Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

10 True Things for Those Who Wait

waiting

My niece, waiting for her daddy to come home

As I look around lately, I see so many people I love waiting for something close to their heart. Waiting for a house to sell, waiting for medical results to come back, waiting for a dark cloud to lift, waiting for a long-desired prayer to be answered.

And as Mother’s Day approaches, it seems to me that the holiday can trigger the ache of waiting in particularly poignant ways, especially for those who are waiting for a child to join their family, or for those who are waiting for a child to return home, or for those who long to see their moms again in heaven.

If you find yourself in a waiting season right now, here are 10 true things you should know.

1. Waiting is an act of courage. If you are waiting, believe me: you are brave!

Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.
—Psalm 27:14

2. Waiting can make a person weary. But you are stronger than you know.

Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.
—Isaiah 40:31

3. God is not oblivious to your waiting.

As for me, I look to the Lord for help. I wait confidently for God to save me, and my God will certainly hear me.
—Micah 7:7

4. When you feel like you can’t wait any longer, there is hope.

I am worn out waiting for your rescue, but I have put my hope in your word.
—Psalm 119:81

5. There are special blessings for those who wait.

The Lord is a faithful God. Blessed are those who wait for his help.
—Isaiah 30:18

6. Your waiting doesn’t mean God has forgotten you.

The Lord is good to those who depend on him, to those who search for him. So it is good to wait quietly for salvation from the Lord.
—Lamentations 3:25-26

7. Even in your waiting, you’re not alone.

Lord, be merciful to us, for we have waited for you. Be our strong arm each day and our salvation in times of trouble.
—Isaiah 33:2

8. Talk to God about your waiting. He delights in listening.

Listen to my voice in the morning, Lord. Each morning I bring my requests to you and wait expectantly.
—Psalm 5:3

9. It is possible to wait well.

I will climb up to my watchtower and stand at my guardpost. There I will wait to see what the Lord says and how he will answer my complaint.
—Habakkuk 2:1

10. Your waiting is making you beautiful.

If we look forward to something we don’t yet have, we must wait patiently and confidently.
—Romans 8:25

***

What are you waiting for right now? I’d be honored to pray for you as you wait. To find out more about my story of waiting, you can read my book, I Was Blind (Dating), but Now I See.

I am giving away a flower delivery with this post! If you share this post, you’ll be eligible to win a flower arrangement . . . delivered to you or someone you love!

 

The Blooms You Didn’t Plant

daffsOne dreary Sunday afternoon last month, when I found myself in an unaccountable funk, Daniel motioned for me to join him at the kitchen window. “I want to show you something,” he said. “You seem grumpy, and I think this will help.”

Grudgingly, I shuffled over to the window, not convinced that anything in the bleak backyard would shake me from my Eeyore-like state. My eyes followed where his finger was pointing, but I didn’t see anything un-grumpifying.

Then I looked harder. Was that a shoot of green amid the brown leaves and post-winter detritus?

I gasped. Could it be . . . ?

Daniel just grinned. Sometimes he knows me better than I know myself.

“Daffodils!” I squealed, loud enough for the entire zip code to hear.

Daniel and I moved into our new home last summer, which means this is our first spring here. I haven’t planted a thing, and the other surprises we’ve come across in the house so far haven’t exactly been pleasant ones, so it didn’t occur to me that there might be some mystery perennials in the garden out back.

But when I saw those brave little shoots sticking their heads out of the cold Midwest soil . . . well, it felt like hope you can see with your own two eyes.

***

Long before I met Daniel, when I lived alone in my townhouse, I planted daffodils one November with no shovel, only a dull kitchen knife for assistance. The ground was stubborn, but I was even more so.

I was in a funk that day too. I had prayed about one thing for so long, and I could see no sprouts of hope, no signs that spring would come. I wanted—needed—a tangible symbol of hope.

So I went outside and forced those dead-looking bulbs six inches under the ground.

And then I waited.

Sure enough, spring did come. And that thing I’d been praying for came true too, although in a different way and on a different timeline than I ever could have predicted.

