My grandmother was a wonderful person. She was faithful and honest. She was faithful and soft.

She was faithful. Grandma was raised Lutheran and when she climbed out her window at 17 years old to marry with a Polish Catholic Cowboy it must have been a shock. Her Norwegian father was heartbroken. Great Grandpa came around eventually but the situation must have been dramatic.

Grandma converted to Catholicism but she prayed just as she was raised, kneeling by her bedside. She also prayed in the kitchen, while ironing, cooking, cleaning. She sang hymns constantly without thinking much about it. She was a fine example of someone who prayed without ceasing.

One of the things I remember was her prayer book, a plump spiritual rosary (the blue book) which held prayer cards, clippings, and family pictures between the pages and was secured by a large rubber band. It could be found anywhere in the house but it usually resided in the single bathroom that everyone shared. As a child, through my eyes, it was holy, really, really, holy.

Grandma and I were close. (All of her grandchildren could say the same thing.) As her oldest granddaughter who was all grown up, one day I shared my affection for the book and was so bold as to ask for it. Looking back, the request makes me feel like the prodigal son, asking for my share of someone else's inheritance. She listened to my words and gave no answer; perhaps she emitted a "hrmmmp." I was surprised at our next visit to be given a book. It was similar but not "the book" because of course, she was still alive. I was disappointed.

I accepted the gift and kept it close. Grandma, knowing me better than I know myself, had given me what I needed then, not a promise of a memento in a will. It was this inheritance that I held one Saturday morning in a hotel room. (Most crisis happen in a hotel room, don't you know.) I leafed through that book looking for answers when I found a newspaper clipping of the Saint Michael the Archangel Prayer. I did not know the story of Pope Leo but I knew instantly that the prayer was what I needed. The prayer, which begins,