**Diary Entry**
Everything in life happens for the first time at some pointyour first teacher, your first love, your first date, your first kiss. But Barbara will always remember her first prayer. That feeling has stayed with her all her life, a sacred love for her grandmother Edith and her first words to God.
Barbara is retired now, living alone. Her daughter married long ago and lives with her own family in Manchester. Barbara spent her whole life in the villagemarried there, buried her husband eight years agoso she sometimes goes to church to pray for her loved ones and light candles.
As she prepared for church today, she suddenly remembered her childhood and that first prayer. She didnt recall her parentsthey died when she was three, coming home from the city on their motorbike. Her grandmother Edith raised her.
One autumn, when the leaves had turned gold and a drizzle hung in the air, Barbara fell ill.
“Mustve caught a chill,” her grandmother said. “I keep telling you, wear a hat. Your head got wet, the wind blew, and there you go. Autumn”
Edith didnt take her to the hospitalshe treated her the way she knew how. That first night, Barbara ran a fever, drifting in and out of restless sleep. She was eight then.
In the morning, Edith checked her temperature. “Thank the Lord, its gone down. Whats the matter, love? What do you fancy?”
“Tea,” Barbara murmured, licking her dry lips before closing her eyes again.
“Right then, my sweet. Ill mash some berries in a cup, add honeybest thing for sickness. Takes the ache right out.”
Barbara knew this remedyher grandmother always used it when she fell ill in winter. She drank the tea and scraped the bittersweet pulp from the bottom of the cup. She liked it. When Edith had time, shed sit beside her, knitting socks, humming tunes, or telling stories. And every evening, without fail, shed praysometimes even in the dayasking God to make Barbara well again.
One evening, as Barbara watched her grandmother pray before the icons in the corner, a small oil lamp flickering, a thought scalded her mind: *What if Gran dies? What if Im left alone?* Shed never considered it before, but now it terrified her.
She imagined Edith lying in a coffinshed seen old Mrs. Clark from next door buried just last autumn. Shed been friends with her grandson Tommythey walked to school together. Edith had taken her to the wake: “To say goodbye to Clara,” shed said.
The fear of being alone made Barbara cry. Just then, her grandmother came over.
“Whats wrong, love?” Edith stroked her hair. “Why the tears?”
“Gran you wont die, will you?”
Edith hesitated. “Me? Well, when the time comes, I will. Everyone doesthats the way of things.”
“Not soon?”
“Whenever the Lord wills it. Why the sudden worry?”
“I dont know Why do people die?”
“Goodness, child. Thats just how it is. We all go when our time comesits Gods plan.”
“But why?”
“Thats not for us to know, sweetheart.” Edith paused. “And we dont need to. Just live right, follow Gods ways, and thats all there is to it. When the hour comes, youll go as youre meant to.”
“So God decides?”
“Of course He does.”
“Can He make someone live a long time?”
“He can do anything,” Edith said, crossing herself before leaving the room.
An idea struck Barbara. *I wonder what Gran prays for. Does she ask God for a long life? She must. Maybe I should pray for her tooask God to keep her with me. She says childrens prayers reach Him fastest. But how do I do it?*
The next day, Edith went to church. Barbara waited until shed turned the corner toward the chapel, then drew the curtains so no one could see.
On the little shelf stood a few icons. She only knew Saint Nicholas and the Virgin MaryEdith had told her about them. She stood before them, unsure who to ask. The house was dead silent. She settled on Saint Nicholas.
*I dont know any prayers,* she thought, shifting under the saints painted gazes. *But if I just ask plainly, surely theyll understand. God knows Im just a child. Maybe Ill ask Gran to teach me later.*
She looked at Saint Nicholas and whispered, *Please, let my Gran Edith live a long, long time. Her legs hurt, and her heart I dont want her to die. Shes old, and Im scared to be alone. Make her strong. I love her so muchplease help her. Shes kind and always praysshes at church right now.*
She said whatever came to mind, her chest tight with the weight of her plea. Then she lay down to wait. When Edith returned, she brought chocolate.
“How are you, my love?”
“Fine, Gran. I wanted to askhow do you pray to Saint Nicholas?”
“Same as to any saint. Why?”
“Is there a special prayer?”
“Oh yes, several.” Edith studied her. “Ill show you tonight.”
Later, as Edith prayed before bed, Barbara watched, mouthing some words. When her grandmother sat beside her, she asked, “Gran, if I ask Saint Nicholas for something, will he tell God?”
Edith smiled, stroking her hair. “In a way. He prays for us, asks God to keep us well.”
Barbara fell asleep quickly, dreaming of a tall, white-bearded man in robes, holding a book. He smiled at her, warm and kind.
She woke up healthy, light-hearted. *They heard me. Gran will live a long time.*
Edith entered, smiling. “How do you feel?” She checked her forehead. “No fever. Lets take your temperature to be sure.”
“Im fine, Granreally. Tommys already gone to schoolhe said hed visit after. I should do my lessons too. Its Fridayback to school soon.”
Edith lived to eighty-eight. By then, Barbara had married, had her daughter. When Edith fell ill at last, Barbara cared for her tenderlyuntil the night she slipped away quietly, just as shed said she would.
Barbara doesnt go to church often, but today shell light a candlefor her parents, and for Edith. Its her birthday. Shes never missed it. And shes never stopped loving her.
**Lesson:** Some prayers arent wordstheyre love, pressed into silence and carried forever.
