There’s something sacred about the silence of Adoration—the stillness, the flickering candlelight, the soft hum of the Presence. But if you’ve ever entered that quiet space with a child who doesn’t understand “quiet,” you know that holy moments can look a little different for some of us.
For me, Adoration with my special needs daughter doesn’t always come wrapped in silence. It often comes with sounds—laughs, squeals, questions, and sometimes even tears. And yet, I believe Jesus hears every bit of it like a beautiful hymn.
We usually go in the afternoon, when the chapel is nearly empty. It gives us space to be ourselves without feeling like we’re disturbing someone else’s moment of peace. Sometimes we stay for a while. Other days, we simply walk in, say “Hi Jesus,” whisper a prayer of thanks, and leave. And that’s okay.
Because the point isn’t perfection. It’s presence.
I want my daughter to know that Jesus is her friend. That He’s not intimidated by her energy or confused by her volume. He welcomes her exactly as she is, and so do I. I want her to grow up knowing that prayer doesn’t have to be polished—it just has to be real.
Teaching her how to worship, how to pray, how to just be with Jesus is one of the greatest joys of my motherhood. It’s not always easy. But grace shows up in the noise, in the effort, in every crumb of our messy, beautiful visits.
So if you’ve ever felt hesitant to bring your child—especially a child with special needs—into sacred spaces, know this: there’s room for your family. There’s grace for your chaos. Jesus doesn’t ask for perfect prayers. He just asks for hearts willing to show up.
And some days, “Hi Jesus” is the holiest prayer of all.
“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”
— Luke 18:16
Grace in the Crumbs 
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