Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

The One Prayer You Need

Have you ever hit the bottom of the prayer barrel?

You’ve been praying about the same thing day after day, month after month, year after year, yet nothing will budge.

You’ve been crying facedown before the Lord, your heart wrenching right in two, yet he seems deaf to your cries.

And now? Now you have no words left. Whenever you find yourself alone with God, the words stick in your throat. There are no eloquent petitions, no pronouncements of trust. Just the hollow beating of your heart. Even if you manage to squeeze out some words, they bounce off the ceiling, right back at you. You never wanted it to come to this, but you have no idea how to get on speaking terms with him again.

I know what it’s like to have parched lips, mute tongue. I know what it’s like to hear nothing at prayer time but the beating of my own heart. Yet the more I read Scripture, the more convinced I am that there’s only one prayer—indeed, one word—that really matters.

Abba. Daddy.

It was the first prayer the disciples learned to pray:

Our Abba in heaven . . . (Matthew 6:9)

It was the desperate cry of the prodigal son returning home to his father:

Abba, I have sinned against both heaven and you . . . (Luke 15:21)

It was the anguished cry of Jesus himself during that final week of his life on earth:

Abba, Father . . . please take this cup of suffering away from me. (Mark 14:36)

Abba, forgive them. . . . (Luke 23:34)

Abba, I entrust my spirit into your hands! (Luke 23:46)

When we cry out “Abba,” we’re not just picking one of God’s names at random; we’re claiming our special relationship to him. We’re saying we know who he is and we know who we are: his own beloved daughters and sons.

In that case, maybe it doesn’t matter so much how we pray; it’s who we’re praying to.

We don’t need to have all the right words—just the one word that makes all things right. Abba.

Into the Deep

ocean 2She said good-bye to her husband ten months ago. Well, that isn’t exactly right. She’d been saying good-bye to him for nine years . . . the slow good-bye of Alzheimer’s. He took his final breath on a blistering day last August, but he’d been slipping away from her, memory by memory, for some time before that.

She misses him. When she walks by his picture, she wags her finger at him. “You stinker!” she says, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Why did you leave first?”

We laugh, but we both feel the undertow of grief.

“I’m homesick for heaven,” she says. It’s barely more than a whisper.

“Do you ever ask God why?” I don’t even know which why I mean—why Bob’s memories were stolen from him, why she had to say a long good-bye to her beloved, why the Parkinson’s is now stripping her of the things she loves. But I need to know. It’s a question that burns in my own gut.

Ruth is many things to me—a mentor, the wife of my childhood pastor, a friend. But most of all, she’s a mirror of the woman I want to become someday. There’s a half-century between us, but our friendship is the richer for it. I want her wise wrinkles, her words that ooze grace, her ability to laugh at herself until tears run down her cheeks, her knack for making each guest who enters her home feel like British royalty.

And so I need to know how she does this. How does she wrestle with those prayers that go unanswered—or unanswered in the way she hoped? I’m dabbling in the shallow end of faith, and I need her to tell me how to do this when the shore is no longer in sight.

She smiles at my question—gentle, patient. “The older I get, the less I ask God why,” she says. “More and more, I’m in awe that he would entrust these wounds and difficulties to me.”

I stare at her, dumb. I’m more aware than ever that I have a single toe in the water while she’s out in the deep-blue sea. “You mean God works in spite of the wounds?”

She shakes her head ever so slightly. “The wounds are the gift.”

I’m not even Peter, sinking in the raging waves. I haven’t gotten out of the boat.

“I used to think we would bring our medals to God one day,” she says. “We’d get to heaven and show him all our successes, all the good things we’ve done. But I don’t think so anymore.”

I stare at her, wondering if she notices the waves crashing around her.

“God isn’t impressed by our achievements,” she says. “He wants our wounds. I have a feeling he’d tell us, ‘Look at my Son. He just came to me with his scars.’”

