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Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

July 28, 2015

Book Club Discussion: Scary Close

Scary closeThanks to everyone who participated in our book discussion about Scary Close this month! I’d love to hear your thoughts about this book.

My recap: Scary Close is one of the best books I’ve read about vulnerability and relationships and the special brand of courage it takes to let another person look inside your soul. I put it right next to Daring Greatly on the bookshelf of my brain.

Discussion #1: Vulnerability is hard

It’s mystifying and maddening how the one thing we want most (to know and be known) is also one of the scariest things we can do as human beings. Donald Miller says, “I hardly knew who I was myself, much less how to be fully known.”

Do you think you have to know yourself first to be known by others? Why or why not?

Discussion #2: Sorting out the truth about yourself

When Donald Miller is reflecting on his childhood, he says, “I realized in running and hiding I’d sided with the other kids, I’d learned to believe there was something wrong with me. And it wasn’t true.”

Are there any lies you’ve believed about yourself since you were a child that you’re coming to realize aren’t true? What has helped you see the truth?

Discussion #3: Real love

I appreciated watching Donald Miller come to understand what deep, lasting love looks like. It isn’t always glamorous or flashy—in fact, he calls it “that long, boring love that happens when a couple quietly eats cereal together while they read the paper.”

Do you think love is built mostly in small moments or big moments, or both?

Discussion #4: The upside of vulnerability

My favorite part of this book is the way it honestly describes the hard parts of vulnerability but also beautifully depicts the redemptive parts of sharing your true self with another person: “My flaws were the ways through which I would receive grace. We don’t think of our flaws as the glue that binds us to the people we love, but they are.”

Are there people in your life who see you as you are, flaws and all? How have these people given you glimpses of God’s grace?

Rating

I would give this book five stars (out of five). In my opinion, this is Donald Miller’s best and most honest book, and I’ve been forcing it on just about everyone I know.

How would you rate this book?

Remember: I’ll be giving away a free book to one lucky commenter! Respond by Friday to be eligible.

 

5 Comments Filed Under: Book Club, book review Tagged With: Book Club, book discussion, Donald Miller, free book, giveaway, Scary Close, vulnerability
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July 22, 2015

A Place to Call Home

ManchesterMy husband, Daniel, and I just bought our first house together, which means I’ve been thinking a lot about home lately.

When we started the adventure of scoping out open houses and looking at realtor.com and making our list of would-likes and must-haves, it felt rather daunting. We knew a house is just a bunch of lumber and drywall, but it seemed so much weightier than that. It felt like where we lived said something about our future, our hopes and dreams, our very identity. That’s a lot of pressure for a piece of real estate.

My friend Brooke told me about this quote she heard somewhere: “Our homes are characters in our stories” (more on that here). And my apologies for the terrible pun, but that sentiment really hit home for me. We weren’t just finding a place to put our stuff or go to sleep at night; we were finding a spot that would become a key part of our story for the next undetermined number of years.

If there’s anyone who knows about longing for home, it’s Brooke. Last summer she and her family packed up their essential belongings, rented out their house, and bought a mobile home so they could embark on a yearlong, 48-state tour of the country. Her home has been on wheels for the past year, meaning that in some ways her home is always with her, and in some ways she’s never home. She knows what it’s like to have roots and to tear them up, how freedom is the other side of loneliness, and how home is both the place and the people.

I think God hardwired us to long for home—to want to put pieces of ourselves into the soil of a place, to make memories there, to let the love and the laughter soak so deeply into the walls that they are heavy with moments and days and years.

But here’s something else I’m learning: our desire for an earthly home is never going to be enough to fill the longing in our souls. Even if we manage to find the perfect paint swatches, line the walls with just the right decorations, and fix all the leaky faucets, it won’t be enough. That longing for a haven, a place to truly belong—that only comes when we make ourselves at home in Christ.

I’ve always loved this psalm, but it makes more sense to me now:

Lord, through all the generations
you have been our home!
—Psalm 90:1

It seems appropriate that this psalm was written by Moses, the wanderer. The guy who grew up with a family not his own and in a country not his own, the guy who spent forty years exiled in the desert, the guy who led his people to a Promised Land he never got to enter. I have a hunch this nomad never really had a place to put his feet up and get comfortable in.

But still, he found home. He learned the lesson we all need, whether we’re putting down roots or pulling them up: When you make your dwelling in God, you will always find home.

***

You never know where you’re going if you’re going by faith. If you’re going by faith, you’re always a stranger in this world, because your home is God.
—John Ortberg

Question for today: What’s something you wished you’d known when you moved into a new home? What’s something you learned from moving to a new place?

In honor of my recent move, I’m giving away a copy of Home Is Where My People Are by the talented and charming Sophie Hudson! It’s a wonderful book about the unexpected places and people that make up home, and what God teaches us along the way. To be eligible, tell me about your moving experience in the comment section below. I’ll give a free copy to one randomly selected commenter.