And perhaps most shocking of all was the transformation that happened along the way. Over the course of the long winter, the bulbs transformed from shriveled-up turnipy-looking things into bursts of sunshine outside my window. And somewhere along the way, new life bloomed in my heart, too.

***

Now it’s April, and I marvel at the scene outside my kitchen window—at those clusters of golden, those blooms I didn’t plant myself. And it occurs to me that so often in my life I have benefitted from the perennials other people have planted. They dug deep and packed hope firmly into the soil, and now I bask in the fruits of their labor . . . sometimes long after they’re gone.

There are the parents who planted laughter and love and joy and perseverance.

There are the grandparents who planted faith and loyalty and hard work.

There are the teachers who planted books and words.There are the mentors who planted hospitality and grace.

And I wonder, what are we planting today for the people who come behind us?

They may never fully appreciate the sacrifice.

They may never say thank you.

You may never even meet them face to face.

But somewhere, on some April morning, the bulbs you planted will spring up, like shoots of hope, and those who come behind you will rejoice over the blooms they didn’t plant.

No winter lasts forever.  No spring skips its turn.  April is a promise that May is bound to keep.  And we know it.
—Hal Borland

 

Friday Favorites for April

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For anyone who wonders what to do with those old books . . .

I have a hard time getting rid of old books, but maybe if I could make art like this, it would be easier: Paper Art Teacups

For anyone who is going to be in a wedding this year . . .

We all know how expensive it is to host a wedding, but what about being in one? This graphic breaks down how much it costs to be a bridesmaid in each region of the country: How Much Does It Cost to Be a Bridesmaid?

For anyone who feels stuck in the ordinary . . .

Sarah Bessey writes about the spiritual epiphany she experienced while cleaning Rice Krispies from her kitchen floor. If you’ve ever felt mired in ordinary tasks that don’t feel very epic or eternally significant, this post is for you: Rice Krispies

For any writers in need of inspiration . . .

C. S. Lewis had some surprisingly relevant insights about the writing process, including tips about typewriters, what topics to write about, and Christianese. 15 Pieces of Writing Advice from C. S. Lewis

For anyone who is grieving . . .

September Vaudrey wrote an achingly beautiful book about losing her 19-year-old daughter Katie to a brain aneurysm. This is the most honest, articulate depiction of grief I’ve ever read, but it’s also laced with hope and joy. “And this is surrender: inviting laughter and sorrow to dance together in our lives, day by day and hand in hand.” If you’ve experienced loss of any kind, I highly recommend this book. Colors of Goodbye

 

What It’s Like to Be Married to an Author

book signing 1On the day I brought home a real-live copy of my book to show Daniel, I exclaimed, “Look! We wrote a book!”

He was quick to point out my pronoun usage: “No, YOU wrote a book.”

But I hadn’t misspoken. This has been a Daniel-and-Stephanie Team project from the beginning.

***

I will never forget one woman’s response after Daniel and I got engaged. While everyone else in the room was squealing and asking things like “When is the wedding?” “What will your colors be?” “How did he propose?” she posed a different question altogether: “Do you make each other better people?”

I remember staring at her rather blankly. I stammered something I hoped was vaguely positive, but the truth was, I didn’t really know. I knew that Daniel was a good man and that I wanted to be on his team forever, but did he make me a better person? Did I make him a better person? I hoped so.

Four years and a book contract later, and I now know: He absolutely makes me a better person.

***

Not long after Daniel and I got married, I got this harebrained notion that God was stirring up words inside my brain and heart and that I needed to find some way to get them out. It was Daniel who encouraged me to start the blog, and it was Daniel who convinced me to press “Publish” on that very first entry when I got cold feet.

A couple of years later, it was Daniel who encouraged me to pay what seemed like an extravagant expense for a “real” website.

Then, when I discovered I had a book inside me, it was Daniel who assured me I could do it. When I took days off from work to write, he didn’t complain when he came home to find that not only was the house a mess and there were no thoughts of dinner being circulated, but I had very little actual writing to show for myself.

