Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

The Gift of Presence

Today marks a dubious anniversary in my life. On this date last year, I was flat on my back, having just received a one-word explanation for why I felt like I’d been run over by a Mack truck: mono.

It had been a whirlwind of a month leading up to the diagnosis. Within the span of just a few weeks, the man of my dreams put a sparkly thing on my finger and asked me to marry him; I went on vacation with my future in-laws; and shortly thereafter I hopped into a minivan with my family for a cross-country trip to meet my new nephew. All this while in the throes of planning a wedding scheduled for less than six months away. It’s little wonder, I suppose, that I found myself unable to get out of bed one morning not long after the whirlwind subsided.

One of the worst parts about the mono (aside from the fire in my throat and the relentless teasing about how I’d contracted “the kissing disease”) was the solitary nature of it. I couldn’t go to work; I didn’t want to contaminate my friends and family; and based on the swollen state of my adenoids, even talking on the phone sounded like torture. With a warning from the doctor about a six-week recovery time, suffice it say I was feeling pretty lonely.

Enter Prince Charming.

Daniel faithfully came over to my house when I was sick, bearing gifts of throat spray, Tylenol, chicken noodle soup, and ice cream (purely for medicinal throat-soothing purposes, of course). But the best gift he gave me was his presence.

I was poor company, and I knew it. One glance at my unshowered self in the mirror, complete with my manic hair and sweatpants-of-the-week, and I wondered if this fiancé of mine was going to take back that thing he’d said about “the rest of our lives.”

But that’s not what happened. Daniel looked at me, having sacrificed his other plans for the evening to sit on the couch beside a girl with little energy and fewer coherent thoughts, and said one of the most wonderful sentences ever uttered. “I know you don’t feel beautiful right now,” he told me. “But you have never looked more beautiful to me than you do right now.”

When the Israelites were on the long road from slavery in Egypt to the Promised Land, they had plenty of needs—basics like food, water, and physical safety. But they also had a need for something deeper from God: his company.

Once the thrill of freedom wore off, I’m sure it didn’t take long for them to panic and realize they were in the middle of the desert and didn’t exactly have a map to show them where they were going. They didn’t just need physical supplies; they needed God to sit with them, even when they were mopey and unshowered and in general just lousy company. They needed the comfort of God’s presence.

This need was reflected in Moses’ prayer for his people: “O Lord, if it is true that I have found favor with you, then please travel with us. Yes, this is a stubborn and rebellious people, but please forgive our iniquity and our sins. Claim us as your own special possession” (Exodus 34:9).

And that’s just what God gave them—in the form of a cloud by day a pillar of fire by night. That gift wasn’t so different from the gift I received in my sweatpantsed-state. It’s the gift of love. It’s the gift of presence.

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.

On Silk Parachutes and Wedding Gowns

My grandma and grandpa just celebrated their 66th wedding anniversary. More than six decades ago, they got married in a simple ceremony on a Tuesday morning—just as soon as they could after Grandpa returned from the war.

I’ve long admired the photograph of my grandmother, beautiful and wide-eyed in her elegant silk gown. But it wasn’t until recently that I heard the story of the dress.

Apparently, since silk was needed overseas for the war effort, it was an extremely hard to come by in the 1940s. But my grandmother, spunky woman that she is, remained undeterred as she planned her wedding. She wrote a letter to her fiancé—my grandfather—requesting that he send a used parachute from Europe so she could have it made into a dress.

Sure enough, the package of white silk arrived, and under the seamstress’s deft fingertips, the object that was once a symbol of war and tragedy was transformed into something new and beautiful.

Nothing would erase the things Grandpa experienced in the war—the deaths he felt responsible for, the buddies who didn’t make it, the missions he shouldn’t have returned from. And nothing would take away the pain of Grandma’s years of waiting as she worried and prayed over his safe return.

God didn’t magically take all that pain away. But somehow all those memories got stitched together into the fabric of the silk parachute as they began their new life together. The token of what had separated them was transformed into a resplendent dress, now a tangible sign of their love.

Isn’t that what God does too? He takes the cross—the ultimate object of sin and punishment and death—and transforms it into a symbol of hope and reconciliation and new life. He takes our tragedies and failures—the very things that once separated us from him—and transforms them into a beautiful garment for us to wear. A garment he calls grace.

Note: After my grandmother wore this dress, she handed it down to her daughter and then her granddaughter for them to wear at their own weddings. For more about this story, including photos of the dress over the next two generations, check out the write-up in the Daily Herald.

The Grace of True Love

“There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved. It is the finger of God on a man’s shoulder.”
—Charles Morgan

As much as I denied it at the time—especially to myself—I’m pretty sure I started falling in love with Daniel by date #2.

From the very beginning, I knew he was different from other men I’d dated—men who were quickly looking more like boys in comparison. For starters, I was awed by all the planning and detail he put into our time together. After just one date’s worth of research, he’d noted my affinity for Thai food and our mutual love of peanut butter, and he lost no time making those things happen.

After picking me up for our second date—an auspicious beginning already—he took me to a cute little Thai place and surprised me later with peanut butter cookies that he’d made himself. (He also brought an envelope full of embarrassing childhood photos, sparked by something of a bet we’d made on date #1, but that’s a topic for another post.)

For the first time in my life I felt truly pursued…in awe that such a quality man would put himself out there for me and go through metaphorical fires on my behalf. I felt chosen, singled out, desired…which was all the more spine-tingling coming from someone like Daniel.

*  *  *

I’ve believed in God for as long as I can remember. As a kid, I’d lie in bed looking at the glow-in-the-dark cross on my dresser, believing with all my childlike heart that God was watching over me as my heavenly Father. In junior high, I clung to the belief that he was the Friend who would never fail me, even when my earthly friends were fickle at best. When I got my first real job and moved out on my own, I started seeing God as my Provider. Over the years, I’ve come to see God as my Lord, my Redeemer, my Rock.

But never as my Pursuer.

It wasn’t until true love snuck up on me that God unveiled his pursuing, grace-filled side in a whole new way. To have someone see inside me and love me anyway—for him to get to know the real me, ugly parts and all, and still accept me—has given me a window into the even more mind-boggling grace of God.

Wherever you find yourself today—whether you’re longing to be loved by someone or whether your heart is so full it could burst—know that you are loved. You are chosen. You are being pursued. And the One who pursues you is just waiting for you to say yes to date #2.

Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me
all the days of my life.
—Psalm 23:6