20 Comments Filed Under: Home Tagged With: dreams, Home, Home Is Where My People Are, new house, Psalms, Sophie Hudson
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July 2, 2015

10 Quotes for Editors

booksThis month I’m celebrating a dozen years as an editor at Tyndale House. In honor of my work anniversary, I’ve been reflecting on privilege it is to wake up each morning and do what I do. Every day people entrust to me one of their most precious possessions: their stories.

As an editor, I am invited into that rare sacred space between the writer and the reader, between the idea and the written word, between private musings and public declarations.

When people think of editor types, they often conjure up images of dour-faced schoolmarms with red pens poised. And while I admit that I delight in a well-placed semicolon or a properly punctuated possessive, there’s more to editing than the rules of grammar.

Sometimes an editor’s job is to find the pulse of a manuscript and resuscitate it. Sometimes an editor’s job is to hold the author’s hand and coax her through the final chapter. Sometimes the editor’s job is to recognize a thing of beauty and then get out of the way.

Whether you’re an editor or a comma queen or just someone who appreciates the process of words coming to life, I thought you might enjoy these quotes about editing I’ve been collecting over the years.

***

I have rewritten—often several times—every word I have ever published. My pencils outlast their erasers.
—Vladimir Nabokov

So the writer who breeds more words than he needs, is making a chore for the reader who reads.
—Dr. Seuss

“The editor is always right.” The corollary is that no writer will take all of his or her editor’s advice; for all have sinned and fallen short of editorial perfection. Put another way, to write is human, to edit is divine.
—Stephen King

I really think that the great difficulty in bringing [a manuscript] into final shape is the old one of not being able to see the forest for the trees. There are such a great number of trees. We must somehow bring the underlying scheme or pattern of the book into emphasis, so that the reader will be able to see the forest in spite of the many trees.
—Maxwell Perkins

Every editor becomes a de facto therapist, whether or not he engages in the therapeutic as well as the editorial process. His author presents a set of symptoms as clearly as a patient visiting a doctor.
—Betsy Lerner

But the work had told upon the Editor. Work of that sort carries its penalties with it. Success means absorption, and absorption spells softening of the brain.
—P. G. Wodehouse

I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.
—Douglas Adams

Half my life is an act of revision.
—John Irving

I can’t write five words but that I change seven.
—Dorothy Parker

An editor’s job is to heal the sick, not to raise the dead.
—Virginia Muir (the first editor at Tyndale House Publishers)

***

In honor of this occasion, I’m giving away one free book published by Tyndale House Publishers. To be eligible to win, write a comment with one of your favorite quotes (editing related or not). I’ll be selecting the winner on Monday!

7 Comments Filed Under: Literature Tagged With: books, Dorothy Parker, Dr. Seuss, editing, editor, John Irving, Literature, reading, Stephen King, Tyndale House Publishers
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June 24, 2015

How Do You Say Goodbye to a Place?

home

I sat on the bottom step in my living room last week, looking around at my-house-that-wasn’t-really-my-house anymore. The U-haul was parked at the end of the driveway, filled with every earthly possession my husband and I own. Everything had been packed. Every surface had been cleaned. There was nothing left to do but wait for the closing.

As I sat there, memories of the past decade flashed through my mind. I knew it was time to leave my condo and move into our new home—the first place my husband and I picked out together. But a wave of nostalgia swept over me now that it was time to say good-bye to this place—this place that had played such a significant part in my story.

I longed for some way to mark the moment, for some tangible closure, but I wasn’t sure what that would even look like. How do you say good-bye to a place that had been the staging ground for so much life?

I tried to imagine handing over the keys to my home of eleven years. I didn’t know much about the buyer—only that her name was Veronica, and what her signature looked like. Then the thought came to me, out of the blue: write her a note.

I hesitated, certain she’d think I was crazy. Then again, I’d never have to see her again, right? So I pulled out a yellow pad of paper and a blue felt-tip marker—the only writing implements I could find that weren’t packed away.

Dear Veronica,

Welcome home! I bought this condo when I was twenty-five, wide-eyed and terrified by the ream of papers I was signing without really understanding all the fine print. I was doing this on my own, and I never imagined I’d buy a place by myself. But it turned out to be the perfect spot for me—home to fondue parties with friends, Easter brunches with family crammed into the living room, and slumber parties with my sister. This is where I grew brave and grew up. It’s where I learned to paint a room and cook a lasagna and plant tulip bulbs.

And then something unexpected and delightful happened—I got married, and my husband moved in, along with his three bikes, four guitars, and a dozen houseplants. It’s the place we came back to after our honeymoon, the first home we lived in together. The walls are filled with four years of laughter and words and music, with growing pains and good memories from our newlywed days.

I heard someone say once that your home is a character in your story, and I think that’s true. I don’t know how long you’ll stay here or how your story will unfold, but I pray that this home will be a wonderful character in the story of your life too.

So here’s my benediction, over you and this house: May God bless each moment you spend here, and may he bless each person who walks through these doors.

Stephanie

Then I put the yellow sheet on the counter, right under the spare set of keys, feeling relieved that she wouldn’t read this note until she moved in and I was several cities away.

