Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

The Divine Palindrome

I’ve always had a weak spot for palindromes. When I learned the word from Mrs. Strukel in fourth grade, I became a little obsessed. I’d sit at my desk daydreaming up all the palindromes I could think of (mom, dad, race car, taco cat), and I’d secretly get a little giddy whenever the digital clock hit a magical number like 12:21.

My love for these quirky words hasn’t abated much over the years. I was ridiculously excited about my 33rd birthday, because after all, palindromic birthdays come only once each decade. I made it a point to ride in my Civic and a Toyota that day, and although I didn’t add random people named Hannah or Bob to my guest list, I will admit the thought crossed my mind.

It never occurred to me until recently, however, that God was a fan of palindromes. Then I read this quote by Eugene Peterson:

The way we come to God is the same way that God comes to us. God comes to us in Jesus; we come to God in Jesus.
Eugene Peterson, The Jesus Way

Do you see the palindrome there? Us-Jesus-God. God-Jesus-us.

In the Old Testament, people longed to see God face to face. But Scripture was clear: a mortal could not look at a holy God and expect to live (Genesis 32:30). The esteemed prophet Moses saw God’s presence pass by, but even he wasn’t allowed to see God’s face (Exodus 33:20-22).

Yet in his radical grace, God didn’t leave us alone and wishing for connection with him. Instead, he sent us a divine palindrome: Jesus, who mediates between us and the Father. Jesus, who enables us to see the Father’s face and not die. Jesus, who takes on our sin so we can stand in the presence of perfection. Jesus, who intercedes on our behalf before a holy God.

We have access to a gift the ancients longed for but did not see.

I tell you the truth, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see, but they didn’t see it. And they longed to hear what you hear, but they didn’t hear it.
Matthew 13:17

So we dare not miss this rare gift—this divine palindrome that allows us to come into the presence of Love himself.

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What’s your favorite palindrome? Please share so I can add it to my collection!

Announcing the November Book Club: Big Magic

big magicThanks to everyone who read and/or discussed our last book club about Circling the Sun by Paula McLain. Congratulations to Cindy, the lucky commenter who won a free book! (Cindy, I’ll send you a private message about getting the book to you.)

And now . . . announcing the next virtual book club title: Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert! Here’s the publisher’s description:

Readers of all ages and walks of life have drawn inspiration and empowerment from Elizabeth Gilbert’s books for years. Now this beloved author digs deep into her own generative process to share her wisdom and unique perspective about creativity. With profound empathy and radiant generosity, she offers potent insights into the mysterious nature of inspiration. She asks us to embrace our curiosity and let go of needless suffering. She shows us how to tackle what we most love, and how to face down what we most fear. She discusses the attitudes, approaches, and habits we need in order to live our most creative lives. Balancing between soulful spirituality and cheerful pragmatism, Gilbert encourages us to uncover the “strange jewels” that are hidden within each of us. Whether we are looking to write a book, make art, find new ways to address challenges in our work, embark on a dream long deferred, or simply infuse our everyday lives with more mindfulness and passion, Big Magic cracks open a world of wonder and joy.

We will be discussing the book in November—I hope you can join us! Remember: there will be a free book giveaway for one lucky commenter!

Book Club Discussion: Circling the Sun

Circling the SunFor this edition of our virtual book club, we’re discussing Circling the Sun by Paula McLain. It’s easy to participate: just add your thoughts about the discussion questions (or anything else you’d like to talk about) in the comment section below.

This book started out with so much promise: it’s beautifully written, and the scenes of the Kenyan landscape come to life off the pages. I also found myself intrigued by a time and place I didn’t know much about: 1920s colonial Kenya. Unfortunately, there was one significant deal breaker for me: I just didn’t like the main character. It was painful to watch Beryl make choice after choice that imploded her life, and after a while, even though I felt sorry for her, I just couldn’t bring myself to keep cheering for her. I slogged my way through the second half of the book.

Discussion #1: Beryl as a flawed character

What intrigued me most when I picked up this book was the angle of Beryl’s cross-cultural experiences, as well as her accomplishments as a woman in the ’20s. She made history as a racehorse trainer and a pilot—two professions that were pretty countercultural for a woman of her time. But so much of the book focused on her affairs and poor relational choices that those events overshadowed the rest of her story.

“We’re all of us afraid of many things, but if you make yourself smaller or let your fear confine you, then you really aren’t your own person at all—are you? The real question is whether or not you will risk what it takes to be happy.”

