A friend asked for a prayer. I fold my hands and start, “Dear God…” and I falter because I don’t know what I’m doing and to Whom I’d offer my pleas.


This doesn’t mean I don’t believe in prayer and intent and that there is power in belief. That is its own magic.

So I think of good in the world; of the care; of those ties that bind us to one another. I think about the love that exists between my friend and this person for whom I plea; the value of one who elicits this love. Those are real. I think about the love about me, hold it in my hands and pass it on hoping it brings comfort, peace, maybe even a tangible ease.

I am thinking of you, my friend. I am remembering dad, and how your sympathy helped me in turn.

It goes ’round.


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