It’s the Little Things

The night had settled in, quiet and dark, and I was just beginning to drift into that shallow state between wakefulness and sleep. The day’s to-do list, the worries, the endless mental chatter—it was all starting to fade. But then I heard it, a whisper. I opened my eyes with, ‘huh.’

And there she stood, my daughter, her small body just a dark blob beside my bed. She was clutching a worn stuffed animal, her eyes wide with the lingering fear of whatever specters had been visiting her sleep. “Mommy,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Will you say a prayer with me? I’m having bad dreams.”

All I really registered was prayer and dream. I said, ‘Sure, let’s say the Hail Mary.’

This tiny person, in her most vulnerable moment, didn’t turn to a nightlight or a monster spray. She came to me, asking for a connection to something bigger than both of us.

We knelt together beside my bed, two figures in the half-light. My hand found hers, and her small fingers, so trusting and warm, curled around mine. And we prayed.

We started with the familiar comfort of the Hail Mary, the words a gentle rhythm that has calmed countless souls over centuries. Then, the Our Father, its timeless petition for strength and guidance filling the quiet room. Her voice, so sweet and pure, stumbled a little over the words, but she pushed through, her belief unwavering.

Finally, we said a simple, heartfelt prayer of our own, one that came not from a book but from the depths of a small child’s need. We asked Jesus to get rid of the scary dreams, to fill her sleep with peace, and to watch over her through the night. It was a request so innocent and so honest, a beautiful moment of faith in its purest form.

My planned rest had been interrupted, but what I received was so much more valuable. I lay there, humbled and grateful. Grateful for a daughter who, in her fear, showed me a strength of faith I sometimes forget. Grateful for the small, sacred moment of her hand in mine, a reminder that the most profound blessings often come in the most ordinary of times.

It was so innocent. So soft. And so humbling. What a beautiful God we serve, who uses the simple, sincere prayer of a child to remind us of His presence and to fill our hearts with gratitude.