When it’s time to go, I hug her good-bye, surprised that someone so frail could squeeze so tight. As I make my way to the car, soul still reeling, I feel a question bubbling up inside me.

Why, Lord?

But this time the question is fueled by awe.

Of all the people in the world, why do I get to be her friend?

I don’t know why. But like Ruth, I’m starting to realize that maybe that’s not the most important question. Maybe it’s time to leave the shore behind and follow her into the deep.

You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep My faith will stand.
—From “Oceans” by Hillsong United

 

Getting a New Name

Shauna Niequist wrote a beautiful post a while back about the old stories we believe about ourselves. Even though God has been at work in us, transforming us and giving us new identities, we continue to buy into old versions of ourselves—or lies we’ve bought into for too long.

In her post “Change the Story” she says:

There are people and situations that take us back to old, old stories, and even though we’re moms now, not children, or even though we’re business owners now, not adolescents, we find ourselves acting out stories that haven’t been true for a long time, or stories that were never true to begin with.

I’ve been thinking about this lately, and I’ve been reminded of those famous words of Jesus: that the truth will set you free.

One of my friends sees herself as nonconfrontational, fearful of stepping into dangerous situations. But as I’ve watched her parent a son with severe allergies, I see how God is rewriting that story. I first witnessed this growing bravery when she discovered her son’s dairy allergy. She was miles from home and husband, but she confronted every obstacle in her way to find out what was happening to her baby and get him the help he needed. And as I watch her continue to advocate for her little guy at restaurants, at school, and on playdates, making sure he’s safe physically and not being left out, she is growing into many shades of brave.

Another friend holds on to an old version of herself—a story that she is slow to warm up with new people, that no would pursue her or connect with her without a long lead time. But over the years, I’ve seen her stepping out in her job, flourishing in her interactions with clients, stepping into new friendships, making herself rightly vulnerable in relationships new and old. And something amazing is happening: people are seeing her for the beautiful woman she is. God is rewriting her story.

For years I’ve believed that I was destined to live in fear. I worried about big things and little things, about the noise in my attic that was most likely a serial killer and about global warming and about losing the people I loved most. I decided that my condition was chronic—that I’d just have to figure out how to live with it. But somewhere along the way, God began to rewrite that script. Instead of keeping a running tally of my worries, I started to track all the ways I’d seen his faithfulness to me. And ever so subtly, I noticed that fear was no longer in the driver’s seat of my life.

One of the things I appreciate about God is that he loves us just the way we are but doesn’t leave us that way. The evidence is there all through Scripture as he discards old stories and gives people new names, new identities:

  • When God gave Abram a promise for generations to come, he told him, You are no longer Abram. From now on, you will be Abraham—the father of many nations (Genesis 17:5).
  • When Jacob had an encounter with God, God told him, You will no longer be called the deceiver. From now on, your name will be Israel—one who has struggled with God (Genesis 32:28).
  • When Jesus met Peter, he said, Your name is no longer Simon. From now on, you will be Peter, the rock (Matthew 16:18).

I hear God saying the same thing today:

  • You are no longer Timid. My daughter, your new name is Brave.
  • You are no longer Unseen. You are my daughter Beloved.
  • You are no longer Much-Afraid. You are my daughter Learning-to-Trust.

What about you? Is there a story that God has rewritten in your life—or one that he’s rewriting now? Has God given you a new name? I’d love to hear about it, I’d be honored to pray for you on this journey.

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.

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.  

Looking for God in the Cracks

Navy Pier

My cousin from California recently spent a month with us in the Windy City. It was her first extended stay here, and I hoped she’d fall in love with this place I call home. But Chicago, you sure didn’t make it easy. The evening she arrived, we got almost a foot of snow. The next day we experienced record-breaking low temps, dipping to 25 below zero with wind chill. Although this charming weather pattern may be something of a novelty at first, it doesn’t make any friends when it sticks around for any extended length of time.So as soon as the thermometer registered in the double digits, we decided to take Jen into the city and show her the sights. One of our stops was Navy Pier, a 100-year-old pier that juts 3,000 feet out from the shoreline into Lake Michigan.

