Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

Archives for May 2015

Does God Speak Your Language?

Here’s something I’m learning about the Bible: context can be quite the bulldozer.

Maybe you’ve been there too. Have you ever found yourself flattened by a passage of Scripture you’ve read multiple times just because of who you were with or what was happening in your own brain at that moment?

On Friday afternoons, I go with a few people from my church to spend time with the children of local refugees. These kids hail from countries all around the world, from Burundi to Iraq to the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Last week I was charged with teaching the kids about Pentecost, which I must say is a daunting passage in any language, for any age group. Tongues of fire over people’s heads? The Holy Ghost whipping through the building like a holy hurricane? I can’t say I quite grasp it all myself. So how on earth could I explain it to a group of thirty international kids under the age of ten?

As I was reading the Bible story to the cheerfully squirrely kids around me, this verse struck me in a fresh way:

Everyone present was filled with the Holy Spirit and began speaking in other languages, as the Holy Spirit gave them this ability.
Acts 2:4

The magnitude of that day all suddenly struck me in a new way. Pentecost was God’s way of saying, “I see you. I love you. I speak your language.” He didn’t just come for the elite, the religious, the ones born into the right class or social rank or pedigree. He came for all of us. For the wild, vivid patchwork we call humanity. And he wants to communicate with each of us in our heart-language.

As I looked at the precious faces around me, it occurred to me that some of these kids have gotten the message that Christianity is for Americans, that Jesus spoke English and probably had blue eyes. That he’s for other people, not for them.

But Pentecost proves otherwise.

Here’s what I told the kids, and what I’m still preaching to myself: When the Holy Spirit came and infused Jesus’ followers with other languages, it was God’s way of saying, “I came for you. I speak your language.”

I looked into the kids’ eyes, willing the message to sink in deep: The Holy Spirit is God saying, “I love you” in your own language.

I looked at Nguen and Pacifique and Aiysha and I prayed they would believe it. And never forget it.

Then we asked the kids: How do you say “I love you” in your language?

The room was filled with a chorus of voices:

Ana behibek
Wo ai ni
Naku penda
Phom rak khun

I have to admit that sometimes I’ve asked the question myself: Does God really love me? Does he speak my language? Oh, sure, I’m confident he’s fluent in English. I’m not afraid he’s up in heaven with a Hebrew-English dictionary, scrambling to translate my prayers. But sometimes I wonder if he gets me, if he has anything he wants to tell me in my heart-language.

Maybe you’ve been there too. You feel like you weren’t born into the right family or you don’t talk like the other Christians or you just don’t fit in. Or maybe you wonder if God gets you, quirks, weaknesses, flaws, and all. Pentecost is God’s way of saying he wants to connect with you. He wants to whisper to you in a personal way—in a way uniquely designed for you to understand.

And today—this could be your own Pentecost. He comes to light a little flame inside your heart. He comes to whip love through you like a holy hurricane.

He comes to say “I love you” . . . in the way your heart can hear it best.

Announcing the Next Book Club: Scary Close

Scary closeThanks to everyone who participated in our discussion about All the Light We Cannot See! I loved hearing everyone’s insights and favorite parts. To jump in on our conversation about World War II books, life through the eyes of someone who’s blind, and finding light in the darkest of times, you can stop by here.

And now, congratulations to Elizabeth! You were randomly selected as a winner of a free book for this book discussion. (Elizabeth, I’ll send you a private message about getting your book.)

Our next book club will be about Scary Close by Donald Miller. Here’s the description of the book from the back cover:

New York Times bestselling memoirist Donald Miller takes readers on his year-long journey to learn to abandon performance-based relationships and find real intimacy.

After decades of failed relationships and painful drama, Donald Miller decided he’d had enough. Impressing people wasn’t helping him connect with anyone. He’d built a life of public isolation, yet he dreamed of meaningful relationships. So at forty years old he made a scary decision: to be himself no matter what it cost.

Scary Close is an audiobook about the risk involved in choosing to impress fewer people and connect with more, about the freedom that comes when we stop acting and start loving. It is a story about knocking down old walls to create a healthy mind, a strong family, and a satisfying career. And it all feels like a conversation with the best kind of friend: smart, funny, true, important.

We will be discussing the book in July. Hope you can join us!

 

Book Club Discussion: All the Light We Cannot See

All the LightWelcome to our virtual book club for May! Our book for this month is All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr. It’s easy to participate: just write a comment in the comment section in response to one of these questions or about anything else you’d like to discuss.

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Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I was in the mood to read a war book this month. And truth #2 be told, I wasn’t sure I wanted to read a World War II book. I just may have binged on them as a teenager, and I thought I’d exceeded my quota. But enough people recommended the book to me that I finally caved. And I’m glad I did—this is unlike any other war book you’ve ever read.

