Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

Spring Will Come

daffodil; StephanieRische.comSomehow I don’t think it’s happenstance that Easter falls in the springtime on our calendars. God is a master of metaphor, after all, and he delights in giving us natural whispers that echo deeper truths. And after a long winter like this one, I think we’re all extra attuned to the cues of spring this year.

There’s something about waking up to the melodies of birdsongs that makes you wonder if new life just might be possible. There’s something about feeling the warm kiss of sunshine after record-setting snowfalls that makes you think there really might be such a thing as second chances. There’s something about seeing the first bunch of daffodils poke their golden heads out after a long winter that makes you believe in miracles again.

I just celebrated my ten-year anniversary of living in my house, affectionately dubbed the Nut House. (Whether that’s an allusion to my street address or to its occupant is anyone’s guess.) It’s the first place I lived on my own, and when it came time to move in, I felt scared and alone. Somehow I’d always imagined buying my first place with a husband—getting a cute starter home together and putting up with squeaky faucets and endearingly hideous olive green wallpaper until we could afford to fix it up. What I never pictured was jumping into that milestone solo.

I’d bought the place in an uncharacteristically split-second decision, not knowing much about the city or neighborhood beforehand. I remember going on a walk the day after I moved in, trying to get my bearings (and also to prevent myself from hyperventilating over how many boxes I still had to unpack and how I didn’t even know where the grocery store was).

As I ambled haphazardly along the path, I turned a corner, and all at once I was greeted by a canvas of yellow. Apparently the world had exploded in daffodils while I’d been busy worrying about other things. In that moment, I sensed God whispering to me that it was going to be okay. He was doing a new thing, and there would be new life, and I wasn’t always going to feel like daffodil bulb stuck under the dirt, struggling to break through the surface.

Ten springs have passed since that day, and my home is now brimming with memories and music and love. Over the course of a decade, friends and neighbors and guests and family have crossed the threshold of my door. Secrets and dreams and prayers and meals have been shared between those walls. I have started to grow into my own skin there. And to my great surprise, I now share this residence with a husband (who was entirely worth the wait) and the guitars and bicycles that moved in with him.

Last week Daniel and I went on a walk together to mark the tenth anniversary of the place both of us now call home. The daffodils were bursting gold along the path, just as they always do.

And as the sun streamed between the tree branches and onto my neck, it felt like God was whispering the reminder to me again, a decade in the making:

Winter does not last forever. Spring comes. Spring always comes.

Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime.
— Martin Luther

New Thursday

Perhaps no other week in the year is as full of dramatic turnarounds as this one.

Good Friday turns into Easter.
Winter melts into spring.
Sadness turns to joy.
Despair is trumped by hope.
Death is trounced by life.

Christianity is marked by those defining moments when everything changes: Creation. Exodus. Incarnation. And so it is with Maundy Thursday. On that night, the whole tilt of the earth shifted. On that night, Jesus made a proclamation that reframed all that was and all that will be:

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.
—John 13:34

The English word Maundy comes from the Latin word mandatum (mandate or command), the first word of the phrase “Mandatum novum do vobis ut diligatis invicem sicut dilexi vos” (“A new command I give you . . .”).

The Old Testament records some 600 laws and rules. Yet in that seismic shift the night before his death, Jesus installed just one new law that covered all the old ones. Love, he said. Love, love, and more love.

But before new could replace old, before life could replace death, before Easter morning could dawn in all its glory, there had to be that long, dark night between Good Friday and resurrection.

According to Watchman Nee, the same is true for us:

God must bring us to a point—I cannot tell you how it will be, but he will do it—where, through a deep and dark experience, our natural power is touched, and fundamentally weakened, so that we no longer dare trust ourselves. . . .

We would like to have death and resurrection put together within one hour of each other. We cannot face the thought that God will keep us aside for so long a time; we cannot bear to wait. . . . All is in darkness, but it is only for a night. It must indeed be a full night, but that is all. Afterwards you will find that everything is given back to you in glorious resurrection; and nothing can measure the difference between what was before and what now is!

—Watchman Nee

Do not fear that dark night. It must come to make space for new life. For Easter. For resurrection.

Love Is Weird

In the words of that famous theologian Liz Lemon, “Love is patient. Love is weird, and sometimes gross. Love is elusive.” Not quite the words of Paul, but I rather think he would agree.

