A Quiet Prayer

Layla was six years old. Every night before bed, her mother would sit on the side of her bed and they would say a small prayer together.

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For a long time, Layla said the prayer very fast. She wanted to be done with it so she could hear the bedtime story.

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> O God, guide me, protect me, make of me a shining lamp and > a brilliant star.

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Layla would say the whole prayer in one breath. Then she would jump under the blanket and ask, "Story time, please?"

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One night her mother said, "Layla, let us try something different. Let us say the prayer slowly. Just one word at a time. Let each word be a small gift."

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Layla nodded.

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"O ... God ... guide ... me ... protect ... me ... make ... of ... me ... a ... shining ... lamp ... and ... a ... brilliant ... star."

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When she finished, the room felt different. It felt warmer. The lamp on the night table seemed brighter. Layla could hear, very faintly, a small bird outside the window settling onto its branch for the night.

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Layla looked up at her mother. "Mommy," she whispered. "The prayer was bigger when I said it slow."

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Her mother smiled. "Yes, my love. That is the secret."

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> Slow words make a soft heart.

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Layla closed her eyes. The story would come in a moment. But the prayer was the part of the night she would remember.

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