Launches and Other Squeamish Things

February 5, 2016

Launches and Other Squeamish Things

They call it a book launch, and launch seems to be the right word. I feel a little B&N like a baby bird who was quite comfy in her nest and who, come to think of it, is actually a little afraid of heights. But birds aren’t supposed to stay hunkered in their nests, and stories aren’t supposed to stay locked inside people’s heads. So ready or not, it’s time to launch this book into the world.

I have to admit this process comes with trepidation, because I don’t want this to be about me. As I wrote this book, I pictured one precious person reading it, hoping it would connect with them. I want every page to say, “You are not alone in this. It’s okay to hope again. And God loves you more than you can imagine.”

I would be honored if my book could come alongside you as a friend for this part of your journey, whatever journey you’re on, and wherever your journey takes you.

And if that requires a little squeamishness for me as I teeter on the edge of the nest, I’m willing to do it.

Squeamish Thing #1: My life is literally an open book.

I will be at the Barnes and Noble in Geneva Commons tomorrow (Saturday, February 6) at 2:00 p.m. I’ll be doing a reading, answering questions, and introducing some of the real behind-the-scenes heroes of the book.

Squeamish Thing #2: There is no editing on the air.

I was interviewed on the Debbie Chavez Show earlier this week. Here’s what I learned about live radio along the way:

Always have water on hand. Editors/writers don’t do a lot of talking in a given day, so after 45 minutes of chatting, I felt like I’d just hiked the Sahara.
Wear a sweatband. I do realize sweatbands went the way of double-layered socks in the ’80s, but I should have worn one anyway. Nothing like talking about your dating life on the air to make you a little clammy.
You can edit books, but not airwaves. I’m pretty sure I got myself tongue tied on more than one occasion, but unlike words on the screen, there’s no delete key on the radio!

If you missed the interview and would like to hear it, mishaps and all, you can listen to Debbie’s show online.

Squeamish Thing #3: Seeing a cartoon version of yourself!

The kind folks at Tyndale House created a charming trailer for my book. I won’t tell you how many takes were required for my voiceover, but let’s just say I don’t think acting is in my near future.

Thanks to the creative team that made the I Was Blind (Dating), But Now I See trailer!

Hope to see you Saturday, whether in person or online!

January 26, 2016

What’s Your Story?

books I have a secret to tell you about stories. Please don’t tell my publisher, though, because this could really wreak havoc on the publishing world. Here it is: We all have the same story.

Yes, the details are different in every person’s story. And we all have our own setting and characters and timeline. But the truth is, our basic plot is the same: We all flub up this thing we call life. And we all find ourselves in desperate need of God’s grace.

The backdrop of my book is that treacherous pastime we call dating. For me, the thing that broke me and brought me flat on my face was a season of singleness that stretched on much longer than I anticipated. That’s where God showed up and revealed his grace and love to me in ways beyond my wildest imaginings.

But as I’ve listened to your stories, I’ve noticed something. Although the specifics of your story may be different from mine, our gracious God is still the same. And he tends to reveal himself in similar ways, even if the details are different.

Maybe you’re not waiting for a husband, but you’re waiting for something else that is breaking your heart. Maybe you’re waiting for a job or a baby or a prodigal or healing. And God seems silent.
Maybe you, too, have one prayer that keeps tripping you up.
Maybe you, too, have had moments when it feels too dangerous to keep hoping.
Maybe you, too, have a desire for something that doesn’t seem any closer to happening than it was a year ago.
Maybe you, too, feel stuck when everyone around you seems to be moving on with their life.
Maybe you, too, know what it’s like to be lonely, afraid, or invisible.
Maybe you, too, have wondered where God is in the midst of your pain.

My book isn’t just about blind dates or being single; it’s about being knocked over by the love and grace of God. And that love and grace are available no matter what circumstance you’re facing.