What I failed to account for was that the walk-through. Meaning she read the note right before I saw her at the closing.

When I entered the huge conference room, I realized my tactical error immediately. I also realized that this was not the place for sappy notes. The room was filled with serious-faced lawyers and professional-looking loan officers and a bunch of other people who looked distinctly unsentimental.

But then I saw Veronica hanging back, motioning for me to come closer. She looked just as wide-eyed as I’d been in her shoes eleven years ago. “Thanks for the note,” she whispered. And I saw that her eyes were brimming with tears.

“Congratulations,” I whispered back.

As I learned in snippets during our paper-signing marathon, she was me—a decade ago. Twenty-five. Single. An eighth-grade teacher.

At the end of the closing, I handed her the keys, and I sensed that something inside me had settled. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, and then it hit me: closure. This was full circle—the closing of a chapter for me as a new one started for her.

I smiled at her and then took Daniel’s hand. It was time to introduce ourselves to the new character in our story.

Happy house to you, Veronica. Happy house.

13 Comments Filed Under: Grace, Life Tagged With: goodbye, Grace, growing up, Home, Life, marriage, moving, singleness
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June 19, 2015

How to Wait Well

alarm_clock_leftIn the course of any life, I think, there are seasons of waiting. As much as we want to fast-forward to that thing we’re anticipating, we find ourselves faced with factors we can’t control, leaving us helpless against a clock we can’t set or predict.

It’s a vulnerable place to find yourself at the mercy of a calendar that’s not your own.

Maybe you’ve been looking for a job for so long that the taste of rejection is more familiar than your morning coffee. You send yet another résumé into cyberspace, and you wait . . . and wait some more.

Or maybe you’ve watched as all your friends have found love, and you find yourself alone . . . still waiting to be chosen, pursued.

Maybe you’ve been longing for a child—one from your own body or one from across the globe. You’ve jumped through all the hoops, and now there’s nothing left to do but wait.

Or maybe there’s something else you’re waiting for: for your house to sell, for the medical test results to come in, for a relationship to be reconciled, for deliverance from whatever demon has been plaguing you.

We all wait—there’s no avoiding it, no matter our life stage. Even if we get the thing we’ve been waiting for, it only means graduating to a new phase of waiting we hadn’t anticipated. So the question isn’t if we will wait; it’s how we will wait.

As I look back on various seasons of waiting in my life, I realize my waiting style leaves something to be desired. I’ve waited like a child in line at the grocery store: impatient, antsy, so focused on the line that I couldn’t appreciate anything else around me. I’ve waited like a robot, deciding it was too painful to admit my desires and hopes, so I tried to shut down my heart.

But the psalmist provides another alterative when it comes to how to wait: We can wait on God the way a handmaiden waits on her mistress:

As the eyes of a maid to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the Lord our God, until he has mercy upon us.
Psalm 123:2

What would it look like, I wonder, to be that attentive to God in my waiting? What if, instead of being so focused on my circumstances or my worries or my fears, I was focused on every little move God was making?

What if I was intent not just on what God would do for me during the waiting as on what I could do for God?

I don’t just want to wait for him. I want to wait on him.

***

The waiting itself is beneficial to us: it tries faith, exercises patience, trains submission, and endears the blessing when it comes. The Lord’s people have always been a waiting people.
Charles Spurgeon

Leave a Comment Filed Under: Faith Tagged With: Charles Spurgeon, Faith, God, hope, Psalms, trust, waiting
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June 5, 2015

Friday Favorites for June

friday_favorites_header1

Happy Friday! Here are a few of my favorite things recently. Hope you enjoy!

For personality-type fans . . .

I admit it: I’m a personality-type junkie, so I found this description of the worst-case scenarios for various personality types fascinating. I’m an INFJ (but the description of ISFJ is pretty spot on for me too). The Definition of Hell for Each Myers-Briggs Personality Type

For anyone who wants the inside scoop on authors’ snacking habits . . .

Did you know that Agatha Christie drank heavy cream—without coffee!—while she wrote? Or that Emily Dickinson made homemade bread each morning? 9 Famous Authors’ Favorite Workday Snacks

For anyone who wonders what it’s like to get old alongside someone else . . .

What if you could fast-forward in time and see what it would be like to get old together with another person? This video simulates the experience: Young Couple Gets Increasingly Aged with Make-up and Revealed to Each Other

For Scribble aficionados . . .

In case you’re wondering, onesie, shizzle, hashtag, and cakehole are now legitimate on the Scrabble board: Go Forth and Pwn for Shizzle Say Scrabble Word List Guardians

For anyone making a big decision . . .

Summer seems to be a time of big decisions: graduations, weddings, moves, and the like. This article offers a practical checklist for when you’re facing a tough choice: http://www.relevantmagazine.com/life/4-questions-ask-when-making-big-decision

 

3 Comments Filed Under: Friday Favorites Tagged With: aging, authors, decisions, Literature, marriage, Myers-Briggs, personality types, Scrabble
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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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