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Feast of the Arcangels

Discussion in 'On prayer itself' started by padraig, Sep 29, 2017.

  1. padraig

    padraig New Member

    http://www.catholicculture.org/culture/liturgicalyear/calendar/day.cfm?date=2014-09-29

    The angels always shine brighter in the dark.

    Before the devil attacks at night time I often have a sense of presense drawing nigh. It is as though the room grows darker, grayer, a sense of looming foreboding, a seer silence that cuts.

    Sin order to protect myself before sleeping I pray to the three arcangels Michael, Gabreal and Raphael and my Guardian angels in my heart place them in a triangle at the four corners of the room. I pray also to Jesus, Mary and Joseph to protect me.

    If I did n't do this I don't think I would be able to sleep , I would simply be too scared. But with them I can sleep like a babe, mostly. When things are really bad I call on the saints who fought the devil hand to hand, people Lie Padre Pio, the Cure of Ars and St Gerard Majella...and pretty well anyone in heaven I can think off.

    So the devil had done me the great favour of making these three Great arcangels my friends.

    They shine best in the dark.

    [​IMG]


     
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  2. padraig

    padraig New Member

    http://spiritdaily.org/blog/angels/michael-to-the-rescue

    What follows is a copy of a letter written by a young Marine to his mother while recovering from a wound suffered on a Korean battlefield in 1950. The Navy Chaplain Father W. Muldy, who had talked to the boy, his mother, and to the Sergeant in charge of the patrol, vouched for the veracity of the story.

    Dear Mom,

    I wouldn’t dare write this letter to anyone but you, because no one else would believe it. Maybe even you will find it hard, but I have got to tell somebody.

    First off, I’m in a hospital. Now don’t worry, you hear me? Don’t worry! I was wounded, but I am okay. The doctor says that I will be up and around in a month. But that’s not what I want to tell you.

    Remember when I joined the Marines last year? When I left, you told me to say a prayer to St. Michael every day. You really didn’t have to tell me that…ever since I can remember, you always told me to pray to St. Michael the Archangel. You even named me after him. Well, I always have! But when I got to Korea I prayed even harder.

    Remember the prayer that you taught me?…”Michael, Michael of the morning, Fresh corps of Heaven adorning…” You know the rest of it. Well, I said it every day…sometimes when I was marching or sometimes resting. But always before I went to sleep. I even got some of the other fellas to say it.

    Well, one day I was with an advance detail way up on the front lines. We were scouting for the Commies. I was plodding along in the bitter cold…my breath was like cigar smoke.

    I thought I knew every guy in the patrol, when alongside of me comes another Marine I never met before. He was bigger than any other Marine I’d ever seen. He must have been 6’4″ and built in proportion! It gave me a feeling of security to have such a body nearby.

    Anyway, there we were, trudging along. The rest of the patrol spread out. Just to start a conversation, I said, “Cold, ain’t it?” And then I laughed! Here I was, with a good chance of getting killed any minute, and I’m talking about the weather!

    My companion seemed to understand. I heard him laugh softly. I looked at him, “I have never seen you before. I thought I knew every man in the outfit.”

    “I just joined at the last minute,” he replied. “The name is Michael.”

    “Is that so?” I said surprised. “That’s MY name, too!”

    “I know,” he said…and then went on…”Michael, Michael, of the morning…”

    I was too amazed to say anything for a minute. How did he know my name, and a prayer that YOU had taught me? Then I smiled to myself: Every guy in the outfit knew about me! Hadn’t I taught the prayer to anybody who would listen? Why, now and then, they even referred to me as “St. Michael”!

    Neither of us spoke for a time, and then he broke the silence. “We are going to have some trouble up ahead.”

    He must have been in fine physical shape, for he was breathing so lightly that I couldn’t see his breath. Mine poured out in great clouds! There was no smile on his face now. Trouble ahead, I thought to myself…well, with the Commies all around us, THAT is no great revelation!

    Snow began to fall in great thick globs. In a brief moment, the whole countryside was blotted out. And I was marching in a white fog of wet, sticky particles. My companion disappeared.

    “Michael!” I shouted in sudden alarm.

    I felt his hand on my arm, his voice rich and strong. “This will stop shortly.”

    His prophecy proved to be correct. In a few minutes, the snow stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The sun was a hard, shining disc. I looked back for the rest of the patrol. There was no one in sight. We lost them in that heavy fall of snow. I looked ahead as we came over a little rise.

