I was taking my grandson Ryder to school when a small frustration turned into a holy reminder.

Like most kids, Ryder reached for his phone and plugged in his headphones, but nothing happened. No sound. He fiddled with the cord, tried again, and his shoulders slumped. Ryder has autism and, like many children, can be a little rough on his things. I pulled the car over to take a look and see if I could help.

What I found explained everything.
The headphone cord was a mess, knots twisted into it, places stretched thin, worn like they’d been pulled one too many times. I worked at it for a while, hoping I could fix it, but eventually I had to tell him the truth.

“Buddy, there’s nothing I can do. The wires are probably pulled apart. You’ve got to be more careful with your things.”

He looked at me with sad eyes and quietly said,
“Pawpaw… I need them.”

That moment hit harder than I expected.

You see, on top of autism, Ryder also has a hearing disability. He wears hearing aids, and those headphones aren’t just entertainment to him, they help him navigate a noisy world. What seemed broken and replaceable to me was something he truly depended on.

Later that afternoon, when I picked him up from school, he climbed into the car, buckled his seatbelt, reached for his phone, and plugged in the same broken headphones.

I gently reminded him,
“Ryder, your headphones don’t work anymore, remember?”

He looked at me with complete confidence and said,
“They’re working, Pawpaw. God fixed it.”

I smiled, thinking he was just being hopeful, and asked,
“Are you sure they’re working?”

Without hesitation, he repeated,
“God fixed it.”

But what came next stopped me in my tracks.

“All you have to do is ask,” he said.

Out of the mouth of babes.

It was a nine-year-old child with autism who reminded me of a truth I too often forget, that we have a Father who is able to do exceedingly and abundantly above all that we can imagine. A Father who is not limited by broken wires, tangled messes, or our explanations of why something can’t be fixed.

We complicate faith.
We overanalyze prayer.
We explain miracles away before we ever give God room to move.

And yet, a child reminded me that sometimes faith is as simple as this:

All you have to do… is ask.

Maybe the real miracle wasn’t whether the headphones worked or not.
Maybe the miracle was the reminder that God is still listening, still working, still responding to the hearts that trust Him without conditions or disclaimers.

And if you are wondering about the headphones, yes, they were working and still going.

Lord, help us believe like children again.

---