When we looked out onto the lake, I was reminded just how vast this body of water is. When you’re standing on the pier, all you can is water on three sides, extending far beyond what the eye can see. I try to imagine how far away Door County is, try to picture the opposite shoreline somewhere in Indiana. But each time, I fail. The magnitude of 1,000 cubic miles of water is beyond what my mind can take in.

Not only that, but it’s also hard to appreciate the beauty of something so vast. It was only when I saw that great lake contrasted against something smaller that I could appreciate its grandeur and beauty. Like when waves crashed against the shoreline. Or when the ice floes bobbed in the current. Or when a gull ducked under the icy surface to procure its lunch. Or when I saw the lighthouse sitting tall and proud on the rocky crag.

I just finished reading Lewis Smedes’s spiritual memoir, My God and I, which he finished writing shortly before his death. This book is a lovely blend of accessible theology and personal stories, at once homespun and profound, and it’s filled with little gems about everything from doubt to hope to old age. But what captivated me from the first page was a letter written to Lewis by his friend Rod Jellema about the presence of God. In part, it goes like this:

Navy Pier

Don’t tell me how God’s mercy
is as wide as the ocean, as deep as the sea.
I already believe it, but that infinite prospect
gets further away the more we mouth it. . . .

The thin and tenuous
thread we hang by, so astonishing,
is the metaphor I need at the shoreline
of all those immeasurable oceans of love.

I can relate to this idea of looking for God in the cracks and crevices of life. My mind tends to go into overload when I try to wrap my brain around the depth and infinite nature of God. But to see God in the tenuous thread I’m hanging on to? Now that I may be able to do.

***

What about you?

Are there times when God seems too vast to take in?

Are there moments when his love is hard to wrap your brain and heart around?

If so, I invite you to join me on the shoreline, clinging to him amid the cracks and crevices.

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.

3, 2, 1 . . . Takeoff!

When I was growing up, I had lofty aspirations of becoming an astronaut. In retrospect, this desire was likely sparked by watching SpaceCamp one too many times rather than by any real interest in scientific advancements or lunar landings. (And, for the sake of full disclosure, maybe I was also enthralled by those cute little packages of astronaut ice cream.)

But when it came down to it, the greatest pull of the astronaut life was the adrenaline-laced takeoff. After months, maybe even years, of training, it all comes down to one big moment. As the seconds tick backward from ten, you hold your breath, knowing that this critical juncture marks the difference between launch and disaster, success and failure, life and death.

That moment contains all the drama of new beginnings, new explorations, new adventures.

In good news for all of us, this website launch has significantly less drama attached to it. And unless for some unforeseen reason I die of embarrassment at some point along the way, the stakes are not life-or-death. But even so, I am holding my breath in eager expectation of this new beginning.

I’m looking forward to connecting with you, hearing your stories, and sharing glimpses of grace together. God tends to do some wildly beautiful things when he brings people’s lives to intersect, and I’m eager to see what he has up his sleeve for all of us.

So thank you for joining me here. I invite you to nose around the website, check out Sarah Parisi’s beautiful work, and make yourself at home.

And now, for that SpaceCamp moment you’ve been waiting for: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . . takeoff!

Women at Risk necklace

I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.
—Isaiah 43:19

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In honor of the website launch, I’m giving away a free necklace today. It was made by a woman who was rescued from the sex industry in Bangkok, Thailand. I had the privilege of serving on a short-term trip with Kay and Mike Killar of Samaritan Creations several years ago, so it means a lot to me that this necklace was made by one of the precious women in their ministry. To see more beautiful products made by at-risk or rescued women, check out the Women at Risk site here.

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

What new thing is happening in your life right now? Is there something you’re getting ready to launch?

Be sure to submit your answer by Friday, February 28!