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Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

May 26, 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.

14 Comments Filed Under: Seasons Tagged With: God's love, languages, Pentecost, refugees
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May 22, 2015

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!

 

Leave a Comment Filed Under: Book Club Tagged With: Book Club, book discussion, Donald Miller, free book, giveaway, Scary Close
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May 15, 2015

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.

***

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!}

19 Comments Filed Under: Book Club, book review Tagged With: All the Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doerr, Book Club, book discussion, free book, giveaway, Literature
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May 5, 2015

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.)

9 Comments Filed Under: Writing Tagged With: Frederick Buechner, manuscript, publishing, submission, Writing
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April 29, 2015

What It Feels Like to Turn in a Manuscript, Part 1

writingThe summer I was twelve, I decided it was time to learn to dive off the high dive. I’d been jumping off the high dive for some time, but I’d never had the guts to hurl myself face-first from such a height.

I’m not sure what inspired me that particular summer, because truth be told, I’m four parts scaredy-cat and only a small part daredevil. But I’d made up my mind. And in any case, I’d told my little brother my plan, so there was no backing out now.

One hot August day, at the church picnic, I decided it was now or never. So right after polishing off a plate heaped with fried chicken and Jell-O salad (oh twelve-year-old stomach of steel, I miss you!), I found myself making the wobbly trek up the ladder.

As I stood with my toes curled around the edge of the diving board, looking down at the pool below, I had three nearly simultaneous thoughts:

  1. How come the board is so much higher from up here?
  2. I want to do this big, scary thing.
  3. I don’t want to regret not doing this big, scary thing.

And then I dove in before I could change my mind.

It was, in equal parts, thrilling and terrifying. (I’m sure it was pretty ugly too, but thankfully these were the days before Facebook and Instagram, so no one has any proof.) To my happy surprise, none of my body parts broke or detached on impact. When I got to the surface, I was still my old self.

Only I wasn’t. I wasn’t really any stronger or better or older than I’d been before I jumped. But I’d learned something about myself. I could do scary things. I could jump and not break. And that was worth more than the dive itself.

***

I just turned in my manuscript for a book (a real book! which will allegedly have pages and a cover and everything!), and it felt for all the world like a dive off the high dive. It is thrilling and terrifying in equal measure, and I’m so excited to be able to share this news with you.

I’m so thankful for the people who have cheered me on as I’ve made my trembly way to the edge of the diving board—my husband, my family, my friends (both flesh-and-blood and online), and the good people at Tyndale. Thank you for reading my words and encouraging me and asking me hard questions and praying for me—and thanks for letting me do the same for you.

I know I’m not the only one with knocking knees right now, and I wonder: What big, scary diving-board adventure is awaiting you? Are you trying to get the courage to take that first step up the ladder? Or are you right at the edge of the diving board, trying to muster up the courage to jump in?

I want to encourage you today: Whatever you’ve been called to do, dive in. Don’t let your fear stop you. Yes, there will be times when your stomach is queasy and you’re wishing you’d passed on the second helping of fried chicken. But there is no thrill quite like plunging into the God-sized adventure you’ve been made for. You were made for this. Dive in!

Courage is fear that has said its prayers.
Jill Briscoe

***

In case you want details, here you go! The book is called I Was Blind (Dating) But Now I See: My Misadventures in Dating, Waiting, and Stumbling into Love. It’s due out February 2016. It’s going to be quite a Valentine’s Day!

16 Comments Filed Under: Writing Tagged With: books, courage, first step, publishing, Tyndale House Publishers, Writing
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April 22, 2015

Grace in Under 20 Words

Mark Twain once said, “I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.”

I can relate—it’s so much harder for me to get a point across concisely than to say it in a verbose way, using lots of decorative, superfluous adjectives (not to mention extraneous parenthetical comments that should just as well be chopped out). (Ahh! See what I just did there?)

When I was a kid, I would tell stories at the dinner table, and inevitably my dad would stop me partway through. “Hold on,” he’d say. “Can you tell me the short version?”

I’d just stare at him blankly. There is no short version! It’s either the whole story, complete with narrative arc, character development, and sensory descriptions, or there’s no story at all.

So when my writing group recently did an exercise in which the goal was to write as succinctly as possible, I found myself all but paralyzed. How can you communicate an entire message in such a short space?

I decided to dust off my old English notes and try writing a haiku. Maybe the strictly enforced parameters would help me trim my word count. Three lines, and only three lines. No wiggle room on the syllables either: five, seven, five. Every word would have to count.

Here’s what I came up with—my story of grace, in under twenty words:

Chasing down my dream
God slams the door in my face
The doorjamb of grace

***

My challenge for you today: Can you tell a story of God working in your life in twenty words or less? Or if you’re feeling ambitious, try your hand at your own haiku. I’d be honored to read it—please share it in the comments!

 

9 Comments Filed Under: Grace Tagged With: dreams, Grace, haiku, Mark Twain, poetry, Writing
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April 8, 2015

Everything Sad Is Coming Untrue

Easter is over, but the story is really just beginning. And it’s the best story, with the best possible ending.white flowers

Jesus’ resurrection is God’s promise to the world that the impossible has suddenly been made possible.

The Resurrection isn’t just the promise that something good will happen someday—it’s the promise that every bad thing will be turned upside down, into something good. The Curse will be reversed. Broken things will be restored. Love will win.

The Resurrection is the eucatastrophe of the story of the Incarnation—this story begins and ends in joy.
—J. R. R. Tolkien

Eucatastrophe: It’s not just the opposite of catastrophe. It’s God rewriting the story, weaving in his threads of grace. It’s the heartbeat of redemption, pulsing throughout the land.

Sorrow will turn into joy.
Wounds will be healed.
Dead things will come to life.
Ugly things will be made beautiful.
Heartbreak will become hope.

