**Diary Entry 12th March**
Everything in life happens for the first time at some pointyour first teacher, your first love, your first date, your first kiss. But Emily would always remember her first prayer. That feeling has stayed with her all her life, a sacred love for her grandmother Margaret and her first words to God.
Emily is retired now, living alone. Her daughter married long ago and lives with her family in Manchester. Emily spent her whole life in the villagemarried here, buried her husband eight years ago, and now sometimes visits the church to light candles and pray for her loved ones.
As she prepared for church today, she suddenly remembered her childhood and that very first prayer. She couldnt recall her parentsthey died in a motorcycle accident when she was three, returning home from the city. Her grandmother Margaret raised her.
One autumn, when the leaves had turned golden and a light rain fell, Emily fell ill.
“Mustve caught a chill,” Margaret said. “I keep telling you, wear a hat. Your head gets wet, the wind blows, and there you go. Autumn, isnt it?”
Margaret didnt take her to the hospitalshe treated her the way she knew best. That first night, Emily tossed in feverish dreams, waking and dozing again. She was eight years old.
In the morning, Margaret checked her temperature.
“Thank goodness its gone down. Emily, love, what do you fancy?”
“Tea,” Emily croaked, licking her dry lips before closing her eyes again.
“Right, my dear. Ill mash some blackcurrant, add honeybest thing for an illness. Knocks it right out.”
Emily knew the remedy well. Margaret always made it when she was poorly in winter. She drank the tea, then scraped the bittersweet pulp from the bottom of the mug. She loved it. When Margaret wasnt busy, shed sit beside her, knitting socks, humming hymns, or telling stories from her youth. In the evenings, she always prayedsometimes even during the dayasking God to make Emily well again.
One evening, as Emily watched Margaret pray before the small oil lamp by the icons in the corner, a dreadful thought struck her like boiling water.
“What if Gran dies? Id be all alone.” Shed never considered it before, and now fear gripped her.
She imagined Margaret in a coffinshed seen old Mrs. Clarke from next door buried just this September. Shed been friends with her grandson Jack, walking to school together. Margaret had taken her to the neighbours to “say goodbye to Clara,” as shed put it.
The thought of being alone terrified Emily so much she began to cry. Margaret came over, stroking her hair.
“Whats the matter, love? Why the tears?”
“Gran you wont die, will you?”
Margaret hesitated. “Oh, I will. One day. Everyone does, thats how life is.”
“But not soon?”
“Whenever God wills it. Why dyou ask?”
“I dunno why do people die?”
“Well, thats just the way of things. We all go when its our time.”
“But why?”
“Thats not for us to know, love.” Margaret paused. “Live right, follow Gods word, and thats that. When the time comes, you go as you should.”
“So God decides?”
“Aye, He does.”
“Can He make someone live a long time?”
Margaret crossed herself. “He can do anything.”
An idea struck Emily. *What does Gran pray for? Probably asks God to let her live long. I should pray for that tooask Him to keep her with me. She says childrens prayers are heard fastest. But how? I dont know any prayers.*
The next day, Margaret left for church.
“Back soon, love. Want me to fetch Jack to keep you company?”
“No, Ill be fine.”
Emily watched through the window as Margaret turned onto the lane leading to the church. She drew the curtainsno one must see her praying.
The shelf held a few icons. She recognised St. Nicholas and the Virgin MaryMargaret had told her about them. The house was silent. She settled on St. Nicholas.
*I dont know any prayers,* she thought, shifting awkwardly under the saints gazes. *But if I just ask surely theyll understand?* She stared at the icon and whispered:
“Please, let my Gran Margaret never die. I meanlive a long, long time. Her legs hurt, and her heart what if she goes soon? I cant be alone. Make her strong. I love her, so please help. Shes kind, she prays all the timeshes at church now!”
The words spilled out, her chest tight with hope that St. Nicholas would listen. Then she lay down to wait.
When Margaret returned, she gave Emily a chocolate bar. “All right, love?”
“Im fine. Gran how do you pray to St. Nicholas?”
“Same as any saint. Why?”
“Is there a special prayer?”
“A few. Ill show you tonight.”
Margaret went to light the stove, frowning. *Odd, her asking about prayers. But good, really. Ill teach her one.*
That evening, as Margaret prayed, Emily copied some words. Later, as Margaret tucked her in, Emily asked, “Does St. Nicholas tell God what we ask?”
Margaret smiled, smoothing her hair. “In a way. He prays for usfor our health, our happiness.”
Emily fell asleep at once, dreaming of a tall, white-bearded man in robes, holding a book and smiling kindly.
She woke refreshed, her heart light. *They heard me. Gran will live a long time.*
Margaret came in, touching her forehead. “How dyou feel?”
“Brilliant. Im not poorly anymore!”
“Good. Jack asked after youhell pop round after school. Best catch up on your lessons. Weekends nearly here.”
Margaret lived to eighty-eight. Emily married, had her daughter, and cared for Margaret tenderly when she fell ill. And one night, just as Margaret had said, her time came, and she slipped away quietly.
Emily doesnt go to church often, but today she willto remember her parents and dear Margaret. Its her birthday. Emilys carried that date in her heart all her life, just as shes carried her love for her grandmother.
**Lesson:** A childs prayer is simple, but its hope is pureand love outlives us all.
