The neighborhood I grew up in was a mixture of ‘salt of the earth’ people. Most of the breadwinners (in our case back in the 50’s and 60’s–the dads) were tradesmen, worked in one of several General Motors plants, or owned their own business. As my memory can recollect there had to be approximately 70 kids in the radius of the city block that was ‘my world’ for a long time. Along with the differences in jobs were the various churches that each family chose to attend on Sunday, or in the case of our Catholic families, Saturday.

Our little neighborhood had a representation of Catholic, Baptist, Lutheran, and Methodist believers. Additionally, we had families that chose not to attend church at all. I remember attending a Sunday evening church service with my Baptist playmate and wondering why someone attended church twice on a Sunday. In the case of my Catholic playmates I was curious about their Saturday evening mass schedule and I found myself being jealous of their seemingly extra days off private school in honor of a saint. They also wore school uniforms while I had the luxury of wearing a variety of outfits during my entire public school education years. (Now, I honestly wonder who had the easier option?)

In the summer months I attended several Vacation Bible School programs, all at churches that were not my own. On family vacations with my Uncle Dave we attended the Free Methodist church wherever he was currently serving as the pastor. Once, during my young elementary school age years, we attended church with dad’s parents; that little church was of the Nazarene denomination. It was a big deal that we were in their midst–they truly made certain that the congregation knew that Brother Clarence and Sister Sadie had family with them that long ago Sunday morning. (I was horrified that we had to stand as our family was introduced)

In the last 10 years plus, I’ve had occasion to worship with a dear friend who lives in San Jose. Closer to home I’ve worshiped with the family of my oldest brother over the last three years in their Lutheran church homes as well as with  the Presbyterian church family of another brother. 

Why is this a subject matter on my mind today? It’s significant to me today for deep, sentimental feelings. This past weekend I attended church with a dear best friend, a friend that has been part of my life since our junior high years. Our families attended the same church when we were children. We were members of the same confirmation class, sang in church choirs together, and were part of the high school youth group. 

Last summer we were guests at this particular friend’s Lake Huron cottage which included Sunday morning, so we naturally chose to worship at a Lutheran church attended by the uncle and aunt to my friend. (I’m quite certain that our presence boosted the attendance that sunny morning) The worship was sweet and the message was powerful as we heard a report from a wonderful missionary.

But, back to this past weekend. As I sat in the sanctuary in my friend’s church, or as I was on my feet during the singing, it occured to me that in my 50+ years I  indeed have been in many churches and the primary principle that rings through the differences in doctrine and traditions is that God has been in those various Houses of worship. His spirit was welcomed, His name was lifted high, and  His people responded to the Word presented in each setting. I have come to realize that no ‘style’, ‘method’, or ‘program’ can limit the ability of God to show up, to usher in His presence and for that I am truly grateful, for I know that the mature believer does not limit God’s power and desire to fill our hearts as we worship Him regardless of the name on the front of the building.

Seeing these images in my mind and sensing it in my spirit is the picture I have of Heaven. There will be no denominations, no styles, no programs, no doctrinal issues that divide us in the ‘flesh’ at times. Yes, that truth of revelation to me in recent years was confirmed again this weekend. In Heaven God Is In the House……and how glorious it will be to be among all the different tribes, nations, and tongues of His people. I will enter Heaven one great day and as my eyes scan the masses looking for family members who have gone ahead of me I will also be peering to find those childhood friends, not seen in many years but remembered all the same. And in another part of the crowd will be ALL of my best friends, my ‘real friends’. Together, with the masses already enjoying their rewards of Heaven,  we will proclaim that “God is in the house!” and mysteriously forget which name was on the church building that we faithfully attended pursuing the One Who makes all things possible by ‘new life in Him’.

“Real”: True and actual, not imaginary, alleged or ideal.