The irony is that Beryl risks everything to find happiness but ends up profoundly unhappy. I’m not sure she ever comes to realize she’s been chasing the wrong things all along.

What did you think of Beryl? Did you find her likable? Sympathetic? Do you know anyone like her?

Discussion #2: Beryl’s mother issues

I did find one reason to feel sympathetic toward Beryl: she was abandoned by her mother as a child, and that must leave an indelible scar on a person. The tragedy, of course, is that the crippling event of her life (losing her mother) is almost precisely what she ends up doing to her own child.

Even so, Beryl seems to think that her upbringing wasn’t a disadvantage but rather made her tough:

“I’ve sometimes thought that being loved a little less than others can actually make a person, rather than ruin them.”

Do you think being “loved a little less” is a benefit or a disadvantage? Do you think it’s possible to break the cycle of a lack of love?

Discussion #3: Interesting genre

I give the author credit for tackling a unique style of literature: she essentially fictionalized Beryl Markham’s memoir, which was originally published in 1942. Markham’s book, West with the Night, didn’t make much of a splash when it first came out, but in the 1980s, someone discovered a letter from Ernest Hemingway with this praise for her work: “It really is a bloody wonderful book.” The book was republished in 1983 and became a bestseller, and now Paula McLain has expanded and fictionalized the work. I didn’t realize until after I’d read it that Baroness Karen von Blixen is actually Isak Dinesen, who wrote Out of Africa.

Perhaps McLain stayed true to Markham’s personality and life experiences, but I found myself wishing that she’d created a protagonist who was more likable—or at least more sympathetic. Ultimately, Beryl was a tragic figure, but I’m not sure I would have chosen her as a subject for a novel.

“We had both tried for the sun, and had fallen, lurching to earth again, tasting melted wax and sorrow.”

In what ways do you think Beryl’s life might have turned out differently if she’d lived in a different time or place? Do you think you would have been friends with her?

Rating:

I would give this book two stars (out of five). Despite the quality writing, I just couldn’t invest in the main character enough to want to follow her journey page after page.

How many stars would you give this book?

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Remember: I’ll give away a free book to one lucky commenter! Just write a comment below to be eligible to win.

How Long Is Five Years?

wedding walkingDaniel,

We have been married five years now, and all week I have been thinking about the strangeness of time. In some ways, it’s hard to believe it’s been five years already. And in other ways, it seems like we’ve been a team much longer.

As I’ve been pondering how long five years is, this is the best I’ve come up with: Five years isn’t very long. And five years is long enough.

Five years isn’t very long.

It’s not long enough to get old together, not long enough to be the adorable gray-haired couple at the restaurant next to us. They haven’t uttered a word to each other since they sat down, but I get the feeling they’ve had more conversation with their eyes than I’ve managed with all my many words in the past hour.

Five years isn’t long enough to have more years behind us than we have ahead of us, Lord willing. It’s not long enough to know what legacy we’ll leave behind. We saw your grandpa last week, surrounded by his thirteen children, many of whom are gray-bearded grandfathers themselves now. “Grandma Sheila would have loved this,” he said, shaking his head in wonder at the hundred-plus progeny surrounding him, all because he married his high school sweetheart seventy years ago.

Five years isn’t very long.

And yet five years is long enough.

It’s long enough for you to load my toothbrush 2,000 times, long enough to put 60,000 miles on our car, long enough to fall asleep partway through 200 Friday-night movies with you. It’s long enough to attend seven weddings and two funerals and a dozen family vacations together.

Five years is long enough to make ice cream together and walk to the library together and ride our bikes together (you at half your normal speed). It’s long enough to laugh until we almost lose bladder control over things that would make no sense to the general population, and long enough to cry a jar full of tears . . . some in spite of each other and some because of each other.

Five years is long enough to navigate who is going to make dinner and pay the bills and empty the dishwasher, even if it’s not the way our parents did it or the way we figured it out so neatly out on our premarital class worksheets. And it’s long enough to renegotiate when things fall apart because one of us is writing a book or adjusting to a new job.

Five years is long enough to say goodbye to the first place we lived together. It’s long enough to buy a house, and long enough to bail water out of the basement of said house while wondering what, exactly, we’d gotten ourselves into. It’s long enough to dig out a tiny garden, and long enough to eat the first tomato we planted with our own hands.

Five years is long enough to win and fail, to hope and despair, to wait and wonder, to break and heal. It’s long enough to sing and forget the words and remember them again.

Five years is long enough to know that although I loved you with my whole heart the day I said “I do,” I somehow love you more now than I did then. Something mysterious has happened along the way: I still love you with my whole heart, but it turns out loving you has broadened the borders of my heart.