When the book was finally about to make its debut into the world and I panicked that people would actually be reading it, it was Daniel who prayed for me and reminded me that this was God’s book, not mine.

Yes, WE wrote a book.

So it only seems fitting, now that the book has made its way into the world, that Daniel joined me for one of my radio interviews.

Recently I was interviewed by Frankie Picasso on The Good Radio Network. The morning of the interview she contacted me with an inspiration: “What do you think about having Daniel call in at the end of the show?”

He was game (can we say “Husband of the Year”?), and it was absolutely my favorite interview I’ve done. I’ve been telling my side of the story all this time (all 293 pages of it), and I loved being able to hear his side of things.

Thank you, Daniel—you do make me a better person.

A marriage made in Heaven is one where a man and a woman become more richly themselves together than the chances are either of them could ever have managed to become alone.
–Frederick Buechner

***

To listen to the interview, you can download it or listen online at FrankieSense and More.

Wasted Love

If you had been alive during that first Easter, who would you have been?

Would you have been Peter, bold and brash, defending Jesus in the only way you knew how?

Would you have been John, quiet and steadfast in your heartbreak?

Would you have been one of the women who wiped Jesus’ brow on his agonizing climb to Golgotha, showing love even as your hopes crumbled?

Would you have been Thomas, asking for proof yet keeping a sliver of belief alive?

I’m not sure who I would have been. I like to think I’d cling to hope even before I could see how everything unfolded, but I’m not sure. I’m much better at believing in miracles in retrospect, after I have the whole picture.

But it’s easy to identify the person I would like to be. I want to be Mary, who poured out her perfume on Jesus’ feet.

Just before he died, Jesus went to the home of his friends Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. And there, Mary enacted a most extravagant gesture of love. Here’s the story:

Mary took a twelve-ounce jar of expensive perfume made from essence of nard, and she anointed Jesus’ feet with it, wiping his feet with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance.
John 12:3

You might think everyone around would have been impressed by Mary’s act of generosity. Instead, she was judged for being wasteful.

Judas Iscariot, the disciple who would soon betray [Jesus], said, “That perfume was worth a year’s wages. It should have been sold and the money given to the poor.”
John 12:4-5

According to some scholars, this jar of perfume was likely Mary’s dowry—what would have been given to a suitor to pay the bride price. The perfume was essentially her past and her future . . . and she lavished it on an uncredentialed rabbi from a backwoods town.

Jesus replied, “Leave her alone. She did this in preparation for my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.”
John 12:7-8

Sometimes I find myself assuming that Jesus would have been ultra-practical—frugal, even. “Waste not; want not”—that’s in the Bible somewhere, right? Somewhere near “God helps those who help themselves”?

But to my surprise, Jesus didn’t chastise Mary over the apparent wastefulness of her act. He didn’t tell her she should have focused on her savings account or reserved some her retirement. He didn’t even criticize her for not giving to charity.

He told her that her lavish devotion, her extravagant love, was beautiful.

And this Holy Week I wonder: What am I willing to “waste” on God and the people he’s given me to love?

Am I so concerned about being careful and judicious and economical that I fail to shower my love in unpractical ways?

What would it look like for us to show extravagant, “wasteful” love this week?

  • Maybe extravagant love looks like scrapping our to-do list and doing some leisurely Bible reading instead.
  • Maybe extravagant love looks like “wasting” the afternoon playing with your favorite little person, even if the proof isn’t captured on Facebook or Instagram.
  • Maybe extravagant love looks like doing something for someone who will never be able to pay you back or properly thank you.
  • Maybe extravagant love looks like “wasting” the morning by going on a walk and taking in the world God made.

Because here’s what I think—and I have a hunch Mary would agree: If it’s real love, it’s never wasted.

The Other Irish Saint

Top o’ the morning to you! I hope that you are wearing green or drinking a Shamrock Shake or eating corned beef or doing whatever it is you do on a day when everyone is Irish.