I have to look back to that time in life where I have discovered that I do not like “fake”. Whether it is in something tangible like my food or more importantly my friendships, I plain do not like fake. As an example, once I tasted pure vanilla extract versus the imitation product I had to ask myself “why would anyone want the fake stuff when the ‘real’ deal is a taste this side of Heaven?” To top it off, a dear friend of mine shared with me her version for creating pure vanilla extract and since making a batch or two I would never return to using anything but the ‘real deal’. This same concept has been pouring into other areas of my life as well and that would have to do with my friendships.

Just as I desire and actually crave ‘real’ food, I have hungered for ‘real’ friendships, especially in the last 10 to 15 years. When I look back over that time period, I can see that these years held some very significant events in my life. We lost both mothers, said goodbye to some cherished uncles, and endured the joys and pains of children navigating through their teenage years on into their own young adulthood, which have included its own share of great joy and hurt. Most recently, in 2012 we said goodbye to my beloved father.

During all of these various events I needed and found ‘real’ friends, those who didn’t give trite counsel or held a judgement in their hearts when our kids floundered with life decisions. No, instead, what we most often received was genuine concern, a word of encouragement, a hug or the gift of silence, the kind of silence that let us know we were loved and furthermore, understood. We received a good ‘real’.

I also am aware that I need to be a ‘real’ friend to those who have allowed me into their lives as well. A self confession is the inability to be this kind of friend 100% of the time but not always achieving perfection does not deter me from my goal. Quite the contrary. When I realize I have failed, I encourage myself to take a step back, self evaluate and refocus on the importance of being sincere, genuine, honest, and reliable without compromising my values or character.

So, do I have this huge circle of friends? Actually, the answer to that question is ‘no’. But, oh, do I have a TIGHT circle of friends who have emerged from the pages of my life. I have the kind of friends that physical distance holds no power and close-by friends who bring joy, laughter, and a sense of completeness. Even the kind of friends who don’t find it awkward when an amount of time elapses between conversations and pick right up where we left off over the LAST cup of coffee.

In this brief attempt to share from this aspect of who I am, I would be remiss not to mention my ‘real’ true friend. His name is Jesus and He is real. He is the Alpha and Omega of the created and of my life. It is He Who has taught me what “real’ is and how ‘real’ should look in my character. When I do things correctly He cheers and spurs me onto greater and better
achievements. When I falter and even fail, He is gentle yet truthful bringing me necessary conviction and correction. How does He do this? Through the written Word and most importantly, through my ‘real’ friends.

Do you desire more ‘real’? I hope so. When you discover the benefits of ‘real’ you will, hopefully, never settle for less. And if you want to know how to create pure vanilla it’s this simple: Purchase a pint of vodka, add 3 to 4 vanilla beans that have been slightly opened with a paring knife. Store the bottle in a cool, dark place and let ‘ferment’ for three months. Get out your recipes and enjoy!

When I look back to my teenage years, that is where I discovered the desire and love to write. Words and the use of them have always intrigued me. As I entered high school I found myself in the yearbook class due to needing another subject to fill my schedule. It was an accident that helped move me toward learning how to construct sentences and creating an interesting read for my audience. I was fortunate to have a wonderful instructor overseeing that class who also became a mentor so-to-speak. From him I gleaned a love for the printed word, creative thinking, as well as debating a topic.

High school days are a distant memory now, a season that ended long ago yet paving the way to fill a heart’s desire thus creating a ‘new beginning’. Life has given me much to cherish yet I must acknowledge the hardships and disappointments that also came along. It’s from these experiences that I hope to tap into and create meaningful essays, articles, or in this case–a blog–to engage you, the reader. It is my heart’s desire to paint you a word picture along this path of new beginnings that will cause you to reflect, to smile or chuckle, to ponder, to self-examine, and above all to be encouraged.

I invite you to join me in discovering the treasures of my heart and mind as together we walk this path. The subject matter will vary which I hope keeps you returning. May we form the bond that is somehow magical between writer and reader.

I hope to share thoughts with you each week. As I enter this ‘new beginning’ please be aware that changes are coming; I will share those with you as they develop and as I am released to do so.

I am excited. I am nervous. Above all, I am pursing the dream that was birthed years ago. Welcome to my dream!

Suz