Talking Stones Project

He prayed, not to his God, or to a holy saint, but to his daughter, lost in your fire. Here is his prayer, stranger. Hear it, and then tell me I have no quarrel with you. Each day this simple man would stand before his God and weep for his daughter, saying ‘Your name is Julia, and when you were born I was not truly pleased. I am a blacksmith, and a blacksmith needs strong sons to tend the fire and help with the shoeing, but before a year had passed you had stolen my heart. You grew more hair, and then some teeth, and then some wisdom. You learned to say ‘Daddy’, and your pronunciation was perfect. When you were three you would run outside to knock on the door, and then run back inside and ask, ‘Who is it?’ When you were four your uncle came to visit and you played the host. Lifting your cup, you called out ‘Toast!’ and we roared with laughter and you blushed and covered your mouth with your hands, but I knew you thought you were very clever. Now they tell me it is time to forget you and move on, but it is hard to forget you.’
‘You were so smart, and could count the nails in a box when you were five, no matter how many there were. You played at guessing games, and picked flowers, and ran around the house laughing. You were also very brave, and when you fell and cut your knee you did not cry because you felt it wasn’t right. When you picked up a piece of fruit you always looked at people’s faces to make sure it was all right to eat it, and you were always careful not to make a mess.’
‘Julia, you have died, and you are probably very scared. It is all right to be scared, but you must not cry or make loud noises because Heaven is not like being at home with your own people. When it’s your turn to be judged, you tell them ‘I am young and innocent. I was born to a poor family that loved me very much, and I was content with scanty meals and ragged clothes. I was never willful or careless, and I never wasted food. Please protect me.” You should put it just that way, and I am sure you’ll be fine. ‘
‘I will miss you Julia, and if you are allowed by God to visit me from time to time, I would like that. I will be here. In the meantime, I will weep for you and cry out “Julia! Your father is here!” Since that is all I can do for you, it is what I will do. And I will not forget you.”’

Before we had blogs, we had prayers. It seems to me they serve many of the same functions: we take the things we can't or daren't say to other people face-to-face, and say them instead to a faceless thing-that-is-not-us, and look for our release there.