When I was a boy... Back when I was about 8 or 9 years old. I became aware of the idea of mortality... The mortality of others and in particular my own mortality. I was always a deep thinking, compassionate and emotional fellow. At that age I was allowed to go to the "twino's" house ( twin friends that lived around the corner), the corner store and generally "around the block". It was on one of these day dreamy walks around the block that I remember finding a dead bird on the footpath. I looked long and hard at the shell of what was once a living thing. I picked it up and held it in my hands ( I'm a boy remember). It was then that I had the notion that I would ask God to help me bring the poor creature back to life. I promised God that if he helped me do this then I would never tell anyone else about it. It would just be a secret between Himself/Herself and I. A way to cement our relationship and bolster my faith. I closed my eyes and directed as much good (God) energy into my hands... Using all the joy and innocence that a young boy can muster. I opened my eyes and, I have to say, I was bitterly disappointed that the bird was still dead. I placed it off the path and dug a small hole and buried the wee beastie. I realized then that God was not an interventionist... if he was even there at all. I wondered if anyone would ever hold me in their hands and say the same prayer. I know now that that prayer is said at least a million times a day...all to no avail. Sometimes friendships, relationships, people and places are little like that bird. No amount of hope or prayer can resurrect them. Though I still wait for miracles.