Your Mat Carriers

A poem offering for my friend Laura today.
Sometimes only my words can capture the prayers of my heart.
Your Mat Carriers
(A poem for Laura)
By Tara L. Ulrich
We carry your mat
Through all your days
Holding on with all
our might
And wiping away our
tears.
We don’t want to let
go.
We want you to stay
longer.
It doesn’t seem fair
That you need to go.
You’ve been such a
gracious gift;
Full of so much joy,
Touching so many
lives;
More than you’ll ever
known
And so, we your mat
carriers,
Continually hold onto
your mat
Until the day when
Jesus asks us
To simply lay it at
his feet.
For on that day,
We know that you will
be free;
Free of all that ails
you.

Hitting That Send Button

Joining in with the online discussion on the book “On Being A Writer” by Ann Kroeker and Charity Singleton Craig. Today we are working through Chapter 6: Send.


Newspaper print laid out on the table, cutting and pasting the articles into their place. In High School, I spent much of my time on our school’s newspaper. It was a way for me to write articles and share my love of writing in another way. After high school and college, while at seminary, I joined the Persistent Voice. The Persistent Voice is a newsletter that is “an ongoing conversation between men and women at Wartburg Seminary; Dubuque Iowa that  reaches across the world.” As a member of the staff of the Persistent Voice, I had several poems and articles published. I gained more writing, editing, and publishing skills.

However, I never though much of having those items published because I was on the staff and was a student at the seminary. After while, I got braver and started submitting writing material to other places. I submitted a poem to poetry.com for their poetry anthology. I was pleasantly surprised when I received a letter saying they would like to publish my poem in their anthology. I purchased a copy of the anthology to share with my friends and family. (You can find that poem here: Tribute to New York Rescue Workers)

Over the years, while serving in Minnesota, I began submitting my work to a few literary contests. I often would ask my friends and family for their input. I would carefully select my submission and email it off. The waiting was always the hardest part. Often times when I saw the submission place in my email “from” line, my heart would skip a beat as I clicked on the email to open it. My eyes would scan the email to see what they thought of my piece. Every time it was rejection. One can only experience rejection so many times, so every time my heart and ego became a little more deflated.

I have learned to pick myself up, dust myself off and keep writing. Last April, I was out with some colleagues when one of them asked a question. I popped onto my work email to check out the information for them. As I was looking for that email, another email caught my eye. I quickly found the information we needed and then I went back and read the other email that had caught my eye. It was from a respected blog that I read daily asking if they could republish one of my blog posts on their site. I replied that indeed they could republish it. I can’t even tell you how giddy and excited I was. Several of my seminary friends and colleagues have had their pieces published on this blog too. It was finally MY TURN! (Living Lutheran: You are Seen)

And, suddenly, I didn’t feel so scared about hitting that send button.

Those Four Little Words

A black binder full of my poetry sits on the bottom shelf of my bookcase…

A bound copy of a poetry anthology sits on that shelf as well with one of my poems published in it….

(Both items hidden away so others will not see them!)

A blog post of mine has been shared by the ELCA on their site “Living Lutheran”…

And I have two blogs….one specifically for my writing and the other being my main blog.

Yet I still only can seem to muster the words, “Oh I like to write” OR “Writing and/or Blogging is a Hobby.” But I still do not and cannot seem to identify myself as a writer!

When I was little, my mom said I was a kid who was happy with pen and paper and not with toys. I was content to sit and pour words out onto a page for others to read. As I got older, I loved my creative writing classes and my English classes which led to me getting a Communications degree when I headed off to college. I have a degree in Communications with an emphasis in Journalism and an English minor.

One would think that those credentials in and of themselves would qualify me and help me to identify as a writer…but they don’t. I still struggle to find those words: “I am a writer!” So often I find that I get caught up in the comparison game. So and so’s blog is so much better and prettier than mine. So and so writes more eloquently than I do. But what I need to remember is that it isn’t about comparing my words to others because my words are simply that: “my own words”.

Several years ago, I joined a writing group at my local library. I was excited to meet new people outside of work and was hoping to share my words with others and hone my craft. One evening, I chose to share a poem I had written sharing my families struggle with mental illness. As I finished reading, one of the other participants lit into me: “Do your family members know what you are writing about? How dare you write about this subject?” I ran out of that room as quickly as possible, put on my coat, and ventured out in the bitter North Dakota cold straight to my car. I opened the door and sat down in the driver’s seat where the tears immediately began to flow. I picked up my cell phone and dialed the number for my colleague. I was crying so hard by the time he answered the phone that he had to tell me to breathe. This woman had literally taken the wind out of my sails and I now questioned even more if God was calling me to write; let alone be a writer.

