Sitting quietly near my Mum - days before her death - I see her arm slowly rise. With eyes filled with wonder, as her hand gently sways, she softly murmurs - words & prayers. . .words & prayers.

I am bewildered. My mother rarely used the word ‘prayer’, and yet, here it is. Looking up, I join her - moving my hand, matching her pace - quietly filling with peace.

How is the vision of a word different from that of a prayer?

On a field of almost indecipherable words, I draw hands – reaching, opening, offering.

I remember prayer wheels and the words of peace that need the touch of our hands to send them as prayers into the world.

May we choose our words with kindness. May our daily actions spin them into prayers.