We had a baby dedication at church this past Sunday and it got me thinking a lot about how faith is passed down, not through sermons or perfectly worded prayers, but through quiet consistency. Through showing up. Through habit. Through example.

I didn’t grow up in a house where church attendance was required, but my grandparents were the ones who first brought me to church when I was little. They planted the seed. Later, as a teenager, I drifted in and out of youth programs. Some seasons I was there every week, others I showed up just enough to say I went. It was sporadic, inconsistent, and honestly, a reflection of where my heart was at the time.

Now here I am, a mom, realizing that what we model matters more than what we say.

There’s a trajectory that comes with raising your kids in church. It’s not a guarantee, but it’s a foundation. When children grow up seeing faith as a normal part of life, not something reserved for crisis or convenience, there’s a much greater chance they’ll raise their own children the same way. Faith becomes part of the rhythm, not a reaction.

What really stopped me in my tracks was Emerson.

For a season, my oldest was going to church on Wednesday nights with a friend. I would drive her there, then sit in the parking lot with my two youngest buckled in the back seat, waiting for her to get out. Watching families walk in together. Watching kids run ahead to class. Watching doors open and close.

And I remember thinking, more than once, Why am I sitting out here?

I was physically present, but spiritually parked. Letting my child go inside and grow while I waited on the outside, making excuses, convincing myself I was “busy” or “tired” or that I’d get back to it eventually.

Eventually… doesn’t raise kids.

What we do consistently does.

Raising children in church doesn’t mean they’ll never question their faith or wander. I’m living proof of that. But it does mean they’ll know where to return. They’ll know what the truth sounds like. They’ll recognize peace when they feel it. They’ll understand that God isn’t a stranger, but a constant.

I want more for my kids than what I had – not because what I had was lacking, but because every generation should build on the last. My grandparents planted. My parents watered when they could. And now it’s my turn to tend the garden intentionally.

Not perfectly. Just faithfully.

Because one day, I hope my children are the ones bringing their kids to church and maybe I will be the proud grandparent watching as my grandchildren are being dedicated – not because they have to, but because it feels like home.

(Paige Gurgainers is a mother of three girls, and a digital journalist for Webster Parish Journal.)