My family has this undying spider plant. Great-Aunt Edith received it from a friend in 1970-something, where it lived for years in her home in Yonkers. As the plant grew, and continued to grow, everyone in the family received its children. Aunt Edith passed away, but her son became keeper of the spider, thrusting its offspring onto anyone who didn’t have a plant whether they wanted it or not. At one point, my parents had at least three in their house.

My little plant came with me when I moved out, and eventually produced its own children. I’d decided that, when my friends moved to a new home, they would receive one of those child plants. My sponsor was the lucky recipient of the first, and there are more ready for when others settle into their new abodes. Recently, he sent me a picture of new growth on his plant, yet another generation of spider babies. “They grow up so fast,” he said.

It seemed so fitting—that the growth from my godmother’s plant eventually found its way into my sponsor’s home. These people, generations apart, who would have never met. But we’re all connected. Not just from this plant, either.

Isn’t it the same way with God? We don’t know the influence we’ll have on people. Great-Aunt Edith probably didn’t know her plant would extend across New York and New Jersey. And she probably didn’t know that her spiritual guidance would stretch farther than Yonkers, too. She wouldn’t have known that her goddaughter would ultimately be a part of the Church. And we don’t know who we influence, every single day, and who will be affected to the point of reaching out to others.

I was listening to Relevant Radio one evening, and they spoke of the mess we’ve made of the world. There are some awful things going on out there. Individually, we can’t change it. But individually, we can work to make it a little better. Smile at the cashier. Forgive that guy who cut you off on the highway. Understand that every one of us has something going on, and sometimes we have bad days. Love one another, and forgive. That goodness will spread. It won’t stop wars, but it’ll make someone’s day a little brighter. That’s no small thing.

In turn, that person you were nice to may be inspired to be nice to someone else. And so on. We share that goodness, and it expands. It could extend three generations down to someone, or many someones, who can make bigger waves. Like the family spider—one plant alone has expanded into countless other people’s homes, including my little spiritual family. We’re connected by that plant, just as we’re connected by that love that God has blessed us with.

And if anyone wants a spider plant, I’m honestly keeping a list. This child of mine is out of control.

The more time that passes, the more difficult it is to remember where the story began. It wasn’t that long ago—or was it? Do I begin the story at my first conversation with a priest? Or that fateful Palm Sunday of my first Mass? Or do we go all the way back to when I was saved in the Baptist Church?

(I know, I know. Fr. B votes the conversation. It’ll look good for your canonization.)

A year ago, I considered recording the journey in novel form. Naturally, I didn’t write anything down. Besides, there are so many conversion stories. Do we really need another one? Why would mine be any different?

It’s not that much different, but it’s still a story people want to hear. Because with every event I attend, and each new person I meet, they want to know how I got to this point. And that’s not something I can explain in two sentences at a social event.

But the more time passes, the more difficult it is to think about all that happened. I’d have to go back, through not only this blog but several journals. Several journals that will be very hard for me to read. Last year wasn’t an easy one, and sometimes the wounds are still raw. But.. the story needs to be told. I can’t ignore the hard parts just because they made me feel bad. If anything, I have to remember them. It reminds me from where I came. And I have to share that with others.

Because I’m not the only one who’s gone through this search for God. We like conversion stories. We like to see where people came from, and the joy of finding a place to call home. I read so many of them when I was searching myself. It doesn’t matter that they had the same conclusion—there was a comfort in that, too. These people underwent the same questioning I did, and they found answers. Perhaps I would find answers as well.

I don’t remember the chronology. I don’t remember the conversations, or the exact questions thrown at my sponsor or my priest, or even the moment I decided to convert (I’ve been known to reference three separate events). But I know it happened, and people want to hear about it. And the best way for me to share it—me, the one blessed with the gift of language—is to write it down.

Maybe it’s time to start thinking about that.