Grace in the Crumbs

Tag: Gods promises

  • Where Is Jesus?

    Today at work, I did something small that ended up opening my heart in a bigger way than I expected. I wore my cross necklace.

    It was simple. Just a cross. No image of Jesus. No crucifix. Just the symbol.

    One of my students, a four year old sitting right next to me, noticed it. She pointed at my necklace and asked me, with complete sincerity:

    “Where is Jesus?”

    Before I could even respond, she reached out and touched the cross. She flipped it over, front to back, searching. Her little fingers moved with purpose, as if surely He must be there somewhere. She looked at me again, confused and persistent.

    “Where is He?”

    Where is Jesus?

    I told her gently, “I’m sorry, I’m not wearing the necklace with Jesus on the cross.”

    But her question stayed with me long after that moment passed.

    Not just on a necklace.

    Not just in a church.

    Not just in the quiet moments when I manage to pray.

    Where is Jesus in my everyday life?

    Where is He in my stress?

    In my exhaustion?

    In my motherhood?

    In my work, my worries, my waiting?

    That little girl wasn’t satisfied with a symbol. She was looking for the Person. She wasn’t distracted by the cross itself. She wanted Jesus.

    There was something holy in her persistence. Something childlike and pure. She expected Him to be there. And she wasn’t afraid to keep asking.

    It made me wonder how often I settle for the appearance of faith without always seeking the living presence of Christ in my real, messy, ordinary days.

    Am I looking for Him the way she did?

    Not out of routine.

    Not out of obligation.

    But with expectation.

    With trust.

    With my whole heart.

    Scripture tells us:

    “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

    — Jeremiah 29:13

    That little girl lived that verse in a way that no Bible study could have taught me in that moment. She searched with her whole heart. Turning the necklace over. Asking again. Believing that Jesus had to be there somewhere.

    Maybe that is my invitation this Lent.

    To stop rushing past His presence.

    To stop settling for symbols alone.

    To look for Him in the crumbs of my everyday life.

    In the classroom.

    In the car line.

    In the hard conversations.

    In the prayers that feel small.

    In the moments when faith feels more like showing up than feeling holy.

    Because we all need Jesus.

    And He is not far.

    Even when all I see at first is the cross, He is still there, waiting to be found by a heart willing to seek Him

  • A New Beginning: How Motherhood Changed Me

    “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;

    in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.”

    — Proverbs 3:5–6 (NIV)

    “Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.” — Winnie the Pooh

    Motherhood changed everything for me. It opened my eyes to how precious life truly is and revealed the beauty of love in its purest form. It was the beginning of a completely new chapter—one that transformed me into a better version of myself. I knew I had to leave behind my old ways because caring for a new life was now my greatest purpose.

    I’ll never forget the first time I heard Olivia’s heartbeat. In that moment, reality sank in—I was a mother. Tears filled my eyes as I realized that this tiny heartbeat inside of me was a miracle. From that moment on, I promised myself to live better and do better for her.

    My pregnancy was anything but ordinary. At just 28 weeks, I unexpectedly went into labor and had to undergo an emergency C-section. Olivia was due in October, but she came into the world in July. My worst fear became reality that day. Everything felt like a blur—like a dream I couldn’t wake up from.

    I only got to see my baby girl for a few seconds before she was airlifted by helicopter to San Antonio. She had been born in West Texas, where the hospital didn’t have the right resources for premature babies. I stayed in the hospital for two days before being released, and then we drove five long hours to be with her. I prayed and sobbed the entire way, unable to believe what was happening.

    The heartbreak was almost unbearable. I had just carried her inside me—feeling her tiny kicks and movements—and now she was fighting for her life. When I saw her for the first time in the NICU, weighing just 2 pounds and 13 ounces, surrounded by beeping monitors and wires, my heart broke and healed all at once. I cried out to God with everything in me.

    That was the moment I completely surrendered to Him. I realized I was not in control—but He was. Through those sleepless nights and endless hospital visits, God drew me closer to Him. My faith deepened, and I began to see His hand even in the pain. That experience changed me forever. I was no longer the person I used to be. I was a mother, a survivor, and a woman renewed by grace.

    A Message to Mothers

    To every mother reading this:

    Your journey may not look like anyone else’s—and that’s okay. Motherhood is not about perfection; it’s about love, faith, and showing up every single day, even when it’s hard.

    If you ever find yourself in a season of fear or uncertainty, remember that God’s hands are steady when ours are trembling. Trust His timing. Hold onto His promises. And never forget that even in the hardest moments, miracles can be born.

    A Closing Prayer

    Heavenly Father,

    Thank You for the gift of motherhood and the strength You place in every mother’s heart. Thank You for reminding us that even when life feels uncertain, You are always in control.

    For the mothers who are weary, lift their spirits.

    For those waiting on miracles, remind them that You are faithful.

    For those walking through the NICU, sleepless nights, or silent tears, surround them with Your comfort and peace.

    May we continue to love with Your grace, trust with Your faith, and live each day with gratitude for the lives You’ve placed in our care.

    In Jesus’ name, Amen

  • One Sunday at a Time

    “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

    — 2 Corinthians 12:9

    Today was my daughter’s first day of Religious Education.

