On June 4th, I will celebrate my two-month anniversary as a Catholic. That sentence still feels strange to write sometimes. Not because I doubt it—quite the opposite. It feels deeply right. But after years of theological study, ministry discernment, denominational wandering, heartbreak, prayer, stubbornness, and enough church committee meetings to qualify for getting out of purgatory early, becoming Catholic was not exactly a casual weekend decision. A lot of older Catholics do not quite understand why it took me so long. Some assume I simply “finally accepted the truth.” Others seem relieved, as though I crossed a finish line they had been politely waiting beside for years. Meanwhile, parts of my Protestant family still ask how I am liking “my church” with the careful tone people use when discussing an unexpected haircut or a questionable engagement. When I tell them, “Yes, I am happy. I love my church. I love my priest. I love the people. I love Jesus,” they usually smile politely an...