So I’d like to hear from you. When has God shown up in an unexpected way for you? When have you been amazed by his grace, hemmed in by his love? I would be honored to hear your story.

Write your comment below, and I will give away a free book to one commenter!

January 20, 2016

How a Book Cover Is Born

I’ve heard that it takes a village to raise a child. I don’t know about that, but in the past year I have learned this: it certainly takes a village to make a book.

I’m thrilled to be sharing something exciting with you today: the cover for my memoir, I Was Blind (Dating), but Now I See!

Since I work in book publishing, I have an inside peek into some of things that happen to turn a bunch of typed-up words into something you can hold in your hands. But until it was my own book, I don’t think I had a true appreciation for the creativity, teamwork, and sheer hard work that go into making that a reality.

I have been amazed and grateful for all the good people at Tyndale who have taken the humble Word document I gave them and metamorphosed it into something lovely—with a charming illustration on the front, pretty fonts, little spots of shiny foil, a texture-y cover, and nice paper.

There are so many people to thank for their role in the whole process (please check out the acknowledgments at the back of the book!), but today I want to give you a sneak peek into how my amazing designer, Jackie, created the cover for the book.

First, my book team sent me a survey about my vision for the cover. Alas, I have practically zero skills when it comes to all things design-related, so I threw around a lot of words to describe what I wanted it to feel like. Fortunately Jackie was able to translate my thousand words into a single picture, and she captured the exact tone I was looking for. The truth is, I didn’t know what I was hoping the cover would look like until I saw it.

Here’s how Jackie came up with the design. First, she read the manuscript. Then she and a handful of other designers brainstormed cover possibilities and sketched them out. After all the designers gave feedback, they narrowed it down to their top three and presented them to the book team. Then the book team chose their favorite (which just so happens to be my favorite too).

Once the cover direction was chosen, Jackie found an illustrator to do the sketch. This will give you an idea of how much attention she pays to detail: she actually sent the illustrator a photo of me so the sketch would be as accurate as possible. (I should note it’s not entirely accurate, however, because I could only dream that my hair would look so good in real life.) She even gave the illustrator suggestions about what the guys might look like based on the descriptions in the book. (For all your former blind dates out there, please note that the silhouette format will protect your identity, so there’s no need to contact your lawyer.)

Credit also goes the talented Sarah Parisi, who created StephanieRische.com and my logo, which serves as the byline on the cover. She’s also a gifted photographer, and she took the picture of me on the back cover. I’m grateful for her creative eye and expertise that helped launch this adventure in earnest two years ago.

If you would like to see the beautiful cover in person, you can order it online, or you can come to a book signing on Saturday, February 6, at 2:00 at the Barnes and Noble in Geneva Commons. (I will be the one up front wondering how this introvert found herself reading mortifying clips about her dating life aloud in a public place.)

January 15, 2016

Friday Favorites for January

Happy Friday, everyone! Here are a few of my recent favorite things. Enjoy!

For anyone who reads into their text messages . . .

This is bad news for punctuation. Apparently periods are now considered rude. Study Shows That Ending Your Texts with a Period Is Terrible

For any word lovers out there . . .

Perhaps you’ll be as outraged by this as I am. The Oxford Dictionary’s word of the year is . . . not a word?! Oxford Dictionaries Word of the Year

For anyone who’s nostalgic for the books they loved as a kid . . .

This delightful post includes recipes inspired by your favorite children’s book, from James and the Giant Peach to How to Eat Fried Worms. Kids’ Book Recipes

For anyone who has been at a loss for words with God . . .

This is a beautiful, honest piece by someone who found a way, in the midst of depression and silence, to communicate her pain to God. When Words Fail

For anyone who wants this year to look different from last year . . .