This month I’ve been memorizing 1 Corinthians 13, trying to marinate in what it means to really love someone. Patiently. Kindly. Unjealously. Hopefully. Enduringly. Unfailingly. I’ve been doing my best to put this into practice with my husband, my family, my friends.

But recently I was struck by this lightning-bolt realization:

I don’t get to choose who to love.

Earlier this week I was an utter jerk to someone. The story isn’t interesting, but suffice it to say that I was petty and selfish and rude and stubborn. Most of the time I’m able to keep the ugly pretty well underground, but on that day it came bubbling right to the surface.

All those good words I’d sealed into my heart about not being rude and self-seeking flew right out a sneaky back door reserved for caveats. Somewhere along the way, I suppose I decided that it was up to me who I showered love on.

But in this week of all weeks, how can I be stingy with love? How dare I decide whether someone is worthy of love? It is, after all, the week of Passion. The week of the profoundest of all loves. The week when Love himself fulfilled his mission. The week he stretched out his arms, extending his love to every last one of us, undeserving as we are.

And so this week, as I look to Jesus’ ultimate act of love on the cross, I wonder what it would look like to love more like he does.

What if I loved like it was my job?
What if I loved till it spilled over the edges?
What if I loved without asking anything in return?
What if I loved believing it could put broken things together again?
What if I loved like it was my one assignment from Jesus?
(Because, of course, it is.)

I want to love the lovable and the less lovely. I want to love the people who are easy to love and the ones who are hard to love. I want to love, period. Even when it’s weird, or gross, or elusive.

 

10 Ways to Tell You’re a Writer

writers; StephanieRische.comI’m heading to the Festival of Festival of Faith and Writing later this week, which is essentially a three-day binge on books and writing. I always come back feeling refreshed and reminded why I’m in love with words. In anticipation of the festival, here’s my list of signs that you’re a writer.

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  • A writer is someone who quilts words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, paragraphs into stories, and stories into something that will keep us warm at night.
  • A writer is someone who delights in finding precisely the right word at the right time . . . with the right word count.
  • A writer is someone who hears the siren call of laundry and Facebook and Netflix but somehow manages to keep rear in chair long enough to string some words together.
  • A writer is someone who wakes up in the middle of the night scrambling for a pen to capture those nocturnal wisps of stories.
  • A writer is someone who kills her darlings (but marks their graves in case they can be brought back to life one day).
  • A writer is someone who notices the little things other people miss. The gunmetal-gray of an April sky. The smell of new grass in spring. The old woman in the shadows with a story to tell.
  • A writer is someone who slows down time to help the rest of us pay attention.
  • A writer is someone who knows that words don’t appear magically out of thin air; they come out one idea, one keystroke, one drop of blood at a time.
  • A writer is someone who believes that words have the power to start a conversation, build a bridge, and remind us that we’re not alone.
  • A writer is someone who believes that words have the power to change the world, or maybe just one person. And that maybe that’s the same thing.writing journal made in Thailand; StephanieRische.com

In honor of writers everywhere, I’m giving away a writing journal today. It was made in Thailand by precious women who are trying to get on their feet again after being exploited and trafficked. You can find out more about Women at Risk’s ministry here, and you can find more products like this journal here.

To be eligible to win this journal, simply answer this question: What do you think makes someone a writer? How have words made an impact in your life?

The Yoke’s on Him

I am weary. Is anyone with me?rest

The laundry is piling up. The sink is full of dirty dishes. The work deadlines are looming. My to-do list is spilling off the page. The technology that promised to make my life easier has just added more items to my list. Oh, and apparently dinner is a thing again today.

Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to Jesus’ words about how our souls can find rest in him:

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

—Matthew 11:29

As hopeful as that sounds—rest for my soul!—I don’t entirely get it. Isn’t a yoke a symbol of work, not rest? I picture the oxen working the field with that wooden bar across their backs. If I wanted to paint a picture of rest, I’d describe a hammock gently swinging between two trees or a lounge chair on a tropical beach. Somehow the image of oxen doing heavy plowing doesn’t seem to me like the picture of soul-rest.

But recently I attended a conference by Lysa TerKeurst, who described what Jesus’ audience would have understood when he described this scene. Apparently when Jesus said “learn from me” in this context, he was referring to the process where a young, untrained ox would learn to pull a load from a more experienced animal. They shared a yoke so the younger ox could get a feel for what it felt like to pull, but the entire burden was placed on the older ox. Then the two oxen would walk together, side by side, until the young animal gradually grew stronger.

