Becoming Childlike — A Return to Trust
We spend much of our lives trying to grow up —
to understand more, to control more, to become self-sufficient.
And yet, in a quiet and surprising way, Christ calls us back:
“Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
— The Bible, Matthew 18:3
Not childish —
but childlike.
This is the quiet paradox of the spiritual life.
I often think of a simple song from childhood:
Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world…
There is a depth in those words we do not fully grasp as children —
and perhaps spend a lifetime learning as adults.
Jesus speaks with striking seriousness about the heart of a child:
“If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble…”
— Matthew 18:6
And again, He places a child at the very center of faith.
In my own life, I see this truth unfold daily in my work with infants and toddlers.
Their first steps are unsure — hesitant, unsteady.
They fall often.
And yet, they rise again.
There is no shame in their falling.
No fear of failure.
Only a quiet willingness to try again.
Their first words begin as fragments — sounds and syllables —
and slowly grow into connection, into relationship.
They trust without calculation.
They reach without fear.
They learn without pride.
And I begin to wonder…
Is this not what faith is meant to look like?
We grow up in the world —
but in Christ, we are called to return…
like children.
Our walk toward Jesus Christ is not sudden.
It is becoming.
We take a step — and falter.
We try to understand — and realize we do not.
We fall — and by grace, we rise again.
“I am the way, and the truth, and the life.”
— John 14:6
Through Him, we are brought back —
not into mastery,
but into trust.
He gives us a living image of this in the parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11–32).
A young man leaves home certain of himself — confident in his independence, convinced he understands life.
But the world humbles him.
And something within him begins to change.
Not into strength —
but into humility.
When he returns, he no longer comes as one who knows,
but as one who needs.
Head lowered.
Heart open.
Willing simply to belong again.
Like a child.
And before he can even reach the door, his father runs to him.
He is embraced.
Restored.
Loved.
The father had never stopped waiting.
We do not come to God through certainty,
but through surrender.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”
— Matthew 5:8
As I walk toward the Cross, I find myself letting go of the need to fully understand.
Instead, I come as a child:
Not with answers,
but with trust.
Not with strength,
but with open hands.
And slowly, quietly, something shifts.
I begin to see that faith was never about growing beyond dependence on God…
but returning to it.
Like a child,
held in a love so great —
it does not need to be understood…
only received.
God Bless 🙏💕
Be Inspired! 
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