Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

Unexpected Love Letters

love lettersToday’s Christian Woman just posted my article about love letters…and how they’re sometimes written with something other than pen and paper.

Unexpected Love Letters

I’m a sucker for old-fashioned letters and old-fashioned romance, so I felt like a teenager at prom when I happened upon a book called Love Letters of Great Men. I waited all day before cracking it open, eager to sink my teeth into it as if it were the literary equivalent of dark chocolate.

At first I was savoring the letters—these epistles dating as far back as Pliny the Younger almost 2,000 years ago and capturing the words of some of the political and literary greats in the centuries since. I was taken by the beauty of the language, the permanence of the sentiments, and the artistry of the writers as they sought to capture their passion and pin it down with ink and paper. In short, I wanted to love those love letters.

But then something unexpected happened: I started digging up biographical information about a few of these “great men,” and suddenly their words sounded less like soaring symphonies and more like discordant clanging.

You can read the rest of the article here.

The Knife

the_knife_by_stephanie_rischeIn my role as an editor, I’ve been dubbed “The Knife” by a few select people. It may sound a bit harsh at first, especially since if you know me, you know I don’t enjoy inflicting pain. (Case in point: as much as I love bacon, I’ve been known to go vegetarian at pig roasts because I can’t bear the thought of eating little Porky once I’ve seen his face.)

But there’s something to the nickname, because ultimately an editor is a surgeon . . . someone who identifies the parts that are sick, decaying, or sucking the life out of a manuscript, and then ever so carefully removes them. For some manuscripts, this looks like major amputation, followed by the grafting-in of new content. Other manuscripts require the use of a smaller knife for more intricate incisions.

As gentle and careful as a surgeon might be, there’s no getting around it: the knife hurts. It’s never pleasant to have a part of yourself sliced into or lopped off. But the alternative is worse. It’s better to have someone who cares about you do surgery than to let the infection worsen and potentially creep to other parts of the body (or manuscript) as well.

Lately I went through the eye-opening experience of having the tables turned. Instead of the knife being in my own hand, this time I was on the receiving end of the edits. And you know what? It hurt to be on the operating table. But in the best possible way. That’s how it feels when you hear truth from someone who loves you. Good hurt.

Wounds from a sincere friend
are better than many kisses from an enemy.
—Proverbs 27:6

As in manuscripts, so it is in life. Although there’s a part of me that wants to bury my head in the sand and hide my vulnerable places in front of others, deep down I really want to know my weak spots. I want someone to gently point out my blind spots. It’s the only way I know to grow.

Right now I’m reading Daring Greatly by Brené Brown, and she talks a lot about the power of making ourselves vulnerable before others. “Courage,” she says, “starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.”

Maybe you don’t need a literal editor or a surgeon right now, but in what ways do you need to show up and let yourself be seen? Where do you need to let down your guard? Where do you need to allow other people speak truth into your life?

If we’re going to find our way out of shame and back to each other, vulnerability is the path and courage is the light. . . . To love ourselves and support each other in the process of becoming real is perhaps the greatest single act of daring greatly. —Brené Brown

If we’re going to grow and dare and live brave, then we need to put ourselves on the operating table every once in a while . . . and entrust our friends with the knife.

10 Grammar Saves in 10 Years

I’m not quite sure how I blinked and 10 years passed, but last month I woke up and realized it had been a whole decade since I jumped into the world of editing and publishing. It has been a good decade, and in honor of the mile marker, I thought I’d share with you 10 of the errors I’ve stopped from going into print over the past 10 years.

{Note: I have omitted the authors and titles of these books to protect the relevant parties, but rest assured, these are all real quotes from real books.}

grammar3

  1. My daddy was a steal worker, and my granddaddy was a steal worker.
    [Sounds like a kind of shady business to me.]
  2. Gelatins 2:16 clearly states that human deeds can never save us.
    [Shockingly, the book of Gelatins made it through spell-check but not canonization.]
  3. I was blessed by marring a Christian lady and having three kids.
    [The blessing doesn’t quite sound mutual when you put it that way.]
  4. As a society, we’ve developed an erroneous belief system that is about as subtle as a rattle snack.
    [Hmm, must be a Southern delicacy, up there with fried okra.]
  5. Joshua 2: Rehab helps the Israelite spies
    [The earliest evidence of a successfully implemented 12-step program . . . ]
  6. But the Pharisees hardened their hearts toward Jesus’ wisdom. . . . They planned to deny pubicly that he was Messiah.
    [I have nothing further to say.]
  7. This relationship is called “the hookup,” referring to repeated one nightstands.
    [I’m getting a mental image of row after row of identical bedroom furniture. . . .]
  8. Does that mean God wants us to never plop down on the coach?
    [I’m not sure he addresses that particular issue, but it does sound rather uncomfortable for all parties.]
  9. “You don’t realize that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blond and naked” (Revelation 3:17).
    [Apparently, God prefers brunettes.]
  10. From an endnote source: (Colorado Springs: Multnomah Boobs; 2009), 275.
    [With apologies to the lovely people who work at Multnomah.]