A thoughtful post by a single woman that starts out with this line: “I want to be engaged this year.” I Should Be Engaged

January 6, 2016

What Nobody Tells You about Epiphany

Epiphany. I learned the word from Mr. Heagney, my English teacher, two decades ago, and I’ve been smitten with it ever since. Not only does it dance off the tongue nicely, but the meaning itself is magical: a sudden illuminating discovery or idea; a revelation; the moment the proverbial lightbulb goes on.

Epiphany is a remarkable day on the church calendar too: the holiday marking the revelation of God’s Son to the Magi. This was one of God’s brightest ideas ever: Heaven breaking through to earth. Darkness being trounced by starlight. Kings bowing down before the true King. Hope busting through in the most glorious way.

I long for epiphanies myself. I yearn for the lightbulb to go on, for my fuzzy thinking to clear. I’m desperate for that creative idea, or for the key that will unlock my confusion or doubt or fear. I want to see a star from the east and drop everything to follow. I want a sign.

I’ve had a few moments like that in my life. Micro-revelations, perhaps, but glimpses of the divine nevertheless. Yet those moments are rare. Most days there are no stars in the night sky, no signs, no epiphanies. Most days I’m just treading along a dark path, half-hoping, half-praying that I’m headed in the right direction.

What they don’t tell you about epiphanies is that the star doesn’t stay in the sky forever. After the Magi visited God Incarnate, they headed back to their own country, back to their ordinary lives. Maybe their hearts were irrevocably changed, but life went on.

So what does it look to live out Epiphany even when there’s no miracle at the moment, when the star has faded in the night sky?

That’s when it’s time to hold on, my friend. What you saw when you glimpsed the divine—it was real. What you felt in that moment when God touched your heart—it was valid. The words of hope you heard whispered in the middle of the night—they were true.

So keep believing in the epiphanies. Keep looking for them. They will come. But don’t depend on them. Because faith means holding on to the fact that heaven broke through earth, even after the star has dimmed and you have to go back to your ordinary life. Faith means remembering that miracles are true, even when it’s been some time since you witnessed one firsthand.

Faith means holding on to Epiphany even when there’s no sign. It’s choosing to light a candle when the starlight has faded.

Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.

Frederick Buechner

December 21, 2015

Baby Son

I am on a double countdown ’til Christmas this year. My new baby niece or nephew is due any day, and the two calendars are racing. Which will make its debut first? Baby Jesus’ birthday, or the birth day of this new baby?

When my sister was little, she prepared for Christmas like it was her job. She convinced Dad to cut down the tip-top of a pine tree from the woods to put in her room, and Mom helped her string lights from her ceiling. By mid-December, Meghan’s room was a full-blown Santa’s workshop. She’d haul up every craft supply she could find and post a note on the door, with dramatic underlines: “TOP SECRET! Keep out.” She’d spend every waking moment the final weeks before Christmas making all manner of glittery cut-out snowflakes and construction-paper ornaments for the whole family.

This year Meghan is doing a different kind of preparation as the days tick down. She’s getting a room ready for the baby. She’s packing a go-bag for the hospital. She’s making weekly treks to the doctor, checking to make sure the baby is in position. She’s prepping two-year-old Addie to be a big sister (including the possibility that, despite Addie’s adamancy that’s it’s a girl, there’s a chance she may be getting a brother).

There is so much we don’t know about this baby. Besides the gender, we don’t know what this child will look like, what kind of personality is tucked into that curled-up body, what this little one will become someday, or how the world needs this child, specifically. And yet our hearts are full of anticipation. So much longing, so much joy over this tiny person, veiled in so much mystery.

And it occurs to me that Mary must have felt much the same. It’s funny, isn’t it, that some of the biggest miracles come to us in such small packages? I wonder why God would come so tiny, so unobtrusive, when He could have come in pomp and circumstance.

In church last weekend my husband played the song “Baby Son” by John Mark McMillan, and I couldn’t help but think of the baby son (or daughter) my family is waiting to meet. So much future, so much hope, packed into seven pounds of flesh.

