Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

A Tale of Two Lipsticks

lipstickI was minding my own business in the cosmetics aisle at Target the other day when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Excuse me, but can you tell me which one of these looks red?”

I turned around to see a woman in her 50s, her face the very definition of angst. She was holding two lipstick tubes directly in front of me.

Now I admit I was feeling pretty confident I could ace this one, having mastered my ROYGBIV a long time ago, but when I looked at the lipstick, I found myself utterly befuddled. PEOPLE, they were almost the identical shade of fire-engine red.

“Um,” I faltered, wondering if this was a trick question. “They’re both lovely.”

The woman’s face instantly fell, and I realized there would be no elegant sidestepping of this question.

“Okay, what are you looking for?” I asked.

“I want it to be RED,” she said. “Not even a little bit orange or pink. RED.”

I looked at the two tubes again, desperately trying to decipher any nuances between the two. And then it hit me: this woman wasn’t looking to me for my color expertise or my fashion savvy. It was well into the afternoon, and any attention I’d paid to my lips before I left for work was long gone by now. I’d eaten something that required much napkin-swabbing for lunch, and I’d made a mad dash through a rainstorm on my way into the store, so I clearly didn’t have the cosmetic qualifications to answer this question.

What this woman needed was someone to feel confident on her behalf when she did not. (Which, come to think of it, was surprising for someone with such a bold shade of lipstick.)

I took a breath and dug in. I looked at the current shade she was wearing, and then I looked at the two tubes again. “This one,” I said with more certitude than I felt. “Definitely this one. It looks like the color you’re wearing now.”

She breathed an audible sigh of relief and headed directly to the check-out. I shook my head as she left, wishing I could be so confident when it came to my own decisions.

The thing is, sometimes we lose perspective when it comes to our own lives. We can’t tell if red is red. We need someone else to speak the truth boldly on our behalf.

Sometimes we shy away when someone asks for our input, not wanting to butt in to someone else’s business. But what if one word from you is exactly what that person needs to be able to move forward, to do the big thing they need to do? What if one word from you could inject in them the extra inch of courage they need?

Maybe they need to hear words like this from you:

Yes, try for the new job.
Yes, write the book.
Yes, go on the trip.
Yes, ask her out.
Yes, go back to school.
Yes, turn in your adoption application.
Yes, follow your dream.
And yes, get the red lipstick.

As I drove home, I wondered about the woman’s story. What had she needed RED lipstick for? Was she feeling any braver? Was she applying it in her rearview mirror this very moment?

I’m reminded of the words of that wise philosopher Christopher Robin, spoken to his friend Pooh:

“You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart . . . I’ll always be with you.”

Isn’t that one of the reasons we’re here? To be bold on behalf of our friends when they are feeling timid. To speak truth to them when they can’t see it. To be there for them when they can’t tell red from red.

Whatever hard decision you’re facing right now, allow me to be your Christopher Robin: You, my friend, are braver than you believe. You’ve got this.

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Has someone ever spoken bold words to you when you were facing a tough decision? I’d love to hear your story!

This Is How You Write

writingThis week I’m speaking at a writers’ conference in Seattle. I’m excited to meet the writers and hear their stories, because writers are made from special cloth.

Whether you write in the privacy of your own journal or on a blog or in the form of notes to your kids, there’s something brave about putting words onto paper.

I wrote this manifesto to share with the writers I meet this week—and with you, too. In case I don’t get to sit down with you in a one-on-one session, happy writing!

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This Is How You Write

Write it down. Scratch it out. Start over again.

This is how you write.

Write. Edit. Delete. Cry.

Breathe.

Rethink. Rewrite. Reorganize. Revise.

Repeat.

This is how you write.

Put on your sweatpants. Get a cup of tea. Plant yourself in the chair and tell your fingers to type.

This is how you write.

Spend time with imaginary people. Fall into a rabbit hole of research. Believe that productivity isn’t always measured by word count.

This is how you write.

Chain-read books. Soak up the different voices. Then find your own.

This is how you write.

Ignore the laundry, the dishes, the clock ticking inevitably toward dinner.

This is how you write.

Eavesdrop at the car wash, the grocery store, the DMV. Store up nuggets of dialogue.

This is how you write.

Get a snack. Check Facebook-Instagram-Twitter-YouTube. Stare out the window. Get another snack.

This is how you write.

Create, like your Father before you. Mark this space as sacred.

This is how you write.

Also: ignore the people who say “This is how you write.”

Do it your own way.

***

What else would you add to the list about how to write?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

Courage is fear that has said its prayers.
Jill Briscoe

***

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

Unearthing Your Buried Dream

Picture yourself when you were a kid—say, ten years old. Old enough to have discovered a bit about who you are, but young enough not to be jaded by things like pragmatism and budgets and the real world.

What did you dream about?
What did you hope for?
What visions did you have for the future?

When I was ten, I had aspirations of becoming an astronaut and an author. The intergalactic dream died a quick death when I realized I didn’t like any classes ending in “ology,” but the writing dream was harder to shake. I fantasized about putting words onto paper in a way that clicked with people and made them think and prompted them to say, “You too?”

Stephanie Rische children's book

And so, with some help from Mom and her cabinet full of craft supplies, I managed to put together my own book—a gripping tale about Molly the Mouse, who is deeply misunderstood, gets lost in the countryside, and eventually finds love and a home. (I think this title is actually the first in a two-part series about Molly Mouse, if I could only dig up the next book somewhere in my box-o-treasures.)

When I grew up, I shelved the writing dream, immersing myself with words and books but not believing I could write. That was for people who were smarter than me, more creative than me—people who had something important to say. But that little nugget of a dream never went away.

