreat in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, called the Marion Conference. It's a big hoo-rah-rah for Catholics where they get together and talk about how cool it is to be Catholic. Okay, whatever. I got to stay home (quickly crosses myself and thanks God). But my mom decided that while she was there, she was going to peruse the booths hocking religious junk to find her heathen daughter a medal. At first she noticed the abundance of Virgin Mary medals and thought she'd buy me one of those. But "something" told her no way. She liked the Virgin Mary, true, but that wasn't the medal for me. Then that mysterious "something," a strange gut instinct, led her to a booth obscured by a wall and a potted palm tree. It wasn't a place she would've found on her own, so she says, but she was certain destiny guided her there because she found medals that weren't as mainstream as say, St. Christopher. She found one of St. Michael, the Archangel. Not knowing much about him, she read the accompanying card, saw he was God's right hand angel and the crusher of rebellion (hint, hint, Katie), and decided he was perfect for me.

She gets home, gives me her gift, and tells me this story about how God led her to it. Naturally, I rolled my eyes at her in the way only a teenager can, but I put the stupid thing on because it got her to shut up about religion for a while, and that was priceless. Besides, it wasn't bad looking. It was kind of cool, a necklace with a fierce warrior angel about to impale the Devil with his spear on it.

I can't recall how many days, weeks, or months passed by, but whatever the case, one night I was sitting in the dark, looking out my huge window at the pretty Wyoming night sky, when suddenly I got the heebie-jeebies. There was no reason to get scared, but there it was. I looked around, and noticed that the ceramic Halloween skull I had stored in my closet was glowing orange, as if a fire had been lit inside of it. And kind of hovering by my bed were these wispy humanoid figures. I can't say for sure what they were, exactly, but if I had to choose a word, I would say wraiths. They were transparent, with gnarly, long, thin fingers and gaunt, skeleton-like faces. Their long white hair kind of trailed off in all directions as if they were floating underwater. Naturally, I freaked! So I jumped out of bed to turn on the light. I naively assumed that light would scare creatures of the night away. Oh, how wrong I was! I flipped my switch on and off several times, but the wraiths would not leave.

Finally, I jumped back into bed and buried myself under my pillows and comforter so I wouldn't have to see them reaching for me anymore. I knew they were getting closer, and as they did, my fear climaxed. I was sure I was going to die. What to do? I couldn't run for help. Nobody would believe me. They would chock it off to a wild imagination. And besides that, what could anyone do against non-corporeal spirits terrorizing a sixteen year old girl?

So I started saying every prayer to God and Jesus I had learned in catechism. Hypocritical of me, yes, but that's what I did. But those traditional, go-to prayers didn't help. And my panic was rising. I couldn't breathe because I was hyperventilating so bad. I was shaking like a leaf. It was all I could do not to scream! Then, by chance, my hand drifted across my neck and felt my St. Michael medal. Suddenly, I remembered one last prayer I could say: "St. Michael, the Archangel, defend me in battle..." I repeated that over and over while I felt my heart psychically beg God to send the warrior Archangel to save me. At that moment, the fear instantly vanished. It was just gone, like it never existed. And in its place was the most wonderful feeling of peace I've ever felt. I never felt anything so warm and comforting before that moment, or since. It was like someone was cradling me like a small child in their arms. I fell asleep not thirty seconds later.

When I made the mistake of telling my mom this, she obviously used it as a point to preach to me, and insisted it was God who had comforted me. But I don't think so. I can't say with 100% certainty who helped me that night, but my heart tells me it was St. Michael. I don't have a rational reason for it, I admit. I just know it was him.

So I started researching everything I could about him in books and on the internet. And I found out that he represents everything I want to be. He is the defender of the weak and those without a voice. He is loyal, and has a soft spot in his heart for soldiers, police officers, and firefighters, just like I do. As the angel of justice, he, like me, has a strong sense of what's right and wrong. When I learned all of this about him, and more, I knew he was destined to be my patron saint. So I went to my mom and told her. She said, "I don't think the Catholic Church allows people to pick angels for their patron saint." I said, "I don't give a damn what the Church allows. He's going to be my patron saint, and that's the end of that!" Okay, so in spite of my experience, I still have quite a bit of the Devil in me...

When I was 23, I finally decided to be confirmed. And for the record, the Church did allow me to pick him. And the Archangel Gabriel, but that's a different story for a different day. The bottom line is that when I was confirmed, I felt a special connection, a special bond, form with him. I mean, ever since that night in my room, I felt like he was a kindred spirit. But since my confirmation, I feel like he's a close friend that I can talk to when things are rough. Honestly, I don't know if he even knows who I am. But just the thought gets me through the day.

So yes, it was a long story, but hopefully, it was worth it!