Linda Jones Facebook ad: “Read this if you want your grandkids to grow up in faith”

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Parenting & Kids

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To Catholic grandparents who believe "they'll come back to the faith." "They'll come back to the Church when they have kids." That's what everyone says. Your grandchildren are drifting now, but they'll return to the faith when they become parents. Right? Wrong. New data shows that only 18% of "boomerang Catholics" return. 82% never come back. If your grandchild leaves the faith now, you're probably losing them forever. I believed the "they'll come back" myth. Until I learned the real numbers. Here's what I did instead of waiting. Think about your granddaughter right now. Does she check her phone during prayer? Does she seem "polite" at Mass but not engaged? Has she stopped asking questions about faith? When you give her religious gifts, does she thank you... then set them aside? Does she say things like "I know it's important to you, Grandma"? Meaning: It's not important to me. Most grandparents don't realize what these signs mean. They think: "She's just a teenager. She'll come back." But what if she doesn't? What if you're watching her slip away right now—and you're waiting for a return that never happens? I didn't know either. My granddaughter Emma was 14. She still came to Mass with me most Sundays. She'd taken her First Communion. She'd been confirmed. Sure, she seemed distracted sometimes. Yes, she checked her phone during grace at dinner. And when I gave her a beautiful illustrated Bible for her birthday, she thanked me and set it on her shelf. Never opened it. But I wasn't worried. "She's just a teenager," my husband said. "She'll come back when she has kids. Everyone does." I believed him. I believed we had time. Then one day, driving home from Sunday Mass, Emma said something that shattered my world. She stared out the window. Silent. "Nana?" she said quietly. "I'm not sure I believe anymore." My heart stopped. "All my friends think church is boring. It just feels like old stories. Things that don't matter." This was the granddaughter I'd rocked to sleep while praying the rosary over her. The little girl who asked me about the saints. And now—she wasn't sure she believed. I looked at my husband that night. "She'll come back," he said again. "When she's older. When she has kids." But something in my gut told me: what if that's not true anymore? I couldn't sleep that night. So I did what any grandmother in 2025 does—I searched online. "Do Catholics who leave come back?" "Boomerang Catholics statistics" "Young adults returning to faith" And that's when I found it. The research that shattered my comfortable hope. Only 18% of young adults who leave the Catholic faith return. 82% never come back. Not when they have kids. Not when they get married. Not when they face a crisis. Never. The "boomerang Catholic" myth—the one that lets grandparents sleep at night—is a lie. Or at least, it's no longer true. The generation leaving the faith now isn't coming back. And if Emma left now, at 14, I would probably lose her forever. My great-grandchildren would never be baptized. The chain would break with me. I refused to accept that. The next morning, I started trying everything I could think of. I brought Emma to Adoration—hoping the candlelight, the Eucharist would speak to her. She sat politely. Checked her phone. It didn't reach her. I tried talking about our family's faith—how her great-grandmother prayed the rosary every day. "I know it's important to you, Nana," she said gently. That phrase again. Then one Sunday, I overheard her talking to her mom. "Do I have to keep going to church with Nana? It just... it doesn't mean anything to me." I was losing her. And I didn't have 10 years to wait and hope she'd "come back." I had to act now. That was three weeks before I ran into Margaret at the St. Joachim and Anne group. Her granddaughter Sophie had been in the same confirmation class as Emma last year. Sophie had dropped out halfway through. Margaret had been devastated—I remembered. But that night, something was different. I saw Sophie wearing a rosary around her wrist. Actually wearing it. "How's Sophie doing?" I asked Margaret, almost afraid to hear the answer. "Oh my goodness," Margaret said. "Something shifted. She's been asking to go to Mass. She's praying the rosary every night before bed." My heart leapt. "What changed? What did you do?" Margaret smiled. "I stopped waiting for her to come back on her own. I gave her something she couldn't ignore." She pulled out her phone. "I gave her this." On Margaret's phone was a photo of a rosary. But not like any rosary I'd seen before. "It's made from olive wood from Bethlehem," Margaret said. "From where Jesus actually walked. And see this center bead? There's Jerusalem soil inside." The rosary was beautiful—deep wood grain, hand-carved. "You know how Sophie was so disconnected?" Margaret continued. "Nothing we said reached her. The faith felt