All the Light We Cannot See is about a French girl named Marie Laure, who is blind, and a German soldier, Werner, both of whom are caught in the crossfires of World War II. The chapters alternately tell their stories as their paths come closer together and eventually collide.

I heard it took Anthony Doerr ten years to write this book, and I’m not surprised. His details are luscious—I felt like I was able to see, smell, hear, and feel every scene.

Discussion #1: Can you remain human in war?

One of the things I appreciated most about this book was the way it put a human face on both sides of the war. I’d never given in-depth thought to what might lead a person to become a Nazi, and seeing Werner’s story gave me more sympathy for him while still feeling the pain Marie Laure and her family went through. I also appreciated the reminder that in the darkest times, against all odds, there were people who showed courage and generosity and kindness to one another—even their enemies.

Do you tend to like books about war? Why or why not? Which character(s) do you think showed great courage?

Discussion #2: What would it be like to be blind?

Marie-Laure says, “To shut your eyes is to guess nothing of blindness.” I was taken by the author’s ability to describe sensory details so vividly. As my aunt told me after she read the book, Doerr “painted sound.” This palpability made the lovely scenes even more beautiful and the terrifying scenes even more tense (like when Marie-Laure was opening the can when a soldier lurked downstairs!). And while this book gives only a window into what it might be like to be blind, it was fascinating to read how sharp the other senses become when one of them is missing.

What do you think would be the most challenging part of not having sight? What did you think of Marie-Laure’s father’s patience as he taught her to memorize her city?

Discussion #3: What do you think the title means?

The title has so many layers—more with each chapter I read. When Werner and his sister, Jutta, hear the French broadcast on the radio, it concludes with these words: “Open your eyes and see what you can with them before they close forever.” Beyond the obvious connection to Marie-Laure’s blindness, this title seems to hint that there’s goodness in people you wouldn’t expect (case in point: Werner). There are some people who are physically blind but can see truth, and there are people with vision who miss the goodness and beauty around them.

Did you like the title? What prompted you to pick up the book?

Discussion #4: What did you think of the book’s structure?

The chapters are very short, and told from shifting perspectives. On top of that, the story jumps in time, unfolding outside of chronological order. The alternating points of view work well to give us empathy for both stories, but the rapid switching felt jarring to me at first. And I often found myself disoriented about the timing and flipping back through pages to check the date. I give credit to the author for his creative approach, and while this definitely serves to build the suspense, it took me out of the story at times.

What did you think of the way the author told the story?

Rating

How many stars would you give this book?

I liked that this book was a fresh take on World War II, and I appreciated the sensory details and nuanced characters. I also appreciated the underlying theme of thriving in adversity, as captured by Madame Manec’s question: “Don’t you want to be alive before you die?”

I would give it 4 out of 5 stars.

{Remember: I’ll give away a free book to one lucky commenter!}

What It Feels Like to Turn in a Manuscript, Part 2

sbumission1It’s a word with the power to send tremors down the spine of even the bravest of souls. Submission.

We like the idea of being in control, of determining our own destinies, of calling the shots ourselves. So the idea of intentionally laying down our rights and moving into the passenger seat can seem terror-inducing, whether the submittee (um, not a real word?) is an authority figure, a boss, a spouse, or God himself.

As I anticipated turning in my book to my publisher, it didn’t occur to me how appropriate it is that the relevant term is submitting. But late in the evening on the day my manuscript was due, as my mouse hovered over the “send” button and my sweet husband encouraged me to release my 60,000 words into cyberspace, I suddenly felt the submission monster breathing down my neck.

Once I let the manuscript go, it would mean it was no longer in my hands. I would be exposed and vulnerable—after all, real people would be reading my words! (I do realize this is the general point of writing a book.) On top of that, other people would now be making decisions about this manuscript—creating a cover, editing the content, positioning it, selling it.

But then a merciful thought snuck into my swirling mind: these aren’t just random people I’m entrusting my book to. They’re amazing, talented people who are passionate about what they do. And besides all that, they care about me and my book.

In short, I need them. And I trust them.

Suddenly the prospect of submitting to them was no longer so scary.

It occurs to me that submission is only terrifying when you’re submitting to someone you don’t trust. And that feels to me like a good picture of submission in all of life.

It’s not so scary to submit to a boss when you know that person is pulling for you, wanting the best for you. It’s not so scary to submit to a spouse when you know he loves you and respects you and is committed to being on your forever-team.

It’s not so scary to submit to God when you know he is trustworthy and faithful and good and right and true. Which he is—on all counts.

Is there something you know you need to hand over right now? If so, don’t wait a minute longer to submit. There is freedom in loosening your fingers and entrusting that thing to the God who can handle it—the God who loves you.

What we hunger for perhaps more than anything else is to be known in our full humanness, and yet that is often just what we also fear more than anything else.
Frederick Buechner

(Note: You can read part 1 of my musings about turning in a manuscript here.)