If I were to ask my nearly 30-year-old daughter, she would remember. It was a prayer we memorized when she was just a wee toddler with blonde ringlets framing her azure eyes and rosy cheeks.
……..and she recited it perfectly.
Such a bright one she was, and still is–now with a baby of her own to nurture. It goes like this:
As we traversed through homeschooling, she became the teacher, helping the other four learn the prayer. At bedside each night, we all prayed to our guardian angels for protection.
The prayer seems to roll off my tongue evermore now; as with greater desire for union with Jesus, comes greater need for intercession from our heavenly friends.
Though yesterday, I confess, the culmination of the day required the big guns of St. Michael the Archangel.
I am an open book. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and will easily share intimate details of my life with nearly anyone who cares to know. In my wanderings, I have learned that we are all pretty much the same; we long to know we are cherished by God, have a purpose for our lives and desire heaven for our final destination.
When I allow a person to occupy space in my heart, I do so willingly and honestly, with the hopes that we will propel each other into a deeper spiritual life. My offers to share my gifts and talents are non-negotiable and I will do all I can to help another in need.
Granted, there are instances that my personal discernment is off. Yesterday was one of those days. With my guard down, I accepted a person into my life who was a bit questionable; but however roughly hewn she was, my hope was to ignite her spirit and quell the warning signs that were building in my soul.
While I listened to her and tried to help and trust her actions, in the end, it amounted to massive spiritual warfare erupting on many areas of my Facebook account, personal invasions through my home phone and attempts to wreak havoc in other areas of my life.
I had the right to get angry. I had the right to vindicate myself. I had the right to lash out and retaliate.
Instead, I made the choice to pray.
Enough has happened to me in my lifetime, that I am gratefully able to see spiritual warfare for what it was and once I prayed for her and to St. Michael, all of the turmoil that threatened to boil over, simmered and became still. For I know who I am and who my Father is–no harm can come to me with the Creator of the Universe on my side.