I think that’s how it is when God plants a desire or a passion or a dream in us. It may get buried for a while, but he never forgets about that dream-seed.

So what are the dreams planted inside of you?
What is buried in your heart under the layers of sediment and years?

It can be scary to dig down and excavate those places, because when we do, we expose tender, vulnerable pieces of ourselves to potential hurt. And we open ourselves up to potential disappointment and failure.

Dungy Bible Study

But you know what is worse than failing? Never finding out what God would do with those dream-seeds if we gave him a chance. Never tasting the joy that comes with doing what we were made to do. Never giving other people a chance to be fed by our gift.

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

Frederick Buechner

Twenty-five years after writing that first book, I am a little stunned to see my name on the cover of a real book real book. (It’s in small letters, but look closely—it’s there!) This book wasn’t handwritten and photocopied, and it required none of Mom’s craft supplies. But the feeling inside is the same, a quarter of a century later.

Whatever passion is burning inside of you, whatever dream is hiding there under the surface, I encourage you to chase after it—to go after that place where deep gladness and deep hunger collide.

And if you do, I’d love to hear about so I can be there, cheering you on.

bible women

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In honor of launch week for StephanieRische.com, I’m giving away a copy of the Everyday Matters Bible for Women. To be eligible, simply answer this question in the comment section:

What was one of your dreams as a kid? What did you want to do or be someday?

Submit your answer by Monday, March 3, to be eligible to win.

Friday Favorites: June

This Friday I thought I’d share a few of my recent favorite things with you.

For anyone who loves to read…

This site is fantastic—kind of like Pandora for book lovers.

What Should I Read Next

For all angsty writers (wait, is that redundant?)…

If you’ve ever felt the pain and suffering of writing (or not writing), this is for you:

Having Trouble Writing? Try This Famous Author’s Technique

ff June5

For anyone who loves a second breakfast…

I kind of want to live in (or at least visit) these Hobbit houses.

Real Life Houses That Look like They Belong in the Shire

ff June3

For anyone who knows they’ll never live up to Pinterest…

Next time you’re having a rough day, all you need to do is look at these babies in pumpkins. That’s real life.

Reasons You Should Never Reenact Pinterest Photos

ff June2

For anyone who needs a little boost of brave…

“Sometimes it’s good to let them see you sweat even when it feels awkward. Fear seems to grow in the darkness of isolation.”

Why You Need to Tell Someone How Scared You Are

ff June1

48 Pieces of Fried Chicken

When Daniel and I walked into the grocery store the other night, we were just expecting to pick up a few things for dinner. We weren’t anticipating so much drama.

When we checked out, the couple in front of us had two huge tubs of fried chicken, the aroma of which wafted through the checkout area, setting our stomachs to rumbling. After all our items had been scanned and bagged, we noticed that the couple remained standing there, apparently still waiting for their chicken.

“Where did you put their bags?” the cashier asked the guy doing the bagging, a gangly teenager with a mop of blue-streaked hair.

He gave her a look of befuddlement. “You mean the chicken? I gave it to the woman in front of them.”

“Well, go to the parking lot!” she barked. “You’d better find her before she drives away.”

As the bagger dashed out of the store, Daniel and I looked at each other, trying our best not to split at the seams. We couldn’t decide what was funnier—the fact that the couple had patiently waited all this time for their fried chicken, which by now was probably halfway across town in an unidentified SUV, or the fact that at this very moment some woman was driving away wondering why her car smelled like KFC. I wished I could have seen her face when she arrived at home to find precisely 48 pieces of hot chicken in with the rest of her groceries.

But our laughter evaporated the moment we exited the store. There was the bagger, standing in his shirtsleeves despite the freezing temperatures. He was shouting into the night air and throwing punches at the concrete post outside the store.

Daniel, who possesses the handy skillset of being able to strike up conversations with strangers and being able to calm potentially volatile situations, didn’t hesitate. “Hey,” he said to the boy. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just about ready to sack this job.” The kid swung another fist into the air.

As the conversation progressed, we found out the store was understaffed that day and the bagger felt like he couldn’t keep up. “And when I’m under pressure,” he said, “I do stupid things like this. I might as well quit before they fire me.”

Fortunately, among his other talents, Daniel also has the gift of encouragement. “You know, they need you in there. If you leave, what will they do without you? I know you can go in there and finish well tonight. It’ll work out.”

Before long, our bagger friend had calmed down and was ready to face the disgruntled cashier. I don’t know if he ended up quitting or not, but before he headed back in the store, he managed a small smile. “Thanks,” he said, nodding in Daniel’s direction.

As we made our way to our car, I couldn’t help but wonder how different that guy’s evening might have been if we’d just avoided the awkwardness and headed straight to our car.

To encourage literally means to pour courage into someone, and that’s exactly what Daniel did: he gave that boy the courage to turn around and go back into the store. But something I’d never considered much before was that encouragement also tends to require courage on the part of the one doing the encouraging. Daniel was only able to pour courage into this guy because he was courageous enough to enter his world.

Sometimes courage-pouring means stepping right into the middle of awkwardness when it would be easier to go our own way.

In his essay “The Weight of Glory,” C. S. Lewis extends this sobering charge about the way we treat the people we come into contact with each day—at work, at home, even at the grocery store. Since people are made in the image of God, he claims, they are no mere mortals. They deserve courage-pouring—all of them.

“There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations—these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendors. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously—no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption.”

I confess that as Daniel and I drove away, we shamelessly peered into the window to find out what happened with the chicken. The last we saw, the couple was going back for two new buckets of fried chicken. We can only assume the other woman called a bunch of her friends over and had a party.

Encourage each other and build each other up, just as you are already doing.

—1 Thessalonians 5:11