The Day a Little Boy Taught Me Something Holy

I almost reported him for trespassing. Instead, I witnessed something holy. And it changed me.

I work maintenance for a small roadside chapel. The security camera near the old statue usually catches people cutting across the yard, nothing more.

But that afternoon, the camera showed something different.

A young boy stopped in front of the statue — the one covered in dust, dead leaves, and years of neglect. He looked at it for a moment, then walked away.

A few seconds later, he came back.

He knelt down.

He brushed away the leaves. He wiped mud from the stone. He picked up the trash scattered at the base.

No one told him to. No one encouraged him. No one was watching. (Or so he thought.)

A few minutes later, the camera caught him again.

This time, he returned with a small bunch of wildflowers he had picked from the roadside.

He placed them gently at the statue’s feet. Pressed his hands together. Bowed his head. Stayed there in silence.

Then he walked away.

That statue had stood forgotten for years — ignored, weathered, nearly invisible.

It took one child to remind me:

God still sees. Faith still lives. And sometimes the purest worship comes from the smallest hands.

Maybe heaven notices the quiet acts we overlook. Maybe the holiest moments aren’t loud or grand — just simple, sincere, and unseen.

And maybe that little boy wasn’t trespassing at all. Maybe he was teaching the rest of us how to see again.