We thought you’d come with a crown of gold
A string of pearls and a cashmere robe
We thought you’d clench an iron fist
And rain like fire on the politics

Would I have missed Him that first Christmas, I wonder? Would I have been so busy looking for a flashier miracle that I would have overlooked the ordinary mother and her baby? Would I have deigned to believe that God’s plan to save the world could start with something so small?

But without a sword, no armored guard
But common born in mother’s arms
The government now rests upon
The shoulders of this baby son

A field of daffodils begins with a single bulb. An avalanche starts with a tiny snowflake. A classic novel starts with a solitary word. An epic love story starts with a simple greeting. A person begins as a tiny baby.

And the hope for the world began with someone so small you could hold Him in your arms.

God delights in the small things, the ordinary things, the unexpected things. I always thought that was so everything would be unveiled at the right time and so all the prophecies would be fulfilled just so. But now I think there’s another reason too: because God knows we can only handle so much miracle at once. If He gave us the full-blown itinerary, we would melt into a puddle. And so He births some of His most beautiful, magnificent plans as small beginnings.

Have you no room inside your heart
The inn is full, the out is dark
Upon profane shines sacred sun
Not ashamed to be one of us

So I’m spending this season in anticipation, alongside Mary and Meghan. I find myself waiting . . . waiting for Meghan’s baby son (or daughter). And waiting for God’s own Baby Son, who came once and will come again.

Our hearts are ready. We are longing for you. We have made room. Please come!

God’s coming is always unforeseen, I think, and the reason, if I had to guess, is that if he gave us anything much in the way of advance warning, more often than not we would have made ourselves scarce long before he got there.
~Frederick Buechner

December 15, 2015

Praying Upside Down

I recently finished reading a book called Praying Upside Down by Kelly O’Dell Stanley. I tend to gravitate away from books about prayer, because in general the book I need most about prayer can be summed up in one short sentence: “Shut up and pray.” Truth be told, my biggest problem isn’t usually the nuances or the how-tos of prayer; more often it’s about flat-out Not Doing It.

But this book is an exception—it offers something fresh to the conversation about prayer. It isn’t theoretical; it’s a practical approach to prayer. And the author comes at the topic from an interesting perspective, tackling prayer as an artist. Kelly shows what white space, sketching, point of view, and other artistic concepts can teach us about prayer. For a non-artist like me, all of this was revelatory.

If your prayers are starting to feel stale, this book will help you get out of a rut. And if you’re finding it hard to pray right at all right now, this book will help you get unstuck.

One of the things I appreciate most about this book is how the author emphasizes the importance of gaining a new perspective when we’re praying. In art, if you’re not able to capture the piece you want to create, it’s probably time to move to a new position. And the same is true about prayer: If you find yourself unable to connect with God, it may be time to change positions and get a fresh perspective.

Kelly describes something she and a friend prayed about: “When we found a way to get unstuck, God answered. When we tried something new, we saw different results.” Case in point: if everything in your life is hard at the moment and it’s hard to talk to God about it, it may be time to step to the side and take a look at things from another angle.

If there’s a flood in your basement, that means you have a home . . . and a basement to thank God for.

If your house isn’t selling and you’re starting to get stressed about the timing, maybe it’s time to start praying for the person who will buy your house.

If you’re having trouble praying for a situation in your own life, offer to pray for a friend and ask them to pray for you.

Most of all, I appreciate the way Kelly reminds us that ultimately prayer isn’t about us; it’s about God. And he is more powerful and more caring than we typically give him credit for.

The effectiveness of our prayers doesn’t come down to how good our prayers are; it comes down to how good God is. As Kelly puts it, “Just because I had run out of things to do didn’t mean He had.”

***

Too often, we miss seeing God because we think His answer will look different than it does.
~Kelly O’Dell Stanley

October 29, 2015

Yellow Jacket Invasion, Part 2

[See Yellow Jacket Invasion Part 1 for the first part of this story.]