Do not hesitate to love and to love deeply. . . . The more you have loved and have allowed yourself to suffer because of your love, the more you will be able to let your heart grow wider and deeper. 
Henri Nouwen

Five years isn’t very long. But it’s long enough to know that five years isn’t long enough.

Happy fifth, my love. Here’s to many more years of the Daniel and Stephanie Team.

A Tale of Two Lipsticks

lipstickI was minding my own business in the cosmetics aisle at Target the other day when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Excuse me, but can you tell me which one of these looks red?”

I turned around to see a woman in her 50s, her face the very definition of angst. She was holding two lipstick tubes directly in front of me.

Now I admit I was feeling pretty confident I could ace this one, having mastered my ROYGBIV a long time ago, but when I looked at the lipstick, I found myself utterly befuddled. PEOPLE, they were almost the identical shade of fire-engine red.

“Um,” I faltered, wondering if this was a trick question. “They’re both lovely.”

The woman’s face instantly fell, and I realized there would be no elegant sidestepping of this question.

“Okay, what are you looking for?” I asked.

“I want it to be RED,” she said. “Not even a little bit orange or pink. RED.”

I looked at the two tubes again, desperately trying to decipher any nuances between the two. And then it hit me: this woman wasn’t looking to me for my color expertise or my fashion savvy. It was well into the afternoon, and any attention I’d paid to my lips before I left for work was long gone by now. I’d eaten something that required much napkin-swabbing for lunch, and I’d made a mad dash through a rainstorm on my way into the store, so I clearly didn’t have the cosmetic qualifications to answer this question.

What this woman needed was someone to feel confident on her behalf when she did not. (Which, come to think of it, was surprising for someone with such a bold shade of lipstick.)

I took a breath and dug in. I looked at the current shade she was wearing, and then I looked at the two tubes again. “This one,” I said with more certitude than I felt. “Definitely this one. It looks like the color you’re wearing now.”

She breathed an audible sigh of relief and headed directly to the check-out. I shook my head as she left, wishing I could be so confident when it came to my own decisions.

The thing is, sometimes we lose perspective when it comes to our own lives. We can’t tell if red is red. We need someone else to speak the truth boldly on our behalf.

Sometimes we shy away when someone asks for our input, not wanting to butt in to someone else’s business. But what if one word from you is exactly what that person needs to be able to move forward, to do the big thing they need to do? What if one word from you could inject in them the extra inch of courage they need?

Maybe they need to hear words like this from you:

Yes, try for the new job.
Yes, write the book.
Yes, go on the trip.
Yes, ask her out.
Yes, go back to school.
Yes, turn in your adoption application.
Yes, follow your dream.
And yes, get the red lipstick.

As I drove home, I wondered about the woman’s story. What had she needed RED lipstick for? Was she feeling any braver? Was she applying it in her rearview mirror this very moment?

I’m reminded of the words of that wise philosopher Christopher Robin, spoken to his friend Pooh:

“You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart . . . I’ll always be with you.”

Isn’t that one of the reasons we’re here? To be bold on behalf of our friends when they are feeling timid. To speak truth to them when they can’t see it. To be there for them when they can’t tell red from red.

Whatever hard decision you’re facing right now, allow me to be your Christopher Robin: You, my friend, are braver than you believe. You’ve got this.

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Has someone ever spoken bold words to you when you were facing a tough decision? I’d love to hear your story!

Friday Favorites for July

friday_favorites_header1

Happy Friday, everyone! Here are a few of my recent favorites, from boss lady friends to Sharpie art to the power of love. Enjoy!

For anyone aspiring to write a book (even if it’s just in your head) . . .

If you wrote a book about your life, who should record the audio version? Take this quiz to find out. Who Should Voice Your Bio’s Audiobook

For anyone who is facing a big decision . . .

Emily Freeman tells you how to find (and become) a good sounding board: “If you’ve ever felt stuck with a big decision you have to make, it helps to have people in your life to help you process that stuff. You need a boss lady friend.” How to Find a Boss Lady Friend

For anyone who loves to doodle . . .

This video shows you how to make perfect serif fonts with a simple Sharpie. 1 Sharpie, 26 Letters

For anyone who wonders if love can last when things are hard . . .

Alia Joy writes beautifully about the hospitality of love: “We’ve made a life here, and love doesn’t get easier but it gets closer.” Loving Like It’s New

For anyone who wonders where God is in the midst of suffering and waiting . . .