So most of us have heard of Saint Patrick, but today I’d like to introduce you to a lesser-known Irish hero: a monk named Saint Dallan. You’ve probably never heard his name, but you just might know his work: he’s the author of the hymn “Be Thou My Vision.”

In the sixth century, a hundred or so years after Patrick landed in Ireland, Dallan dedicated his life to the Lord and to the people of his country. His given name was Eochaid, but most people called him Dallan, which meant “little blind one.”

That’s right. The man who wrote “Be Thou My Vision” was blind.

For generations, the Old Irish version of “Be Thou My Vision” was used as a prayer and chanted by monks throughout Ireland. It wasn’t until 1905 that the words were translated into English. The poem was set to music several years later, in 1912.

The simple yet profound lyrics of this song are just as relevant today as they were when they were penned some fourteen centuries ago:

Be Thou my vision,
O Lord of my heart.
Naught be all else to me,
Save that Thou art.

Almost five years ago, I walked down an aisle on a dewy August morning toward Daniel, grinning like a schoolboy in his gray striped suit, while a handful of our closest family and friends sang these words:

Thou my best thought,
By day or by night,
Waking or sleeping,
Thy presence my light.

The words seemed more fitting than other song we could find. As we entered into this covenant, this promise that was bigger than either one of us, we couldn’t see what lay ahead. We knew God had a plan to knit our stories together into one, but there was so much we couldn’t see. We had to cling to the belief that he would see us through the days and years ahead—that he would be our vision when we couldn’t see.

Be Thou my wisdom,
And thou my true word,
Thou ever with me,
And I with Thee Lord.

The truth is, even if we have eyes, we lack vision. In those moments when our dreams blind us or our trials cloud our ability to see or the darkness makes us lose our step, we don’t just need better vision. We need the Lord himself to be our vision.

Thou my great Father,
And I thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling,
And I with thee one.

Today I invite you to join me in praying the words of this blind monk:

Be Thou my vision at work.
Be Thou my vision at home.
Be Thou my vision in my relationships.
Be Thou my vision in my decisions.
Be Thou my vision in all I do today.
Amen.

And if you’re feeling especially festive, you can attempt the Old Irish version:

Rop tú mo baile, a Choimdiu cride:
ní ní nech aile acht Rí secht nime.

 

The Truth about “Arriving”

The moment of disillusionment came crashing down sometime in September during my freshman year of college. I was sitting outside doing some reading for one of my classes when the revelation hit me like a Biology 101 textbook falling from the sky: I will never be the girl on the cover of the catalog!

Before that moment, I don’t think I even realized I harbored any such dreams. Starting my junior year of high school, I’d get mailing after mailing of coeds sprawled on a blanket under pines or yellow aspens (never doing any homework—just smiling perfect, gleaming smiles).

My realization that I would never be the catalog girl wasn’t about the way I looked or about the fact that my outfit didn’t come off the hanger at Gap or even that such handsome guys never sat on my red plaid blanket.

It was that I’d thought I’d somehow feel different once I arrived and became a college student.

As it turned out, I was still me.

It’s a phenomenon that has followed me my whole life. I figured that once I got engaged, I would suddenly feel glamorous and confident and perhaps even a little diva-like. And that once I got married, I’d instantly acquire all manner of wifely abilities, like, for example, being able to whip together a timely, healthy, and delicious dinner, or scrubbing the toilets on a regular basis.

But once again, I was just me, with a diamond solitaire on my finger, or just me, with a Mrs. in front of my name. It was a bit of a letdown to discover there’s no magic spell to transform you into a particular life stage. Instead, it turns out you just have to figure out how the role fits you, particularly. You don’t become someone else.

I recently discovered that the same thing is true when it comes to being an author. When I got my first copy of my book, I was elated to hold it in my hands. But to my surprise, I didn’t transform me into the persona of an author in that moment. The day I got the book, I finished my work day, as usual; commuted home amid much construction, as usual; and arrived home to discover I had no ideas for dinner, as usual. I’m quite certain that Louisa May Alcott and Agatha Christie had no such pedestrian problems.