A month into our home ownership gig, it seemed like Daniel and I were losing: Calamities 2; Daniel and Stephanie Team 0. First there was the flood of epic proportions; now the yellow jackets. We were certainly learning a lot, and we were wrangling our house into a home, but we would be content to stop the plagues at two.

Meanwhile, I was grateful to be on the other side of the glass while the beekeeper worked his disappearing act on two hundred-some yellow jackets.

Daniel and I stood safely outside with our noses pressed to the window while our apian hero vacuumed up hundreds of the stinging little monsters and removed chunk after chunk of the yellow jacket nest. I’m pretty sure I counted to six football-sized pieces before I blacked out.

An hour or so into the removal process, I’d seen all I needed to see. Now that the initial shock had worn off, I was starting to get fidgety as the daylight ticked away and no progress was being made on my to-do list. Vacuum the carpet—nope, couldn’t do that right now. Clean the bathrooms—also an inside job. Shoot, even the to-do list was inside.

The only thing I could do was sit on the back porch. And sit.

Taking the Sting Out

We’d put up a hummingbird bird feeder the day before, but so far the birds had been a little skittish about dropping by. We’d seen a few of them take a sip, drive-thru style, but none of them had stopped to perch.

I admired the birds’ beauty and delicate wings, but it made me weary to see them flittering and skittering, never pausing to rest. Don’t you guys need to gear up for a super-long migration to Mexico? I asked them silently as they flitted by. We provided this rest stop just for you, with homemade food and everything. Don’t you want to stop and rest for a while?

And then the irony hit me with such force that I laughed at loud. “Okay, God, I get it.”

Ceasing Our Fluttering

It was the Sabbath, and I’d been flitting around like a little hummingbird all day long. Lots of motion . . . but for what?

God seemed to be telling me, not so subtly, that there was nothing else to do in that moment except sit rest. It was time to forget about my to-do list for a while and embrace the rest he was giving me (forcing on me?) on that sacred day. The vacuuming could wait. The to-do list could wait. For now, my job number one was to sit and enjoy the world he’d made. Hummingbirds and yellow jackets included.

In the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you.
—Leo Tolstoy

***

In case you’re wondering, the yellow jackets were all taken care of, and I didn’t see another one until the next morning, when Daniel donned his yellow cycling jersey (an odd choice for professional work attire, I thought). He kept looking at me expectantly after he got dressed, as if waiting for me to catch a punch line.

Finally it hit me: sure enough, it was another yellow jacket.

October 27, 2015

Yellow Jacket Invasion, Part 1

On a Sunday not long ago, I woke up with my mind buzzing, making a mental list of all the things I needed to do that day. We’d recently moved into our new home, and we were getting ready for six houseguests and a dozen or so dinner guests later that week.

This meant it was probably time to locate the floor of the guest bedroom, which had been strewn with all manner of Things I Don’t Know What to Do With since we moved.

But I had a deadline, and I was motivated. I’d vacuum, mop floors, scrub toilets, organize, unpack—nothing was going to stop me. I was pretty sure I would put Martha Stewart to shame.

The Best-Laid Plans of Critters and Women

Around 6 p.m., I was making some progress on my ambitious to-do list, if not as big of a dent as I’d hoped. That’s when I walked into the living room and heard a strange humming sound. I headed toward the corner where the noise seemed to be coming from . . . and promptly went into cardiac arrest.

The windows were covered with yellow jackets. ON THE INSIDE.

I looked up to see the tiniest hole in the ceiling where the devilish little creatures were filing into the living room, one after the other. It was like a horror movie, minus the popcorn.

At that point I did what every independent, self-sufficient modern woman does: I ran outside to find my husband.

Daniel looked at my face and immediately stopped what he was doing. “Are you okay?”

I nodded automatically. “Yes . . .”