    Mom, my heart just stopped! There were seven of them! Seven Commies in their padded pants and jackets and their funny hats. Only, there wasn’t anything funny about them now. Seven rifles were aimed at us!

    “Down, Michael!” I screamed, and hit the frozen earth. I heard those rifles fire almost as one. I heard the bullets. There was Michael…still standing!

    Mom, those guys COULDN’T have missed…not at that range! I expected to see him literally blown to bits! But, there he stood…making no effort to fire himself! He was paralyzed with fear …It happens sometimes, Mom, even to the bravest. He was like a bird fascinated by a snake!

    At least, that was what I thought THEN! I jumped up to pull him down, and that was when I got hit. I felt a sudden flame in my chest. I often wondered what it felt like to be hit…now I know!

    I remember feeling strong arms about me, arms that laid me ever so gently on a pillow of snow. I opened my eyes, for one last look. I was dying! Maybe I was even dead. I remember thinking, “Well, this is not so bad.”

    Maybe I was looking into the sun. Maybe I was in shock. But it seemed I saw Michael standing erect again…only this time his face was shining with a terrible splendor! He seemed to change as I watched him. He grew bigger, his arms stretched out wide. Maybe it was the snow falling again, but there was a brightness around him like the wings of an Angel! In his hand was a sword…a sword that flashed with a million lights!

    Well…that is the last thing I remember until the rest of the fellas came up and found me. I don’t know how much time had passed. Now and then, I had but a moment’s rest from the pain and fever. I remember telling them of the enemy just ahead.

    “Where’s Michael?” I asked. I saw them look at one another. “Where’s who?” asked one.

    “Michael…Michael…that big Marine I was walking with just before the snow squall hit us.”

    “Kid,” said the sergeant, “You weren’t walking with anyone. I had my eyes on you the whole time. You were getting too far out! I was just going to call you in when you disappeared in the snow.”

    He looked at me curiously. “How did you do it, kid?” “How’d I do WHAT?” I asked…half-angry, despite my wound. “This Marine named Michael and I were just…”

    “Son,” said the sergeant kindly, “I picked this outfit myself, and there just ain’t another Michael in it! You are the only Michael in it!”

    He paused for a minute. “Just how did you do it, kid? We heard shots, but there hasn’t been a shot fired from YOUR rifle…and there isn’t a BIT of lead in them seven bodies over the hill there.”

    I didn’t say anything. What COULD I say? I could only look open-mouthed with amazement.

    It was then the sergeant spoke again. “Kid,” he said gently… “Every one of those seven Commies was killed by a sword stroke!”

    That is all I can tell you, Mom. As I say…it may have been the sun in my eyes…it may have been the cold or the pain. But that is what happened.

    Love,

    Michael

    http://www.tldm.org/News10/MarineNamedMichael.htm

    [​IMG]
     
    AED, gracia, Don_D and 1 other person like this.
  3. SgCatholic

    SgCatholic Maranatha

    I just read this article before you posted.
    Isn't it just amazing and heart-warming? :love:
     
    AED likes this.
  4. padraig

    padraig New Member

    How sad when people do not pray to the angels fro protection, or when through grave sin they cut of their light. They are a bit like people who take bullets out of their guns and expect them to keep working.

     
    gracia likes this.
  5. padraig

    padraig New Member

    It may sound very harsh and judgemental but I am always very grimly aware in these present days that vast majority of people I deal with each day are very ,very far from God. To give you an example a , 'Catholic', lady whom I worked with was unable to give me the name of the present Pope when I asked her. Many, many people who claim to be Catholic neither pray nor ever see the inside of a Church from ones year end to the next. It is just and ethnic label to pass themselves socially..

    People who are far from God are basically like wild animals. They have no moral code or compass to guide them save that they take care of themselves. The only thing that holds them in check are human laws and regulations and the fear of human respect. In such circumstances the Christian is like Daniel in the Lion's Cage and must turn to the Holy Angels for protection from their lion's teeth.

     
    Last edited: Sep 30, 2017
    AED likes this.
  6. padraig

    padraig New Member

    https://www.guideposts.org/inspiration/angels/a-guardian-angel-arrives-in-answer-to-a-mothers-prayer

    A Guardian Angel Arrives in Answer to a Mother's Prayer
    The mother of a young girl facing surgery prays for her daughter's fears to be comforted. The answer she receives is one she could never have expected.