In The Return of the King, after the ring is destroyed, Sam awakens and is surprised to see that Gandalf is still alive. This is what he says:

Is everything sad going to come untrue? What’s happened to the world?

I have to imagine that’s what the Marys thought when they went to the tomb and found it empty. Everything sad is coming untrue. And I’d guess it’s what the disciples thought when they saw Jesus alive again, sitting down to eat with them. Everything sad is coming untrue.

Death is coming untrue, pain is coming untrue, sadness is coming untrue. All because he lives.

The one sitting on the throne said, “Look, I am making everything new!”
—Revelation 21:5

6 Comments Filed Under: Seasons Tagged With: Easter, eucatastrophe, Jesus, redemption, resurrection, Tolkien
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April 2, 2015

Your Very Worst Day

gardenWe don’t like to go there, even in the realm of the hypothetical. But would you sit with me for a while in this brave, sacred space?

What’s your very worst day?

Maybe it’s already happened . . . a day permanently earmarked on the calendar of your heart. Every day of your life is now divided into before and after.

Or maybe it’s a day looming in the future . . . the day when the thing you dread most becomes reality.

On a week like this one, two thousand years ago, Jesus faced the worst possible 24 hours a human being could ever face.

He was stabbed in the back by someone close to him.
One of his best friends saved his own skin instead of sticking up for him.
Then, in his darkest hour, the rest of his friends deserted him.
His body was ravaged, and he was left to die.
He was rejected, despised, forsaken, betrayed. And utterly alone.

On that Holy Thursday, as he ate supper with his followers, he knew all of this lay ahead of him. He could see ahead to the horror of his very worst day. Yet as he headed to the Garden with his friends, he sang a hymn with them (Mark 14:26). It’s such a small line in the narrative, it’s easy to miss.

In the midst of all that had happened and all that was to come, he sang.

According to Jewish tradition, the Hallel was chanted during Passover, a collection of songs taken from Psalms 113-118. This means it’s likely that some of the last words on Jesus’ lips before he was arrested included these lines:

This is the Lord’s doing,
and it is wonderful to see.
This is the day the Lord has made.
We will rejoice and be glad in it.
—Psalm 118:23-24

As we sit with Jesus the Garden, it’s hard to escape the dichotomy. How could he find a way to praise amid the pain? How could he see the wonder in the anguish? How could he rejoice amid the drops of blood? How could he cling to the belief that on his very worst day, the Lord was doing something wonderful—something not just to endure but to be glad in?

And I wonder: Could I have sung that hymn on my very worst day? Or would I have choked on the words?

But Jesus sang, and that changes everything. Jesus’ worst day became the best day of all. And now we call it, without irony, Good Friday.

May the same be true for us. On our worst day, may we be found in the Garden singing, “This is the day the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.”

 

5 Comments Filed Under: Seasons Tagged With: bad day, Easter, Good Friday, Hallel, holy week, suffering
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March 31, 2015

Broken Things

messy ball“What’s the one thing you can give God that he didn’t give you first?”

The words reverberated in my heart, almost more riddle than question.

What did I have to give that wasn’t an overflow of his generosity and grace? All the good things in my life—daily bread, work for my hands, people to love, even my next breath—are gifts from him.

How could I possibly have something of my own to give back?

And then came the answer: my brokenness.

Such a wonder—that the King of universe, who deserves only the finest and the loveliest and the best, would accept something as messy and humiliating as my own brokenness. The God who could not be contained within the walls of the most splendid temple—that same God stoops to receive my cracked and wounded gift. And not just accept it, but yearn for it, delight in it.

The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God.
—Psalm 51:17

Scripture confounds me with its accounts of God’s tenderness toward broken things. When Jesus came into this world, he had every right to expect the best accommodations, the best company, the best service. Yet royalty though he was, he came humbly, seeking out every broken and beloved soul he could find.

In fact, he didn’t have much time for the people who had it all together; he looked for those with broken hearts, broken lives, broken reputations. He showered his love on people from broken families, people with broken bodies, people who have broken their promises.

God loves broken things.

And in perhaps the most beautiful display of his love for the broken, he offered his own body to be broken, so that we might be whole again (Luke 22:19).

If you are feeling broken today, take heart. Jesus himself knows what it is be broken, to live broken, to embrace brokenness. But he also knows how to put broken things back together again.

Holy Week is the place where all who are broken become whole.

Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory.
—1 Corinthians 15:43

Leave a Comment Filed Under: Grace Tagged With: brokenness, Easter, God's love, holy week
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March 27, 2015

Friday Favorites for March

friday_favorites_header1

Happy Friday! Here are a few of my favorites things lately. Hope you enjoy!

For anyone who celebrated National Grammar Day . . .

It was National Grammar Day earlier this month, and I found these grammar-themed haiku hilarious: 24 Haiku in Honor of National Grammar Day

For anyone who loves a theme party . . .

These literary-themed parties will hold you over amid the doldrums of March: 8 Literary Party Themes 

For anyone who needs to be reminded of the power of what we say (and don’t say) . . .

When’s the last time you told someone you were proud of them? Good words about encouragement from Shauna Niequist: Use Your Words

For anyone who needs a laugh today . . .  

In general, I’m not pro-vandalism. But these vandalized signs make wonder if I should reconsider: 33 Vandalized Signs

For anyone who is waiting for something . . .

Some wise words on waiting well from Nicole Eunice: “Is the difference between good and best usually only found in waiting?” Waiting Doesn’t Care How You Treat It

1 Comment Filed Under: Friday Favorites Tagged With: Encouragement, grammar, Literature, Nicole Eunice, Shauna Niequist, theme parties, waiting, word lovers
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