When I entered the Catholic Church in my 30s, I was very much a spiritual infant — cradling a real baby in my arms and holding a preschooler by the hand.
My conversion followed reasonable research, a bit of drama and a lot of prayer, but it left me with the realization of how little I actually knew. I had embraced the sacraments with open arms and found myself at the beginning of a lifelong journey of transformation. I wasn’t just learning about the Catholic faith; I was being called to holiness, which would take more than a moment. It wasn’t a one-time decision, but a daily, sometimes hourly, call to surrender. All I could do was ask God to grant me the grace to grow, change and become the kind of mother who could pass this treasure on to her children.
Converts are often known for their fire — their zeal for the Church that comes from having discovered something they didn’t know they were missing. Before my conversion, I had been a devoted non-denominational Christian. I didn’t miss church on Sundays and volunteered often. I knew how to do the Christian life. But I didn’t know what I didn’t have — what I had been spiritually starving for. In the same way, I think some cradle Catholics may not fully grasp the immense gift they’ve been given in the Church. It’s hard to treasure the feast when you haven’t felt hunger.
An analogy comes to mind: a starving woman sits at a dinner table spread full of food to delight and nourish. So overwhelmed by the goodness before her, she simply wants to gaze at it. Across from her is another woman, not particularly hungry and even a bit tired of the spread, because it has always been available to her. If you’ve always had the bounty and just picked at it throughout your life, it can be hard to see how extraordinary it truly is. Starting life somewhat spiritually full, you may lack the drive to seek more.
As that starving woman, I want it all. The opportunity to receive Jesus in the Eucharist and the richness of the Church’s tradition are two things that have sustained me in my ongoing transformation. Frequent reception of the Blessed Sacrament cannot help but transform the heart. In Ecclesia de Eucharistia, Pope St. John Paul II said, “In the Eucharist we receive the One who gave Himself for us … We receive the very life of God and are transformed more and more into Him.”
I want my children to have it all and never become complacent. It is a gift to grow up in the faith, surrounded by the sacraments and the potential for deep transformation. But being lukewarm about the faith is a danger we are warned about in Scripture: “I know your works; I know that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either cold or hot. So, because you are lukewarm … I will spit you out of my mouth.” (Rv 3:15-16)
So how do we transmit the faith in a way that ignites desire, with a convert’s zeal? As parents, the only way is to model continual transformation: to grow, learn, repent and strive for sainthood before their eyes.
We cannot force faith into our children’s hearts, but we can make it beautiful, compelling and alive. When they see us seeking God daily, repenting often and approaching the sacraments with reverence, they learn that Catholicism isn’t just a belief system. It’s a relationship that transforms everything. The faith isn’t inherited like a family heirloom; it must be discovered, awakened and chosen. Our children will need their own conversions, and our role is to till the soil of their hearts with love, truth and authentic witness.
Parents provide the best foundation when we cultivate a Catholic family culture alive with grace, while encouraging our children in their seeking: sharing personal insights, nurturing wonder and inviting them into the beauty we’ve found.