    “Sing, Dari! Loud as you can!” Normally my four-year-old daughter loved to sing. Now she just stared, uncomprehending, at the nurse. I squeezed her hand for comfort. The nurse wanted her to sing so she would take deep breaths of anesthesia. I understood that, but how could I explain it to Dari?

    The doctor had allowed me to be in the operating room until she was asleep, but I didn’t feel like I was being all that much help. There was so much for Dari to take in: the mask over her nose and mouth, the doctors and nurses in scrubs, the machines, the bright lights, the tables.

    Even I must have looked strange to her. My hair was tucked up under a sterile cap and only my eyes were visible above my mask. “It’s okay, Dari. Just sing whatever song you like. The doctor’s going to give you the laughing gas to put you to sleep. Remember you picked out the flavor you wanted?”

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    “Cupcake!” said Dari. She tried to smile, but her eyes darted around the room again. Those eyes were so full of fear. I’d tried to prepare Dari for everything that would happen in surgery. We talked about how the doctors would make an incision to repair an umbilical hernia.

    “They’ll make a little cut and sew it right up,” I’d said. “Cut me open?” Dari had said, horrified. “Sew me?” “It won’t hurt at all!” I promised. “You’ll be home the same day. And back to school a few days later.”

    Dari looked doubtfully at her belly button where the doctor was going to operate. “It’ll look fine when she’s finished,” I said. We even googled pictures of belly buttons after surgery. When we arrived at the hospital, the nurses had predicted Dari’s own would be “gorgeous.”

    The doctor had told me the surgery was routine, but nothing was routine when you were four years old. “I’m here, Dari,” I said, squeezing her hand tighter. “Let’s sing together.” We got through a few bars of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Then her eyes closed.

    “She’s under!” the nurse bellowed. I was led back into the hallway. Now I was the one who was worried. Not about the surgery. I trusted the doctor. I just didn’t want Dari to be scared. Be with her, Lord, I prayed. Soothe her fear.

    The surgery was fast—not much over an hour. “She did great,” the surgeon said when she met me in the waiting room. “But the repair turned out to be a little more complicated than we thought. The recovery will take a little longer. She’ll miss a few weeks of school.”

    Oh, no, I thought. I’d promised Dari she’d be up and around soon. Worse yet, the doctor said her belly button wouldn’t look right until it healed. Maybe not until after a second surgery. It seemed like everything I’d promised Dari was falling through. What kind of mother was I?

    I followed a nurse to the recovery room where Dari was waking up. I kissed her forehead. “Your doctor said you did great,” I told her. “I know,” she said, still a little groggy. “I watched myself.” “What do you mean?”

    She pointed at her feet. “I was sitting right there at the end of the bed. But in the other room.” The operating room. Was she describing a dream? “I saw the nurse pull open my pajamas and watched them work on my tummy. It didn’t hurt. I wasn’t scared either. My guardian angel was with me.”

    “You mean the lady who asked you to sing?” “No, Mom,” she said, as if frustrated I didn’t get it. “My guardian angel!” “Oh. What did she look like?” Dari held up her hands to show something the size of a doll. Maybe she was dreaming of one of her dolls?

    “How did you know she was an angel?” I asked. “Because of her wings,” Dari said. “And because she kept hugging me and hugging me.” Our discussion was interrupted by the nurse arriving with a Popsicle. But I couldn’t stop thinking about that dream—or that angel.

    I kept thinking about her after Dari got home. Funny that Dari talked about seeing an angel just when I needed to know she was watched over. The first few days were hard. Dari’s tummy was sore and she quickly got bored stuck in bed.

    So to entertain her one day I asked about the angel again. “She was this size,” Dari said, making the same shape with her hands. “She wore a long pink gown with tennis shoes…” She looked around her room—“that color.” She pointed to a lavender pillow.

    “Her hair was long. Like salt and pepper. With some strands of pink in it.” The more details Dari gave the more excited I got. “Tell me about her again,” I said. “So you don’t forget her.”

    Dari sat up in bed and put her hands on her hips. “Mom, I could never forget my angel.” Of course she couldn’t. How many times did Dari have to tell me her angel was real before I believed that God had answered my prayer? He’d sent an angel to comfort my daughter—an angel she would love and remember all her life.
     
  7. padraig

    padraig New Member

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