And so it is for us. Soul rest doesn’t mean we escape our reality and our responsibilities. God doesn’t give us a free pass from the things we’ve been called to do. But it does mean he carries the weight for us—the burden is on him. Our job is to walk closely with him, right by his side. It means we are never alone as we carry out the big and small tasks he asks us to do.

There may not be fewer loads of laundry. The dirty dishes may not go away. But maybe I can do these tasks with joy, knowing he’s standing right beside me at the sink, in the laundry room. Maybe my to-do list will seem less daunting, knowing that he’s helping me task by task, day by day.

My burden may not be smaller. But someone stronger is walking through it right beside me. And he’s the one doing all the heavy lifting.

Friday Favorites: March

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For anyone who has ever felt guilty about their overdue library books . . .
You may have kept Divergent a few days past the due date, but this post should assuage your fears. These books were returned several decades late: Ridiculously Overdue Library Books That Were Finally Returned

For anyone who has wanted justice for a literary hero . . .
What if literary villains were tried in an actual court? Here’s what their sentences would be in real life: Leading Villains in Children’s Literature Enter Legal System

For anyone who needs a laugh today . . .
A German retirement community recreated scenes from famous movies to hilarious results. I hope to have this much spunk someday: Retirement Community Movie Calendar

For anyone who is feeling weary . . .
Shauna Niequist says, “I used to be spontaneous and silly, warm and whimsical. I used to dance in the kitchen and eat cake for breakfast with my kids.” More Love, Less Hustle

For all you book lovers out there . . .
If it’s a good book, I’ll read it just about anywhere. But I wouldn’t complain about having a nook like one of these: 10 Terrific Reading Nooks

Beauty as an Act of Worship

Beauty as WorshipI’m over at Pick Your Portion today, writing about beauty and worship. Is there a place for making things beautiful? Or is God purely practical?

A friend of mine has a gift for seeing beauty and then capturing it with the lens of her camera. She can catch a particular scene, in a certain light, with just the right color pattern, and she somehow manages to tell a whole story through the images. She can capture the joy of a couple on their wedding day, the pink-toed wonder of a newborn baby, the golden glow of a field of daffodils.

When she and I chatted the other day, she was reflecting on her career choice. “I feel passionate about what I do,” she said. “But sometimes I wonder if it really makes a difference. I mean, some people help the underprivileged or teach God’s Word or serve on the mission field. And here I’m just making things pretty.”

But as I read today’s passage from Exodus 37, I’m struck by God’s affirmation of beauty—and those who create it.

You can keep reading here.

9 Books Every Kid Should Read

Last fall I posted a list of 9 Books Every Girl Should Read. I received some great feedback from people who said, “Hey, what about the books all kids should read?” So here’s my list of books every kid—girl or boy—should read.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. LewisThe Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis

This book truly takes children (and adults) into another world. Once they’ve been to Narnia, they’ll never view this world the same way again.

[The Professor:] Don’t go trying to use the same route twice. Indeed, don’t try to get there at all. It’ll happen when you’re not looking for it. And don’t talk too much about it even among yourselves. And don’t mention it to anyone else unless you find that they’ve had adventures of the same sort themselves. What’s that? How will you know? Oh, you’ll know all right. Odd things, they say—even their looks—will let the secret out. Keep your eyes open.

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper LeeTo Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Harper Lee has a gift for creating three-dimensional characters that come to life on the pages of this book. Thanks to Scout, the ultimate precocious narrator, and Atticus, the ultimate quiet hero, this book manages to tell a winsome story about a weighty topic.

The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth GrahameThe Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

This book is pretty much philosophy disguised as a children’s book, yet it still holds up as an engaging story in its own right.

Here I am, footsore and hungry, tramping away from it, tramping southward, following the old call, back to the old life, the life which is mine and which will not let me go.

Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls

I read this book countless times as a kid, and each time I hoped in vain for a different ending. Tear jerker though it may be, Rawls paints an endearing picture of a boy who doesn’t have much going for him other than his determination—but that proves to be enough.

The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix PotterThe Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter

Beatrix Potter once said, “There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they’ll take you.” That’s precisely how you feel when you read her stories—like something delicious is about to happen.