abstract. Old. Boring." I nodded. That was exactly where Emma was. "But when I gave her this—when she held it in her hands and realized it was from there, from the actual place where Jesus was born—something clicked." "She could see the soil from Jerusalem. She could feel the wood from Bethlehem. It wasn't abstract anymore. It was real." "Within a week, she was asking questions. About the rosary. About Jerusalem. About why it mattered." "And now..." Margaret's voice caught. "Now she's praying it every night." "I didn't wait for her to come back," Margaret said. "I gave her a reason to come back now." "Can you send me the link?" That night, I couldn't stop thinking about what Margaret said. Why would a rosary—something Emma had seen a hundred times before—make the difference? Then it hit me. Our grandchildren are growing up in a world where everything is digital, abstract, disconnected. We've been trying to hand them faith through concepts—theology, traditions, explanations. But they're sensory learners. They need something real. Something they can touch and hold. That's why Adoration didn't work—she couldn't connect to something invisible. That's why the Bible sat on her shelf—she was overwhelmed by words. That's why talking about tradition fell flat—it was just more concepts. She needed faith to feel ancient, tangible, real. Not another lecture. Not another "wait and hope." Something she could hold in her hands and know was real. Right now. Margaret sent me the link that night. The company is called Wood of Grace. They work with Christian artisan families in Bethlehem—the same families who've been carving religious items for generations. When I researched them, everything made sense. The rosaries are hand-carved from olive trees growing in Bethlehem—the same ground where Jesus walked. The center capsule contains actual soil from Jerusalem. You can see it. You can hold it up to the light and see the grains of earth from the Holy Land. Unlike plastic rosaries mass-produced overseas—this connects them physically to where our faith was born. Unlike regular wooden rosaries—this comes from Bethlehem. From the place where angels sang to shepherds. When they hold it, they're touching the same wood that grows where Jesus prayed. The same earth where He walked. It's not just another rosary. It's a piece of the Holy Land they can hold in their hands. It's faith they can touch. Right now. Not 15 years from now when they "might" come back. I ordered it that night. When it arrived, I didn't make a big speech. I just gave it to Emma. "This is from Bethlehem," I said. "From where Jesus was born." She held it. Ran her fingers over the wood grain. "It's from there? Actually from there?" "See this center bead? That's Jerusalem soil. From the Holy Land." She held it up to the light. Stared at it. "Can I see?" For the first time in months, she was curious. Engaged. Asking questions. Day 3: I saw her touching it while doing homework. Week 2: "Nana, will you teach me how to pray the rosary?" My heart nearly burst. We sat together that evening. I showed her each mystery. She held every bead like it mattered. Week 4: She asked if she could come to Mass with me. Not because she had to. Because she wanted to. Last month, her mom texted me a photo. Emma, kneeling beside her bed, praying the rosary before sleep. The caption: "She's been doing this every night." I didn't wait for Emma to "come back." I didn't hope that one day, when she had kids, she'd remember her faith. Because 82% of young adults who leave never return. I gave her a reason to stay now. Something real. Something ancient. Something she could hold. And it worked. Not because I'm special. Not because I prayed harder than other grandmothers. But because I stopped waiting and started acting. If you're watching your grandchild drift away—and you're hoping they'll "come back someday"—you need to know something. The odds are against you. 82% of young adults who leave the Catholic faith never return. Not when they have kids. Not when they get married. Not when you're gone and they wish they'd listened. Never. You don't have time to wait. You need to act now. Give them something real. Something ancient. Something they can hold onto. Not 10 years from now when they might not care anymore. Right now. While you still can. The mission you started the day they were baptized? When you promised to help raise them in the faith? This is how you complete it. Get your Wood of Grace Bethlehem olive wood rosary today. Real Jerusalem soil. Hand-carved by Christian families in Bethlehem. They offer a 60-day money-back guarantee. Lifetime warranty. Don't wait for them to come back. Give them a reason to stay. [LEARN MORE ABOUT WOOD OF GRACE ROSARIES →]

Where the ad sends people

woodofgrace.com

Read this if you want your grandkids to grow up in faith

A simple, weighty five-decade rosary carved from genuine Jerusalem olive wood, made for women whose faith has lived through real life. Warm to the touch, quietly beautiful, and designed to be prayed with, not just looked at.