Gods donkey: ..on the Feast Day of the Holy Archangels ... our friends and very powerful allies... my favorite story of St. Michael in the net :)

the Letter from Michael...

There's a story about a young Marine named Michael who wrote a letter home to
his mother while he was in the hospital after having been wounded in Korea in
1950. A Navy Chaplain named Father Walter Muldy apparently was given the
letter, checked the facts and concluded what was in the letter was true. A year
later he read the letter in public for the first time, to a gathering of some
5,000 Marines at the Naval Base in San Diego. Here is the letter:

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 am in a hospital. Now don't worry, ya hear me, don't worry. I was
wounded but I'm okay you understand. 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; remember when I left, how 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.

When I got to Korea, I prayed even harder. Remember the prayer that you taught
me? "Michael, Michael of the morning, fresh chord of Heaven adorning," you know
the rest of it. Well I said it everyday. 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 over 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 along side 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 near.

Anyway, there we were trudging along. The rest of the patrol spread out. Just to
start 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 am 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 is 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 or he was breathing so lightly 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 sticky particles. My companion disappeared.

"Michael," I shouted in sudden alarm.

I felt his hand on my arm, his voice was 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 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
mine 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 around 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. As I say,
maybe it was the sun in my eyes, but 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 hands
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 do not
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 is Michael," I asked.

I saw them look at one another. "Where's who?" asked one.

"Michael, Michael the 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 out this outfit myself and there
just ain't another Michael in it. You are the only Mike in it."

He paused for a minute, "Just how did you do it kid? We heard shots. 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