While it’s a bit of a disappointment at first to discover that a new role doesn’t equate to becoming a new person, it’s ultimately a huge relief. It means that God doesn’t expect me to fit some mold I was never meant to fit into. I never have to step into shoes I wasn’t created to fill. He has millions of patterns of what “college student” or “wife” or “author” looks like, not some one-size-fits-all formula. And that’s ever so much more creative and freeing, for all of us.

  • It means you don’t have to be the girl in the college catalog.
  • You don’t have to be the woman at church who seems to have it all together.
  • You don’t have to be a Pinterest-perfect mom.
  • You don’t have to be your neighbor or your sister or your mom or your best friend or your online nemesis.

You just get to be you. And you get to figure out along the way what it looks like to be you as a wife, you as a mom, you as an employee, you as a leader, you as a follower of Christ.

You aren’t defined by your roles. God made you to be you, and that is a good thing.

***

I’d love to hear your story! Are there any roles in your life that have surprised you? Did you expect to feel different when you arrived at any of those anticipated life stages?

We All Need an Editor

writing

When people hear I wrote a book after being an editor for over a dozen years, they often ask me: “So, since you’re an editor, you probably didn’t need much editing, right?”

WRONG.

Here’s the thing: I can be objective and incisive about other people’s stories, ruthlessly chopping out stories that need to be cut or pointing out the holes. But when it came to my own manuscript, my line of vision was clouded by blind spots. I was just too close to the content. It would have been bad enough if I were writing a novel, but the fact that I was writing about my life fuzzied my vision all the more.

What do you mean, I need to cut out that scene? It’s one of my favorite childhood memories! What do you mean, I have too many friends named Sarah, or that I’m the only person who thinks this is funny, or that this only makes sense within the confines of my own brain?

That’s why I’m so grateful for my wise and kindhearted editor, Kim. There came a point, after editing and re-editing my own manuscript ad nauseam, that I could no longer see what worked and what didn’t. She was able to see the potholes and road blocks in the manuscript, and she helped me pave the way so readers could ride through the pages smoothly. And she did it in such a nice way that the process wasn’t painful at all. It was—dare I say?—fun.

People tend to fear the editor’s red pen, but let’s be serious: Kim was making me look good. I’d rather get called out on my mistakes before the book goes to press and I find myself standing in my proverbial underwear. And there are also the unsung heroes of the editing process: the copyeditors. I’m so thankful for Sarah and Annette, who faithfully fixed my sloppy punctuation, noticed missing words, and identified my pet sayings (you mean I can’t use “just” four times in one paragraph?).

What I learned being on the other side of the editor’s pen is that writing is a lot like life. We strive away in our private world, trying to live out a life of faith. But as good as our intentions are, we all have glaring blind spots. There are areas we fall short, but we are so close to it that we don’t even recognize the problem. That’s where we need life-editors—people who will give us wise, kind accountability.

We were never meant to do life alone; we need friends who have our best interests at heart, friends who will gently and lovingly point out where we’re not living up to God’s best vision for us. And isn’t it much better to hear that news from someone who loves us than from the big, scary world?

And as much as we may fear the vulnerability required to open ourselves up to accountability, whether with our writing or with our lives, there’s something sacred about sharing that space with another person. When someone is invested enough to look over every word and comma you typed or listen to the details of your life, it’s kind of like stepping onto holy ground.

So I would like to encourage you to get your own editor today . . . to invite feedback into every area of your life, writing and otherwise. You will feel the burn, to be sure, but the end result is worth the fire.

As iron sharpens iron, so a friend sharpens a friend.
Proverbs 27:17

Bonus: Despite the stellar, meticulous eyes on my book, we are all human. If you can find the typo in my book, I will give you a Starbucks gift card!

Seven Decades of Love

g-and-g-weddingMy grandparents just celebrated their 70th anniversary. I keep trying to wrap my brain around that number, but I can’t seem to. SEVENTY YEARS. When they got married, there was no Tupperware, no credit cards, no White-Out, no barcodes, no disposable diapers.

