Keeping Me Safe

When we met for a last round of whisky before my flight to Oslo, E pressed something into my hand. She said, "Here, keep it in your pocket." It was a simple medal. One side holds a guardian angel, and the other the Archangel St. Michael. Awww. Totally unexpected. Very sweet of her.

I had no chain or twine to put it on as a necklace. But yeah, I would be mostly in jeans and would have pockets in the jacket too. It could stay in a pocket snugly till I sort out something in Oslo or it could wait to sit with my crucifix when I get home.

On the plane, I grinned widely. St Michael? Really?! Hahaha. He's the patron saint of grocers, mariners and sickness, and forgot-what-else. (I'm definitely having a great run at the grocers!) Since the other side was a guardian angel, I should say hello at least. This trip is significant in many little ways, and always, a smooth trip is prayed for. As it is, I only wear flats or boots on flights, and now, cultivated a new habit of not removing shoes until after ascent to cruising speed. In the plane, I was determined to sleep through the routes through uhh conflict-stricken areas. Fast asleep preferably. I can sleep deeply inflight. All would be entrusted to the hands of the (hopefully) able pilots and God.

There's a little prayer to one's guardian angel that my grandmother used to read with me. Many little children would know this, in all its different languages. As the plane left Changi Airport and climbed fast into the night sky for Doha then Oslo, the prayer was softly uttered.

Ángele Dei, qui custos es mei, me tibi commissum pietáte supérna, hodie illúmina, custódi, rege et gubérna. Amen.