Who to Thank?

In the past I had an unhealthy and dangerous interest in the spirit world. I was both intrigued and terrified by the movie "The Exorcist" and it doesn't seem that long ago when just the sight of that horrid face would have me looking over my shoulder. I know better now. However, a book was recommended to me and I promised that it was the last thing that I would read about the subject. "Hostage to the Devil" was written by the late Malachi Martin, a laicized Jesuit priest who chronicled five contemporary exorcisms that had been audio recorded.

In one of the cases, the priest was demanding information from a demon and he was told that the man being exorcised had a late grandfather who had essentially run interference for his grandson for years to protect him. When asked who had appointed the deceased with this task, the demon told the priest in so many words that it was Jesus Christ Himself.

I have likened my own conversion to the experience of being the lone survivor of a plane crash where all of the other passengers were killed except me. When I look at other heretics who I shared a laugh or some derision at the expense of the Catholic church, I wonder why I am so fortunate and to date, they're not. After reading the account of the exorcism of the young man, I began to think that maybe my maternal grandmother had something to do with it. I know that my parents prayed for my conversion, but when I asked both of them, both said it was never an urgent prayer. Both of them have told me that they knew I would come back and trusted God would see to it. However, I am convinced that my conversion came about through the fervent prayers of someone. And God-willing, someday I will know who I need to thank.

My grandmother did ordinary things in an extraordinary way. She suffered for most of her life, yet never uttered a complaint. She prayed the Rosary faithfully and went to Mass so long as she was able to get herself there. When the youngest of her five children was still an infant, her husband dropped dead of a massive heart attack. There was no Social Security back then so she had to go to work. Each of her children were sent to live with relatives until she could get herself back on her feet. My grandmother went to work for more than 40 years sewing drapes in a factory. Although she never had a spare dime to her name, her generosity to others was remarkable. There was always some relative sleeping on the couch for a time and holiday dinners saw an assortment of society's rejects around her table.

She had Paget's disease and toward the end of her life, developed both renal failure and lung cancer. The last six months of her life were not easy and were filled with pain and suffering, yet like her beloved St. Therese, she never uttered a single word of complaint. I was in nursing school at the time she was so sick, and after class, I would stop by the house to give my aunts a hand. I even spent the night at the hospital with my grandmother when I thought the end was near, and I can't help but think that she was determined to repay me in the best way she could, with treasures stored in Heaven through a life of joyful suffering.