    If I’m being honest, I was nervous. Really nervous. In the past, it’s been hard—nearly impossible at times—to keep her in class. She wanders off, throws fits when I try to transition her back, and sometimes, by the time she’s settled, the class is almost over. I leave feeling exhausted, defeated, and sometimes even wondering if it’s worth it at all.

    But today was different.

    She lasted almost the whole class. It wasn’t until the last 30 minutes that the meltdowns came, and my husband gently took her out. Even with that, I couldn’t help but feel proud of her—for trying, for showing up, for making it further than before.

    And then we went to Mass.

    Mass is a challenge for us. My daughter is sound-sensitive, and today, when another child cried, it sent her into an instant spiral. She screamed loudly in the middle of church, and once again, we had to carry her outside. She didn’t make it back in, but my husband calmed her in the car while I stayed and finished Mass alone.

    It’s not easy. In fact, it’s really hard—especially when I look around and see other seven-year-olds sitting quietly in the pews, listening, participating, being “normal.” My sweet girl is seven, but her mind is more like that of a three-year-old. I love her fiercely, but sometimes I can’t help but feel the weight of the difference.

    And yet, even in those moments of defeat, I feel something stirring inside me: Keep going. Don’t give up.

    I know in my heart that God sees us. He sees my daughter’s struggles. He sees the effort it takes just to show up. He sees the tears, the tantrums, the quiet prayers whispered in the parking lot, the moments when I feel like giving up but still walk back through the church doors.

    We may not look like the perfect Catholic family, sitting neatly in the pews without a sound. But we are there. We are present. We are trying, one Sunday at a time.

    And I believe that is enough.

    I’m learning to surrender the frustration, the comparison, the “picture-perfect” idea of what Mass should look like. Instead, I hand it over to God. Because He knows our hearts. He knows that our desire is to be with Him, even when it’s messy, loud, and imperfect.

    So we will keep showing up. For Religious Education. For Mass. For Jesus.

    It might not look the way I imagined, but it is beautiful in its own way—because it is real, it is honest, and it is ours.

    One Sunday at a time.

    A Prayer for the Hard Sundays

    Lord Jesus,

    You see our hearts, our efforts, and our love, even when things don’t go as planned.

    Give me patience when I feel weary, strength when I feel defeated, and hope when I am tempted to give up.

    Bless my daughter and all children with special needs, that they may know Your love deeply, in their own beautiful way.

    Help me to trust that showing up is enough, even when it feels messy, loud, or incomplete.

    Thank You for walking with us, one Sunday at a time.

    Amen.

  • A Rainbow Reminder of God’s Nearness 🌈

    This morning at Mass, my little one tugged gently at my arm and whispered with wide-eyed wonder, “Look, Mommy, rainbows!”

    I followed her gaze toward the stained-glass windows, where sunlight streamed through, scattering bursts of color across the pews and floor. I’ve sat in that same spot countless Sundays, watching the light filter in. But in her eyes, it wasn’t just light—it was magic. A rainbow, alive and dancing in God’s house.

    Her joy stopped me in my tracks. She couldn’t look away, as if the whole world had paused just to give her this gift. I smiled at her excitement, but deep down, I felt the Lord whisper: “Do you see it too?”

    Children have this remarkable way of seeing what we adults so easily miss. To her, it wasn’t ordinary sunlight. It was a rainbow, a sign of God’s beauty and love. She delighted in it fully, without question, without distraction. And in that moment, I was reminded of the very words of Jesus:

    “Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:3)

    As adults, we get weighed down—by schedules, worries, responsibilities, and burdens. Our vision becomes clouded, and we forget how to see the world with childlike awe. But children? They carry hearts that marvel. Hearts that delight in what’s simple. Hearts that trust without reservation.

    That small rainbow shining across the pew reminded me of a much greater rainbow—the one God placed in the sky after the flood as His covenant with Noah: “I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth.” (Genesis 9:13)

    A rainbow is more than beauty. It’s a reminder of God’s promise. A symbol of His faithfulness that spans from generation to generation. And yet, sometimes it takes a child to help us see it again.

    As I watched my daughter’s joy that morning, I felt the Lord gently nudging me: “Don’t miss the beauty I place before you. Don’t let the weight of this world blind you to My nearness.”

    Motherhood, especially when walking the road of special needs parenting, can often feel overwhelming. There are days of exhaustion, days of uncertainty, days when the future feels heavy. But then God, in His mercy, places little reminders—sometimes through the eyes of our children—that He is near, He is faithful, and He has not forgotten us.

    That rainbow in the stained glass wasn’t just a burst of color. It was an invitation. An invitation to slow down, to wonder, to remember, and to trust.

    Today, I thank God for the gift of my child, who teaches me daily to see the world differently—to notice what I would otherwise overlook. And I pray that I may never lose that childlike wonder, so that I don’t miss the quiet ways He reminds me of His love.

    Prayer

    Heavenly Father,

    Thank You for the gift of Your promises that never fail. Help me to see the world with childlike wonder, to pause and notice the beauty You place before me each day. Give me a heart that delights in the simple, and faith that trusts in Your nearness even in the ordinary. Bless all parents walking the journey of faith and family, especially those navigating the unique road of special needs parenting. May we be strengthened by Your grace and reminded daily that You are with us.

    In Jesus’ name, Amen. 🙏🏻

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