It is the day to honor your grandmother who was so good to you. Or that kindly lady who lived down the street when you were growing up. Or that hidden man who died in a nursing home, forgotten by all, atoning for all. These are the saints we especially honor on the Feast of All Saints.

What does the word "saint" mean? It comes from the Latin word sanctus, meaning "holy." Every Christian, sanctified through Christ in baptism and living in the state of grace, is holy!

In the Apostles’ Creed, we speak of the Communion of Saints. What do we mean by this? The Communion of Saints, that is, the Church, is made up of these three parts.

First, the Church militant. That’s us, those living on earth who are still battling the consequences of original sin.

Second, the Church suffering. Those are the souls in purgatory, those who are being purified so as to enter fully into the Wedding Feast of the Lamb.

Thirdly, the Church triumphant, those blessed souls who, purified of all stain, stand before the face of God glorifying him.

Death does not break the bond that baptism has created among us in the Mystical Body of Christ. We are all one, and from the earliest times, the Church has honored her dead, praying both for and to them.

One of the things that confounded me when I first encountered the MH staff was that their dead were not "dead" to them. Stories about the staff who had "gone before us" populated conversations more than I thought reasonable.

Fr. Eddie was said to have great powers. He could obtain for you anything from that "special grace" to the minor cravings of your sweet tooth—and either with amazing speed.

Paul Lussier had a reputation for finding things that exceeded that of St. Anthony of Padua. Yes, Madonna House staff love their "saints."

I have learned to love them, too. Let me tell you how I experienced the Communion of Saints.

One of my favorite "saints" is Cathy Maynard. She was a staff in the early days of Madonna House, who died quite young after a long and painful battle with bone cancer.

A vivacious and beautiful blond in her twenties, she had come from Connecticut in the early ‘50s to join this young apostolate. There are many stories told about her.

One time, humming a lively tune, she was alone in the kitchen making a pudding. In those days tasty ingredients were scarce. Cathy found a bottle of something called "wintergreen" and confidently poured it into her pudding. Alas, it turned out to be a laxative!

I remember Catherine Doherty telling another story about her. Shortly after she arrived as a guest, a handsome young policeman came by. He was very attracted to Cathy and would stop in from time to time. But Cathy was not interested. He soon got the picture and didn’t return.

Catherine, our foundress, wondered why a beautiful young woman would give up such a guy. With shining eyes, Cathy replied: "My Beloved comes to me every day, humbly, on gold. Why should I settle for less?"

Cathy Maynard had a favorite saying, "God and I can do anything." Can’t you just picture her? Lovely and in love, a woman fully alive.

When I first heard about her, my heart was captivated. I felt immediately drawn to her. And so, "when in Rome, do as the Romans do." In MH fashion, I began to ask her for things.

Not anything big, mind you, I didn’t have anything big in front of me. Just help not to get mad when "they" asked me to scrub pots at the back sink. Or help with getting along with so-and-so.

Cathy always came through speedily, leaving me peaceful in her wake. I had found a friend.

Then I became an applicant. During my first year, I was going through a hard time—not an unusual experience for an applicant.

I wasn’t sure if this was my vocation. I didn’t want it to be. I didn’t know what to do or where to go.

A good friend of MH and of Cathy, Betty Maione, stopped in one day. She said that Mrs. Maynard, Cathy’s mother, was coming to visit and would be at Mass and breakfast. Betty knew how much I loved Cathy and promised to introduce us.

As Sunday dawned, I was very excited. When Mrs. Maynard walked into the room, I was awe-struck by this little mite of a lady, who was so full of zest. With lots of hugs, kisses, and laughter, the staff welcomed her. I could hardly wait to be introduced.

Betty had arranged for us to have breakfast together. I told her how much I loved her daughter and how much she had helped me over the past year.

It was great fun to talk about someone we both loved so much. We chattered away excitedly, forgetting the coffee that wasn’t steaming any more and the eggs that were getting cold and hard.

At one point, Mrs. Maynard told me about a dream she had recently had. In the dream, Cathy was climbing a steep but beautiful mountain. Below her was a young girl who was also climbing the mountain but with little success. She was slipping and sliding, and it was obvious that she was very frightened.

When Cathy noticed her, she went to her immediately and caught her hand. They began to climb together. It was rough going, and the young girl was not helping much at all. Slowly and patiently Cathy continued to help her along.

Cathy turned, noticed her mother at the base of the mountain watching all this and beckoned her to come. Three times Cathy turned to her mother as she continued to help the young girl up the mountain.

Tears filled my eyes. I knew that the girl in the dream was me, I knew that my dear friend Cathy was breaking through the thin veil of death to tell me that I was not alone.

Mrs. Maynard continued chatting away, seeming not to see my tears. She told me that that was the only dream about Cathy she had had since she died fifteen months ago. She told me she didn’t know what the dream meant. She didn’t, but I did.

Later on, after I had composed myself a bit, I ran into Mrs. Maynard walking around the orchard. I joined her and as we walked, I told her what I thought the dream meant and what had been happening to me. She listened attentively.

Then, with such compassionate eyes, she smiled and said, "Yes, Honey, you were the girl in the dream. As soon as I walked into the chapel this morning, I saw you. Then I understood. I also understood why I had come. I had come just to tell you about this dream."

We continued on around the orchard in silence. Mrs. Maynard held my hand while I cried.

As Catholics, we believe that death does not separate us from those we love. We believe that those who stand before the face of God really do act in our lives.

God is the source of all life and love. Our communication with one another is one manifestation of his merciful love.

Ask and you shall receive, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened to you (Mt 7:7)

So who is your favorite saint?