Seven weeks ago today, I published my first post. Recalling the reasons that one is Catholic—every day—is a blessed exercise. The result of seven weeks’ writing is a sort of mini-memoir. There are gaps in the story, which I will fill in, with your forebearance. But so far, this is the story, with apologies to the Psalmist:

I was blessed with a father who taught me that religion could be a manly pursuit,
for his love endures for ever.
I was born to a loving mother who taught me to pay attention to culture,
for his love endures for ever.
She taught me to love poetry,
for his love endures for ever;
and to read inspiring literature,
for his love endures for ever.

My pastor inspired me to think of being an Episcopal clergyman,
for his love endures for ever;
though I don’t think I ever would have had the guts to be a priest,
for his love endures for ever.
My grandmother converted to Catholicism,
for his love endures for ever,
But I did not . . . for 40 years . . . ,
for his love endures for ever.

I was blessed with brilliant mentors,
for his love endures for ever;
I was blessed with a loving wife,
for his love endures for ever;
and we were blessed with two beautiful daughters,
for his love endures for ever.

During my 40 years in the wilderness, I read about Joan of Arc,
for his love endures for ever.
I learned about St. Thomas More,
for his love endures for ever.
I watched inspiring TV melodramas,
for his love endures for ever,
And I read more inspiring poetry,
for his love endures for ever.

Then He placed a book by Fr. James Martin in my path,
for his love endures for ever.
And I began attending daily mass the following day,
for his love endures for ever,
in a truly beautiful church,
for his love endures for ever,
where I found a truly remarkable pastor,
for his love endures for ever.

I was inspired by the Catholics in front of me,
for his love endures for ever,
And I was blessed with wonderful new friends,
for his love endures for ever.
I considered returning to the Episcopal Church,
for his love endures for ever,
But I didn’t . . . ,
for his love endures for ever.

My father came to my first communion,
for his love endures for ever;
my father died six months to the day after my first communion,
for his love endures for ever.
I discovered that I was a Catholic in the time of a great pope,
for his love endures for ever.
I realized my debt to the Catholics who came before me,
for his love endures for ever.

I have learned a bit about Communion & Liberation,
for his love endures for ever.
I have begun attending Eucharistic Adoration,
for his love endures for ever.
I have learned something about angels and archangels,
for his love endures for ever.
And I have begun singing in the St. Mary’s choir,
for his love endures for ever.

My education as a “young Catholic” continues, but always, every single day, I try to remember to say with the Psalmist:

To the God of heaven give thanks,
for his love endures for ever.

In the Office of Readings today we learn how Thérèse of Lisieux came to understand her vocation: She realized that she was too insignificant to be an apostle, prophet, teacher, or martyr. Instead, she realized, “My call is love.” This leads to a question: In the great body of the Church, what, Lord, am I?

It’s a matter of “knowing one’s place,” isn’t it? As a recent convert, I realize sometimes that (a) my place is near the back of the line, but also that (b) people will see or hear me precisely because I’m a convert at the back of the line. We know this: converts can be very inspiring to cradle Catholics.

But while I’m standing here in line, what, Lord, should I be doing? Giving speeches? Handing out food? Caring for the sick? If I know myself and my talents, such as they are, I’m pretty sure I know what I should be doing. I should be singing.

I have always loved to sing, and when fellow parishioner Nancy Patch invited me to join the choir this summer at St. Mary Star of the Sea, I jumped at the chance. I can read music, sort of, not the way Fred, our choirmaster, can read, not even the way a good sight singer can read. But I can find my way around a clef, with or without accidentals.

I used to stand beside my father and mother in the Episcopal Church, where the hymns were always written out in four parts (I wish our Catholic hymnal had parts), and I would muddle my way through the tenor line until about age fourteen, then after that the bass line. And I loved hearing how my voice, when on pitch, blended with the melody.

This is what I love about singing in the St. Mary’s choir. Not being a soloist, heaven forbid, my voice just isn’t sweet enough, but blending, riding the wave of the basses behind me, and adding just a bit of water, or maybe sometimes oil, to the wave. The few times I’ve sung with the choir so far have been joyous times, adding my voice to the heavenly chorus (the choir loft is very high), and feeling the church fill with our harmonies. Of course, having a choirmaster like Fred makes a big difference.

Today, on the feast of St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus, this seems to me a good way of looking at this blog—another place, a tiny niche, within the great body of the Church, where I can make my small contribution. There are many kinds of bloggers, I already know this, after just six weeks. In the Catholic blogosphere, there are great prophets and prophetesses, like Elizabeth over at The Anchoress, and there are teachers, like Greg at The Deacon’s Bench and Rocco at Whispers in the Loggia. There are some wonderful Catholic-mother blogs, like Blessed Among Men and Minnesota Mom. None of these “parts” suits me.

I’m happy being down at the lower end of the register, riding the wave of basses stronger than I am. Let my sound be only harmonious, Lord. Let it help fill out the heavenly harmony, filling your Church with hymns of praise.

Now, off to North Carolina, to see my daughter!

I have fallen in love twice in my life. The first time was with Katie. I fell in love with my wife two or three years before I got up the courage to ask her out. Once I had asked her out, we had a four-month courtship and twenty-five years of marriage, and counting. I love Katie as much as I ever have. People adore Katie—hey, she’s adorable—and I happen to be the lucky fool she agreed to marry. This picture was taken atop Dun Anghus on the largest of the Aran Islands last March. God willing, we will return to Ireland together many times.

The second time I fell in love it was with a church, the Catholic Church. I was reminded of this last evening, talking with my friend Anujeet about my blog and its central question, Why am I Catholic. That’s simple, Anujeet effectively said, you fell in love. And there it was. The ultimate reason why I am Catholic.

I have always thought it’s impossible for a third party to understand why two people, like Katie and me, fall in love, and how they sustain a marriage. The love and marriage of others is probably unanalyzable. It just is. Let it be.

Converting to the Catholic Church was like that for me. I tried to explain it to my dazed friends and loved ones. I rationalized. I made up stuff. But basically, Ma, I fell in love. And that’s that.