The church caught on fire.

Literally. That’s probably the funniest thing that happened when I became a Catholic.

That and the red-haired girl at Easter vigil.

Fr. Tom asked if she rejected Satan. Little Ginger screamed, “Nooo!”

Funny, too, is that I spent years and years following Jesus but didn’t feel fully alive in my faith until I discovered the Roman Catholic way.

I walked into a Catholic church one Sunday, and before you can say “And with your spirit,” I knew I was home.

If you wonder why a lifelong Protestant, a former pastor no less, would go for the smells and bells, genuflecting and kneeling, candles, confession, and all the rest, you’ve come to the right place.

I’m a brand new Catholic. And I write about it.

P.S.

I love talking about my journey to Rome, especially with people who are genuinely curious about Catholicism.

But you’ll get no arguments here. I talk about the church as I know it. Oh, and baseball. Nothing else.