My dad used to tell the story of an eight-year old boy with a troubled home life who wrote a letter to God, addressed it to heaven, put a stamp on it and mailed it.  As you probably know, letters without valid addresses on them would get sent to a dead letter office where they are usually disposed of; but, this letter was opened.  The message read, “Dear God, what is it like to die?  I just want to know.  I don’t want to do it.  Your friend, Michael.”