My Faith – Catholic Kids Learning and Fun Blog

Today I had one of those beautiful, chaotic, holy-but-not-very-holy kind of days.

I packed up the crew — my oldest daughter, my dad (freshly reunited with us after years apart), my one-year-old cherub with the lungs of an opera singer, and picked up my sweet six-year-old from school — and off we went to our scheduled Adoration at church.

In my mind, it was going to be serene.

We would glide into the quiet chapel.
The baby would nap peacefully in my arms.
My six-year-old would kneel reverently, hands folded.
My dad would beam proudly at his prayerful grandchildren.
And I would soak in a full, uninterrupted hour with Jesus.

Cue reality.

The moment we slipped in through the side entrance, my Year 1 student spotted classmates walking past the church gates.

“HI JAAACK! HI LUCAS! I’M AT CHURCH!”

Whispers turned into enthusiastic announcements of our whereabouts.

Meanwhile, my one-year-old decided that Eucharistic silence was the perfect backdrop for vocal experimentation. Shrill. Sharp. Confident. She tested acoustics I didn’t even know the chapel had.

I think — and I say this generously — I sat for about ten minutes total. Not consecutive minutes. Sprinkled minutes. Thirty-second bursts of reflection wedged between toddler negotiations and urgent whisper-lectures about “inside voices.”

At one point, I locked eyes with one of the lovely ladies praying her rosary. She smiled kindly. The kind of smile that says, I’ve been there… or possibly, May God strengthen you, my child.

The guilt started creeping in.

I felt like we were intruding on sacred silence. Like my chaotic motherhood had burst into their peaceful appointment with God. So eventually, with as much dignity as one can muster while dragging a mildly protesting toddler and shepherding a chatty six-year-old, I gathered our things and shuffled out.

And you know what? The world did not end.

In fact, it got rather sweet.

They were having rugby practice, so we plopped ourselves down and watched the game. The baby clapped. My son offered expert commentary on absolutely everything. My oldest daughter laughed. It felt light. Normal. Joyful.

A little while later, my dad came strolling out of the church and with that cheeky grin of his said, “So… what was the purpose of coming to church today?”

He was joking (mostly). But it did make me think.

What was the purpose?

Was it the perfect hour of contemplative silence?
Or was it simply showing up, even if imperfectly?

Maybe Adoration with little ones isn’t about long stretches of mystical reflection. Maybe it’s about those messy 30-second glances at Jesus. Maybe it’s about teaching our children that this is where we come. Even when it’s hard. Even when we feel embarrassed. Even when we don’t “get much out of it.”

Still, lessons were learned.

Next time:

• Maybe keep the littlest one home if possible.
• Bring the rosary.
• Print out a few simple prayers for the kids.
• And perhaps avoid scrolling on my phone, because that “just checking something” can quickly turn into distraction city.

But today? Today was holy in its own noisy way.

Because motherhood doesn’t pause for prayer.

It becomes the prayer.

And maybe, just maybe, Jesus was smiling at the shrills, the rugby sideline and my frazzled heart trying its best.