They’ve lived through a lot in these seven decades. They rejoiced when Grandpa made it back safely from World War II, and they got married as soon as possible, on a Tuesday morning. They had twelve children in the span of fourteen years. (Remember the part about no disposable diapers?!) They built a huge bench on one side of the kitchen table to accommodate their growing family and made do with a seemingly insurmountable person-to bathroom ratio.

They witnessed the birth of the next generation (their grandchildren) and now the next (their great-grandchildren). They marveled as family reunions numbered in the hundreds . . . and reached unprecedented decibels. They persevered after Grandpa’s stroke, moving into a place that required less upkeep.

Now Grandma and Grandpa have a daily routine of simple love: eating lunch together and then taking naps side by side in their reclining chairs. Grandpa sleeps a lot now and no longer talks much, but Grandma cheerfully carries the conversation.

One of my favorite stories about Grandma and Grandpa is how they got engaged. Grandpa was flying planes in Europe while Grandma spent Thanksgiving with Grandpa’s parents and brother. After dinner, Grandpa’s brother pulled out the ring on his little brother’s behalf, having gotten specific instructions on size, style, and cut. Grandpa may not have been there physically, but his love was. Their love tethered them across an ocean, across multiple time zones, across a war.

In some ways, it’s not so different now. Grandpa is there physically, but he’s not the strong, vibrant, intellectual man he used to be. Still, their love is no less present. Even now, their love tethers them across sickness, age, loss, and change.

When I wished Grandma a happy anniversary last week, she said, “Honey, we’re so blessed. We’ve had so many more happy years than hard years. I wish you and Daniel all the years and all the love we’ve had.”

In 1943, just a few years before my grandparents got married, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, wrote a letter to a young bride and groom from his prison cell in Nazi Germany. These were his words of counsel: “It is not your love that sustains the marriage, but from now on, the marriage that sustains your love.”

Daniel and I just celebrated our 5-year engagement anniversary. In some ways that seems so long—have we really known each other for half a decade? And then I think of Grandma and Grandpa and their seventy years, and I realize we are still so new at this. We don’t know what the future holds in the years ahead, but whatever comes, I pray for that tethering love . . . the kind that sustains through war and age and time. And I thank God because that love isn’t something we have to manufacture ourselves. It’s something that overflows from him.

Only 65 more years to go, my love! (But don’t do the math . . . )

Friday Favorites for February

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Happy Friday, everyone! Here are a few of my recent favorites that I wanted to share with you . . . plus an UnValentine’s book giveaway!

For anyone who thinks Valentine’s Day is overrated . . .

Kate Hurley’s book, Cupid Is a Procrastinator, is a breath of fresh air in the world of singles’ books. This isn’t a how-to-snag-a-mate book or an embrace-the-gift-of-singleness book; it’s more like a friend who knows how you’re feeling when you’re standing up in your third wedding or dreading another solo Valentine’s Day. I’m giving away a free copy of this book—just tell me about a less-than-stellar Valentine’s Day in the comments section! (If you don’t win, the ebook is on sale for $.99 the rest of February!) Cupid Is a Procrastinator

For anyone who appreciates longhand . . .

I’ve always loved the handwritten form over type, whether it’s class notes, letters, or even book writing. I thought it was just because I’m a Luddite, but it turns out there’s some science behind it. Handwriting Helps You Learn

For anyone who struggles with contentment . . .

Did you know there are times when it’s okay not to be content? This is a great list by Lina Abujamra. Don’t Be Content

For anyone who knows what the dark cloud of insecurity feels like . . .

Sharon Hodde Miller says, “In many cases, the answer to insecurity is not more affirmation or positive self-talk. Not even the Christian kind. Instead you need to look hard in the face of insecurity and ask what God might be crucifying.” The Great Teacher, Insecurity

Remember: write a comment for a chance to win Kate Hurley’s book!