Reflection 18: When Fatherhood Clarified My Purpose

I did not fully understand my purpose in life until Kierston and I got married and found out we were pregnant about four months later.

Our time as just a married couple was short. Most of our first year married was spent preparing to become parents. And in that preparation, something in me began to shift.

I have had a relationship with Christ since I was about nine or ten years old. It deepened in college when I attended Mass at St. Mary’s and served as a liturgical coordinator. I was involved. I believed. I showed up.

But if I am honest, I was not truly living my faith.

I prayed daily. I read Scripture on the Bible app. I checked the boxes. But I did not fully understand what it meant to surrender my life to Christ. My faith was present, but it was comfortable. It did not cost me much.

I thought my purpose was my career. I earned my bachelor’s and master’s degrees and became a city planner. I wanted to improve communities and bring innovative ideas to life. That work is good work. It matters.

But when we got married, I realized I was not as close to Christ as I thought I was. My prayer life was surface level. I believed in God, but I had not entrusted Him with everything.

Before our wedding, we attended a Together Encountering Christ (TEC) retreat. It was the first time I was truly drawn into the Eucharist. Kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament changed something in me. For Catholics, the Eucharist is not symbolic. It is the real presence of Jesus Christ, His body, blood, soul, and divinity. Kneeling there in silence, I knew I was not just thinking about God. I was with Him.

That experience planted a seed.

Then a year later we found out we were expecting.

In that moment, I knew I needed to grow up spiritually. Fatherhood felt bigger than me. If I was going to lead a family, I needed to be led by Christ.

Around that time, I was listening to The Catholic Gentleman podcast and heard a simple challenge: pray the Rosary every day.

So I did.

Every morning in the car on the way to work, I turned on a daily Commuter Rosary podcast and prayed. At first, it felt structured and intentional. Over time, it became natural. Now it feels strange to drive without it.

The Rosary is one of the Church’s most powerful and historic prayers. Its roots stretch back centuries, traditionally associated with St. Dominic in the 13th century. It developed as a way for ordinary believers to meditate on the life of Christ through Scripture. Each decade reflects on a mystery from the lives of Jesus and Mary: the Joyful, Sorrowful, Glorious, and later the Luminous Mysteries. Repeating the prayers is not about empty words. It is about entering into the rhythm of salvation history.

The Church has continually encouraged the Rosary because it is deeply Christ centered. Though we ask for Mary’s intercession, every mystery leads us to Jesus. The Rosary teaches us to see Christ through the eyes of His mother. It slows us down. It forms virtue. It trains the heart.

As I prayed those beads day after day, something was forming in me.

We were told our son would be born in November. Kierston had gestational diabetes, so the pregnancy was considered high risk, but everything was stable. He was healthy. Growing well.

I kept praying.

As the months passed, I felt a tug in my heart to entrust our son to the Blessed Mother. I wanted him to know he had an earthly mother who loved him deeply and a heavenly mother who would guide him to Jesus. I began intentionally offering each Rosary for him. For his protection. For his vocation. For his future holiness.

Then, at the end of October, everything changed.

Kierston went into labor unexpectedly. By the time we realized what was happening, her contractions were three to four minutes apart. We rushed to the hospital. Within hours, he was born healthy and strong on October 30.

October is the month of the Holy Rosary.

For Catholics, October is traditionally dedicated to the Rosary, especially because of the Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary on October 7, which commemorates Mary’s intercession in history. I had prayed the Rosary almost every day of his life in the womb, and he was born in the month dedicated to Our Lady.

That was not coincidence to me.

In that hospital room, holding him for the first time, I realized something clearly: my job is not my identity. My career is not my mission.

My mission is to lead my family to heaven.

Fatherhood clarified what ambition never could. Degrees can matter. Work does matter. Service absolutely matters. But none of it outweighs the responsibility to raise children who know and love Christ.

The Rosary became more than a habit. It became a lifeline. It became the way I entrust my wife and children to God daily. It reminds me that I am not in control. It keeps my eyes on Christ. It keeps my heart aligned with my true purpose.

Every October, when our son’s birthday approaches, I am reminded that he is under Mary’s protection. I am reminded that my leadership begins on my knees.

I did not fully understand my purpose until I became a father.

And now I know.

My mission is not to build better cities.

It is to build a domestic church.

It is to love my wife sacrificially.

It is to lead my children toward Christ.

And it starts with a simple prayer, one bead at a time.