And then it hit me: NO, I AM NOT OKAY. There are hundreds of large flying insects with stingers on them, and they are INSIDE OUR HOUSE. I will never sleep here again. On second thought, I may never sleep again, period.

Thankfully Daniel came up with a plan, because my brain couldn’t get past “GET OUT!” and “LOCK THE DOOR BEHIND YOU!”

Here was the plan: Daniel would scope out the situation in the living room and see if he could duct-tape over the yellow jackets’ Gateway to Paradise while I went online to look for the nearest beekeeper/environmentally friendly insect remover/who-am-I-kidding, someone to fumigate the entire zip code.

I made a beeline (sorry, couldn’t pass that one up) for the computer upstairs, slamming doors behind me and lying to myself that surely those flimsy slabs of wood would keep the critters out, despite the glaring fact that not even drywall could stop them.

Count Your Yellow Jackets; Name Them One by One

After about five phone calls to no avail (apparently it’s wise to schedule your bee-related emergencies for non-weekend hours), I finally got ahold of someone who was willing to leave his dinner on the table and come to our assistance. (There’s a teeny chance I sounded a little deranged by this point, so he might not have felt like he had much of a choice.)

The beekeeper arrived in his head-to-toe bee suit and confirmed our suspicions. “Yep, you’ve got yellow jackets. Probably two to three hundred in your house, and that’s a lowball.”

As I darted to the relative safety of the great outdoors, it occurred to me how quickly my priority list had been turned upside down. When my feet hit the ground that morning, my main concern had been having a sparkly-clean home for our guests, but now, suddenly, all I cared about was that it was bee-free.

Toilet scrubbing isn’t a bad thing, of course, but it can be if it becomes all-important. And I had to wonder: What else needs to shift in my priorities so I can keep the main things the main things? One thing was certain: God would go to great lengths to get my attention. And I had two hundred yellow jackets to prove it.

[Stay tuned tomorrow for the rest of the story!]

October 21, 2015

What a Two-Year-Old Taught Me about Running

I run on occasion, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m a runner. Truth be told, I’m probably more of a plodder. One foot in front of the other, slow and tortoise-like.

I’ve heard the term “runner’s high,” but so far the only high I’ve experienced comes after the run, when I eat the bowl of ice cream I promised myself as a reward.

So when I read this verse in Hebrews about running the race of faith, I have to say it doesn’t automatically instill inspiration in me:

Since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.
—Hebrews 12:1

When I think of spiritual running, I tend to conjure up images of plodding along in the life of faith, putting one foot in front of the other from now until glory-be.

I’m not usually feeling the spiritual runner’s high.

But a few weeks ago, when I went to my parents’ house for a family get-together, something changed my perspective on the kind of running God might be talking about.

As I pulled into my parents’ driveway, my almost-two-year-old niece was in the garden, “helping” pick cucumbers. The minute I got out of the car, Addie spied me and started waddle-running toward me as fast as her little legs could take her. Her arms swung haphazardly from side to side as she zigzagged across the yard.

When she was about halfway to me, she hit a dip in the grass. Bam! Down she went, toppling bum over heels. But she barely seemed to notice—she just got up and kept running.

When she got closer, I saw something that permanently melted my auntie-heart: An impish grin was spreading across Addie’s face, her trademark dimple indenting one cheek. And that smile was running toward me for a hug.

Addie wasn’t plodding. She wasn’t trudging along, forcing one foot in front the other. She was running out of sheer joy. She had her destination in mind, and nothing was going to stop her.

That’s how I want to run this race of faith. I don’t want to run out of duty or because it’s good for me. I want to run more like Addie.

I want to run with a heart that’s overflowing with joy, knowing I’m running toward someone I love, toward someone who loves me.

Even when the race is hard and the finish line seems impossibly far away, know this: God is waiting for you at the finish line, with his arms open wide.

Seek . . . to cultivate a buoyant, joyous sense of the crowded kindnesses of God in your daily life.
—Alexander Maclaren