ten_grammar_saves “There are two typos of people in this world: those who can edit and those who can’t.” —Jarod Kintz

“Only Southerners have taken horsewhips and pistols to editors about the treatment or maltreatment of their manuscript. This—the actual pistols—was in the old days, of course, we no longer succumb to the impulse. But it is still there, within us.” —William Faulkner

Why God Loves Adverbs

I have a confession to make that I fear will confirm any lingering suspicions about my nerdiness (in case my musings about prepositions didn’t seal it for you): I secretly enjoy the parts of speech. You know—nouns, verbs, predicate adjectives, and the like. (I have a fetish for sentence diagramming too, but that’s a neurosis for another day.)

So when I came across this proverb from the Puritans, I was pretty delighted: “God loveth adverbs.” Of course he does! was my immediate thought. He revealed himself as the Word, after all. No doubt we’ll talk about the finer parts of grammar in heaven—maybe we’ll even have sentence-parsing workshops behind the pearly gates.

But when I got past the grammatical bent of the proverb, I found it downright convicting. If the Puritans were right, God doesn’t just care about what we do, but how we do it.

Here’s how Paul put it:

My dear brothers and sisters, be strong and immovable. Always work enthusiastically for the Lord, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless.

—1 Corinthians 15:58

It strikes me that in some ways the verb part isn’t as hard to pull off as the adverb. It’s not all that impressive to do the right thing…but to do it with the right heart, the right attitude? This is a high standard we’re called to in 1 Corinthians—not just to work for the Lord, but to always work enthusiastically.

On a practical level, I wonder what that would look like in my life. It’s one thing to make dinner for husband, but am I doing so enthusiastically (i.e., happy to serve, not keeping track of whose “turn” it is)? It’s one thing to give money when the offering plate goes by, but am I doing so enthusiastically (i.e., out of joy, not obligation)? It’s one thing to forgive my neighbors for their persistently yipping dog, but am I doing so enthusiastically (i.e., not holding a silent grudge or fantasizing about a canine larynx removal)?

It’s not enough to do the verbs. I need to do them with all the punch of a good adverb. Enthusiastically.

I’ve taken the challenge of reading the Bible chronologically this year and tracing the thread of grace through it. These musings are prompted by my reading. I’d love to have you join me: One Year Bible reading plan.

God’s Favorite Preposition

One of the highlights of my seventh grade year was learning the Preposition Song in Mrs. Eaton’s language arts class. (I do realize how lame that sounds, but hey, it was seventh grade. It was a rough year.) Every day during our grammar unit, the whole class would belt out the prepositions to the tune of “Yankee Doodle”:

Aboard, about, above, across

Against, along, around….

I confess that I still sing the song on occasion. You know, when I’m sitting around pondering parts of speech.

I’ve always loved the name used for the promised Messiah in Isaiah 7: Immanuel. God with us. It evokes mental images of starry skies over Bethlehem, peaceful Nativity scenes of Mother and Child. But as I take in the events surrounding Isaiah’s prophesy of Immanuel, I’m struck by the rather desolate context. Israel and its kings had been going their own way ever since the end of King David’s reign, defying God and disobeying his commands. God was warning his people in no uncertain terms that if they didn’t turn their hearts back to him, they would face the consequences.

Watch out, because now the Lord’s fierce anger has been turned against you!

—2 Chronicles 28:11

Isaiah described the coming judgment in bleak terms: Israel’s enemy Assyria would invade their country. Their land would become a place of famine and desolation. And ultimately they would be taken captive and exiled to enemy territory. It’s into this sober visual that Isaiah promises the coming of Immanuel.

In other places in the Bible, God is described with a number of other prepositions:

God above us (Job 31:2)

God before us (Psalm 90:2)

God beyond us (Psalm 147:5)

God for us (Romans 8:31)

But when God announces the Incarnation—his revelation in human form—he describes himself as with his people. Not just above us. Not just before us. Not just beyond us. Not just for us. But with us. Facing our struggles with us. Standing against the enemy with us. Going through the years of desolation and hopelessness with us.

When I find myself in a difficult season, I admit that at times I long for other prepositions. I want God to take me out of it. I want to be through it. I want to be over it. But God gives me something messier, more involved. He dives in and enters my world, even in the hard places. Especially in the hard places. He gives me the best preposition of all: Immanuel.

God is with us.

I’ve taken the challenge of reading the Bible chronologically this year and tracing the thread of grace through it. These musings are prompted by my reading. I’d love to have you join me: One Year Bible reading plan.