This post by Tessa Afshar is a lovely reflection on the heartache and beauty of waiting: “The suffering of the human soul is grave and brutal enough to break even the hardest stone.” How Words Have the Power to Transform Our Histories

 

God’s Elbow

addie elbow3

When my niece Addie was almost two, my family headed to Washington State to visit my grandparents. The 2,000-mile trip made for a long day . . . even for those of us who weren’t toddlers. By the time we drove to the airport, changed planes, rented a car, and headed over the mountains to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, we’d spent an entire day using transportation of some kind. Add that to the two-hour time difference, and we had a pretty tired two-year-old on our hands.

Gratefully, Addie was a champion traveler and charmed the entire plane. But when we got to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, she toddled over to me, her eyes plaintive. “Eppie ebbow!” she said.

I looked at her, confused. The “Eppie” part was easy—that’s my auntie alias. But “ebbow”? What was she trying to tell me?

“Can you show me?” I asked.

She dutifully pointed to my elbow, but I was still at a loss for what that signified.

Finally I called in my sister, Addie’s mom, for some clues. “What does it mean if Addie is asking for my elbow?”

Meghan laughed. “Oh, she’s asking you to hold her in a rocking position—with her head in your elbow.”

Of course! I was only too happy to oblige.

***

Just a few months later, Addie’s world turned upside down when her parents brought home a baby brother. She had been practicing her big-sister skills with her doll (whom she called “Pink Baby”), but we weren’t sure how she’d adjust to not being the baby of the family anymore.

Most of all, how would she respond when someone else took the prime spot in her mama’s elbow?

When Meghan and Ted returned from the hospital with their precious bundle wrapped in a blue quilt, I held my breath, wondering how the introduction with the newly minted big sister would go. Would she be jealous? Would she feel bumped out of prime elbow territory?

I needn’t have worried. The first thing she said after inspecting little Grant was “Addie ebbow.” Then she sat down on the couch, ready to put her little brother in the crook of her own arm.

Here I was afraid she’d want Mama’s elbow for herself, and she was offering her elbow to her baby brother.

At two years old, Addie was living out this verse in 2 Corinthians:

God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.
2 Corinthians 1:3-4

God comforts us—he lets us rest in the cook of his arm, if you will. And in turn, he invites us to share that comfort with other hurting people.

When we know there’s no scarcity of love, we don’t have to hoard the comfort we’ve been given; we don’t have to be jealous for it. Instead, we can receive it with gratitude . . . and then extend it to someone else.

Have known the comfort of your Father’s elbow? If so, don’t keep that love to yourself. Find someone else who needs an elbow too, and share his comfort with them. And if you haven’t felt that comfort, know that his arm is ready, waiting just for you.

***

What’s your story? Has someone passed on God’s comfort to you? Or have you passed it on to someone else?

Bling Dating

I recently received a message from someone who read my book. They said lots of nice things about it, but the main thing that stuck out to me was the delicious typo:

“I loved your book about bling dating!”

My mind immediately wandered to what “bling dating” would look like. Would you get loud, flashy jewelry from your date each time you went out? Or would it mean you would wear as much bling as possible on your dates?

This was definitely not my story, as I’m pretty sure the only accessory I was wearing when I met Daniel was a bicycle helmet. But I do love a good malapropism.

These thoughts about bling and jewelry and accessorizing got to me to thinking about the precious women I met in Thailand who make lovely handmade jewelry. Thanks to the grace of God and the help of a nonprofit organization in Bangkok, these women have come out of the sex industry and are learning trades such as jewelry making so they can begin a new life.

My dream for those who read my book is the same dream I have for the women I met in Thailand: that they will know they are loved and of infinite worth and value in their Father’s eyes.

Is there someone in your life who just might need to hear the message of this book—someone who is waiting for something, someone who is in need of hope, someone who needs to know that they are loved and enough just as they are?

I’d love to send three people jewelry handmade by women in Thailand. Let me know in the comments or through a private message that you bought my book for someone, and you’ll be eligible to win one of these beautiful pieces of bling!

well 3

Well 1well 2

 

Newsflash from my publisher: My memoir is currently on sale at Tyndale’s website for 30 percent off! Order before Sunday to get the discount!

When the Judge Is Your Dad

dad and meFor some people, Father’s Day means cookouts and ties and cards with cheesy dad jokes. But for other people, Father’s Day is a paper cut to the heart . . . a reminder of someone who was absent or distant or harsh or unavailable.

