Stories are one way that families shape themselves and frame the present and future. From a young age I heard the family stories about ancestors who had exercised religious freedom, sometimes at considerable personal cost. We have pilgrims (William Bradford, William Brewster, and Love Brewster - any cousins here?), Puritans, anabaptists, Hugeunots, Mormons and a variety of others among our family. In the Bay Colony, Shuball Painter didn't see the light of God in their ministers and refused to let them baptize his children. For that, he got whipped for being "an anabaptist and a blasphemer." Quick on the uptake, he realized he didn't fit into the Bay Colony so he went south, where he helped to found Rhode Island, as one of the first proprietors of Providence.
There were meta messages that came along with these family stories. People believe different things, and they have the right to follow those beliefs if they don't hurt others. It matters to sort out what you yourself believe; second-hand belief is rarely sustaining. It is highly unlikely that any one person knows the whole truth, and you are wise to assume that you are not that unlikely sage. Time passes, and as it passes new truths come to light. Relish the past; don't worship it. Ancestors are a responsibility to live up to, not a bank account of social credit to draw on.
For myself the path has lead along the Anglican traditions. My paternal grandmother, a daughter of English immigrants, was Episcopalian as the cognate tradition and my grandfather shed his Presbyterian past to join her. My father was always comfortably Episcopalian, and my mother found in his church a far better fit than her mother's fundamentalist one. I have the Friends as a second tradition, thanks to a childhood friend, but my original home has continued to feel like the best fit for me. Yet Tall Papa, dear to my heart, is oblivious to all of this. I sometimes say we have a mixed marriage; I'm an Episcopalian and he is a gardener.
Peace to you all on the paths you follow.