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I never thought I would step into a church again, yet I found myself there. In fact I really didn’t see the church, until months later. Like how can you walk into a church sit in a pew, listen and not see the Church? Isn’t that simply impossible to do?

How about if you go to the church without going to church, instead you go for the message? Would you then see the building? What if you go because of all the interesting people you find there? What if you go because it seems this is where your people are, this is where you might fit in, this, is where you hope to find the answers?

What if you have a burning question you want answered? Would you see the church, or instead would you look closely at what was said, who said it and you got to decide if that fit you. If it fit your experience of what you know to be true. If you went to find a perfect match, would you see the church?

I even did like most loyal members, I found a seat, and it became my special spot. Imagine I have a special seat. This time, I was tentative, unknowing, very much aware, and listening closely and then I would let the words come real close and see if I could find how that could be true for me too.

Suspicious at best, discerning of all, I literally felt like I was a fly on the wall, just watching, listening and soaking up words. What was also so weird to me, I did not feel inclined to speak, and better yet no one expected me to. Shy smiles, little nods, a room full of strangers, or to me at least, yet I slowly became comfortable there. No one acted like I didn’t belong….yet I was still unsure.

Months went by, and I eagerly awaited each week, each new message, and each time I walked away unsure. Not really buying the message, the faith I wanted seemed to just outside the fence, freely dancing, twirling in joy of its assuredness. The general theme seemed to intrigue me, but when I measured myself, I seemed lacking, I didn’t have what it took, something was missing, something just didn’t ring true. But each week I entered and had no clue what the message would be, each week a new insight came out. I learned a lot by listening, just sitting and hearing words.

One day, a day that would be my last, I heard what I wanted to hear. I finally heard the one thing that would set me free, to show me that I indeed did belong to this group. I heard her speak, and before the hour was over, I knew.

My Writer’s Journey Class was held in St. Mathews Church on the Campus of Finlandia University. My writing class did not speak of God. Get this, the last Author to speak wrote a book called Sundays in America. A year long road trip in search of Christian Faith! And she gives this talk to me, in a church, a church I vowed I would never ever enter.

She and I are not even aware of all it took for this to come to fruition.You see, she was supposed to arrive here in February, but a snowstorm kept her literally circling above unable to land. What she didn’t know was that it was my fault. I wasn’t ready to hear her message. I first had to begin doing what I wanted her to teach me.

I had to start writing. Now get this, get what Day was her first day she entered a new church? Easter. Guess what day this Blog started? Easter. Now I am not a real good religious girl, but even I know that it is the day of re-birth a day that means a new beginning. Ok, and guess where she gives me the message….a Church. 

And I am sure you have to be asking what could this Suzanne Strempak Shea have to say? What did she do? What was the secret I needed revealed? What was right in front of me all the while? What again, did I fail to see?

She stood there and began to just tell us how each book was created from her life experience! Oh she was a fast talker, you could not squeeze a word more into that hour! Animated, excited, colorful and with humor she looked at her life simply as the seeds of another great book! It was like she wasn’t personally involved, but yet she was. Like her life was there for her to write about, and the more interesting the better. She looked at people like Characters, places a new scene in a future book, a nagging thought the inspiration for whole book.

I sat there and smiled knowingly. I was looking into my future. Ironically or not, she is the mentor of the lady who started the Writer’s Journey. A full circle moment for me and I wasn’t even there in the beginning, yet some how I was.

With her signed book in my bag, I opened the door and walked into a whole new world, with a whole new me, with my Faith restored.

Suzanne’s husband is very encouraging. He is known to say. “Write about it.”

I think I am.