In Scripture, one of the most prominent metaphors for God is as a Father. But if your father wasn’t someone who loved you and delighted in you and cherished you and sacrificed for you, how can you believe in a heavenly Father who shows that kind of love to his children?

I’m grateful for a dad and a mom who have faithfully reflected God’s love to me since they laid eyes on my scrunched-up, purplish face in Edward Hospital all those years ago. But recently I experienced a new angle of a father’s love . . . one that I hope will give you a glimpse of the Father-love of God, whether you had a good dad or not.

Judge Dad

My dad became a judge recently, and when the whole family was in town, he took us to the courthouse on a Saturday morning so we could see where he worked. As I sat at the elevated judge’s bench overlooking the witness stand and jury box, I felt the weight of this position—the honor of it, but also the responsibility. In this role, Dad carries the task of faithfully upholding the law, of determining the fates and futures of those who walk through the doors. The judge’s robe, it turns out, is a heavy one.

Once we’d visited the courthouse, Dad invited us to see his chambers. After going through various layers of airport-level security, we headed to the bowels of the courthouse, into his judge’s chambers. As I entered the room, I was struck by the stately mahogany desk and the shelves lined with regal-looking law books. My mind scrambled to reconcile the dad who plays backyard basketball and tells fourth-grade-boy jokes with the dad who is now referred to as “Your Honor.”

As we were about to leave his chambers to head home, a familiar combination of white and pink on Dad’s credenza caught my eye. It looks like . . . no, it can’t be. But sure enough, it was the familiar cover of my memoir. Amid all the leather-bound legal books and important case files was a copy of his daughter’s book—about blind dating, of all things. It was there on the edge of his table along with printouts of a few of my blog posts, available for perusal by anyone who entered his chambers.

As the rest of my family filed out, I stood with my feet nailed to the ground, gripped by the love of a judge with the heart of a dad.

And in that moment, awash with my father’s love, I had a vision of another Judge, another Dad.

Behind the Curtain

In the Old Testament, the Holy of Holies was the sacred place in the Temple where God dwelled. It was a place so holy that only the high priest was allowed to enter—and if he entered at the wrong time or in the wrong way, he would be struck dead.

Most of us can grasp the idea of a holy God—a powerful judge who inspires awe. And he is certainly that. But that moment in my dad’s chambers, I got a glimpse of a God who not only is holy and powerful but also has photos of his children plastered all over the walls.

Go ahead—peek behind the curtain of the Holy of Holies and look around. See on the wall there? It’s a framed picture of you, hanging there for everyone to see. And over on the refrigerator . . . there’s the picture you drew for him—the one you crumbled up and threw away but he salvaged from the trash. And the gift you gave him—the one you thought was so meager and unworthy? It’s sitting prominently on his shelf so whenever his friends come in, he can tell them all about it.

As a beloved child, you have access to the Judge. And this isn’t just a distant, holy God; he’s a Father who loves you and delights in you and is proud of you. He’s a Father who invites you into the sacred space of the Holy of Holies, into his very presence—a place you would never have the right to go without that privileged relationship.

This Father’s Day, regardless of what your earthly father is like, I want you to know that you have a Father who loves you unconditionally, sacrificially, with abandon. Even as you tremble to approach the bench, remember that the judge is also your Father. And that your picture is hanging on his wall.

Announcing the Book Club Selection for August

Circling the Sun

Thanks to everyone who participated in our book discussion about clutter, tidying up, and socks with feelings. Congratulations to Tiffanie, the winner of the free book! (Tiffanie, I’ll send you a private message about getting the book to you.)

And now, announcing the next virtual book club selection: Circling the Sun by Paula McLain! Here’s the publisher’s description of the book:

Brought to Kenya from England as a child and then abandoned by her mother, Beryl is raised by both her father and the native Kipsigis tribe who share his estate. Her unconventional upbringing transforms Beryl into a bold young woman with a fierce love of all things wild and an inherent understanding of nature’s delicate balance. But even the wild child must grow up, and when everything Beryl knows and trusts dissolves, she is catapulted into a string of disastrous relationships.

Beryl forges her own path as a horse trainer, and her uncommon style attracts the eye of the Happy Valley set, a decadent, bohemian community of European expats who also live and love by their own set of rules. But it’s the ruggedly charismatic Denys Finch Hatton who ultimately helps Beryl navigate the uncharted territory of her own heart. The intensity of their love reveals Beryl’s truest self and her fate: to fly.

We’ll be discussing Circling the Sun in August.

And remember, I’ll give away a free book to one lucky commenter. Hope you’ll join us!