A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis StevensonA Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson

This is the book that taught me to love poetry even before I could understand it. (Not that I get it all that much now. . . .) My dad would read these poems to me from a picture book with lush illustrations, and I remember wishing I could somehow climb into the pages.

Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White

“Why did you do all this for me?” [Wilbur] asked. “I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.”

“You have been my friend,” replied Charlotte. “That in itself is a tremendous thing.”The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum

Can you imagine a more poignant portrayal of friendship than that?

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum

As delightful as the movie is, it doesn’t come close to the charm and fantasy of the book. I should note that the book is decidedly creepier than the movie, but I was so taken by the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, the Cowardly Lion, and the other characters who became my friends down the yellow brick road that I didn’t mind too much.

The Boxcar Children by Gertrude Chandler WarnerThe Boxcar Children by Gertrude Chandler Warner

My mom read this series to my brother, my sister, and me when we were kids. It’s one of those rare series that is accessible for a broad range of ages and can be enjoyed by both boys and girls. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to my parents, but just in case, I felt like Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny prepared me for life in an abandoned train car, should the need arise.

What were your favorite books as a kid? What’s missing from this list?

Happy reading to you, whether you’re young, or young at heart!

 

 

Blessing for a Goddaughter

Addie Mae's baptismMy niece Addie (aka the cutest, pudgiest 15-pound bundle you ever laid eyes on) was baptized last month. Daniel and I had the privilege of playing the role of not only Aunt Eppie and Uncle Daniel Dude but also the godparents.

I’ve already figured out that Addie has much to teach me about faith and love and trust. Jesus said as much himself: “Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to those who are like these children” (Matthew 19:14).

But when we stood in the front of the church vowing to love this child and model Christlike lives for her, it felt like such a daunting task. Addie, I silently telegraphed to her, I don’t have this thing called life figured out yet. How can I ever teach you what it means to follow God when I still have so much to learn myself?

She just stuck her tongue out at me in that goofy way of hers, as if to remind me that the two of us have a long while to figure this out together. But for now, I started a list, writing down the blessings I want for my Addie-girl.

To Addie Mae, on the occasion of her baptism, February 15, 2014

  • May you know the joy of loving and being loved. And when your heart gets broken, may those cracked places only deepen your capacity for love.
  • May the soundtrack of your life be laced with laughter. And may you know, too, that it’s okay to cry.
  • May your feet be swift for running and may they know when it’s time to rest.
  • May you know you are fearfully and beautifully made, just the way you are.
  • May you discover the secret that the best gifts are the ones you give away.
  • May you always chase after God, even as you know he is really the one chasing after you.
  • May you have friends who speak the truth to you and friends who help you up when you fall down.
  • May you know when to stay strong and when to surrender.
  • May you have eyes to see the mystery and wonder of this world God has made.
  • May you sync your heart to God’s heartbeat for the lost, the hurting, the underdog.
  • May you always hear God’s voice whispering the way you should go.
  • May you find, when the storm rages around you, that God is your shelter.
  • May you know that there is nothing you can do to stop God from loving you, nothing so bad you can wear out his grace, and nowhere you can go beyond his reach.
  • And from this day forward, until you stand by his side, may the Lord bless you and keep you. May he smile on you and be gracious to you. May he show you his favor and give you his peace.

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Sparkly Green Earrings by Melanie ShankleI’m giving away a book I love today—Sparkly Green Earrings by Melanie Shankle (aka Big Mama)! This book about motherhood will make you laugh and it will make you cry—quite often on the same page.

For your chance to win, simply answer this question in the comment section:

What is one blessing you would want for the children in your life?

Be sure to submit your answer by Monday, March 17!

Gospel Story: Jennifer

My church is passionate about seeing people’s lives changed by the power of the gospel, and I’ve had the privilege of being part of the team that helps capture some of these stories—stories of how God’s grace has gotten hold of people and turned their lives upside down in the best possible way.

Here’s a preview of the latest story by Jennifer Mamminga:

Maybe you’ve been following God for a while now, doing all the right things, going through the Christian motions. But somehow it feels like there’s something missing. Where is the joy and peace your soul is longing for?

Jennifer's Gospel StoryThat’s precisely where Jennifer found herself. Her life was full of gifts and blessings, but there was something she desperately wanted to know: Is this all there is?

It was only when she surrendered everything to Jesus that she made a life-altering discovery about her true identity.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

—Romans 15:13

You can watch the video of Jennifer telling her story here.