Over the next several days, weeks, months, and years, I have had to learn from that experience. I have realized that so often my words have been words of healing for me…and for others and not words of pain. I have come to realize that for me often my words have been the bravest words I have shared because they have opened up my own vulnerability.  I have come to also realize that my words embody my story and continually remind me of who and whose I am. I have also come to realize that my words are a gift from God! And trusting in that gift, I am trying to find the courage to utter those four simple words “I am a writer!”

I’ll admit that more often than not I have a hard time receiving this gift, but the truth is that God has empowered so many of us to write. I hear others including my friends and family call me a writer, but I still have a hard time believing them. Their words are gift, yet so often I don’t hear them at all. My ears need to be open to hearing the voice of God proclaiming to me and to so many of us “You are indeed a writer. I gifted you to be able to share your story through words. Your words are not a waste!”

It is extremely scary and vulnerable to utter those four simple words. Yet as dear Holley Gerth states: “Be courageous and write in a way that scares you a little.” So even though it still scares me to let those four simple words come out my mouth, I am going to lean into them, keep writing and continue saying them until hopefully I believe them for myself.

I AM A WRITER!

I am linking up with my favorites today–Kate Motaung and her series On Being A Writer, Holly Barrett and Testimony Tuesday, Kelly and the RaRa Linkup, Holley and Coffee for Your Heart, and Jennifer and Tell His Story.


 



 

Words Spilled Out Onto the Page to Create a Little Poetry

A little poetry for you…. (Y’all I cannot remember the last time I have actually sat down and written a poem. Thanks for being my Ra Ra sisters and inspiring me to sit and listen to God’s words for me spill out onto the page)
Holy Water 
By Tara L. Ulrich
The rain goes pitter patter against my window
I listen quietly to the water cascading down
I am reminded of who I am;
Reminded that I am claimed in the waters of Baptism.
Each droplet of water
Continues to remind me of who I am;
A called, claimed, and loved child of God.
There were days when I struggled to find who I was;
Days when I questioned my own identity;
Days when I wondered if God truly was calling me to seminary;
Days when I endlessly asked “How long Lord. Will you forget me forever?”
How long?
Yet on those days, the water often will again go pitter patter against my window.
Or I find myself standing face looking upward towards the heavens;
Water droplets cascading down my face;
Reminding me again and again of who I am;
A child of God beautifully in over her head.
I watch the rain fall.
And as it falls, I take my finger fresh with new water droplets,
Mark the sign of the cross on my forehead;
A simple reminder of who and whose I am;
A simple reminder of who and whose you are!

(I am always learning new tricks. Here is an audio recording of the above poem. I wish there wasn’t so much background noise though!)

I am linking up with Anita and Carol at Blessed (but Stressed) for Inspire Me Monday, Holly for Testimony Tuesday and Kelly for the RaRa Linkup.

 

My Love Language with Words

This is a little longer post than usual but I needed to get the words out. Thanks for stopping by friends!

Words are my love language…my love language to God. Ever since I was a little girl, I have always had a strong love of words. I spent many hours reading books or when I was really little being read to by my parents. But most of all, I was a kid who was content with pen and paper. My mom has told me that there were many times that I would sit at the kitchen table or on the floor of our living room and pour out my heart in words. All I needed was crayons/markers/pens/pencils and paper!

Recently my friend Dana started an adventure at her church using art in its many creative forms. She started an event called 4th Fridays. Dana shared her introduction talk on her blog. I just listened to it and my heart is now undone..undone as I remember why I started writing stories, poetry, etc in the first place. I don’t write words to be recognized for them (Don’t get me wrong, it is nice to be recognized for them but that is not the most important), but to remember where I come from; to remember that I am rooted in Christ and God’s love for me.

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”–Ephesians 2:10 (New International Version) In some translations, the word handiwork is sometimes translated as workmanship. Handiwork/workmanship comes from the Greek word “Poema” which comes from our English word “poem.” In the words of my friend Dana, we are God’s walking poetry. Ummm…I don’t know about you but that makes me think about my life, my artwork in a whole new perspective.

How do my words share God’s love? How do my words connect me to God and connect others to God as well? How do my words show that God is with us through the sadness and the joy, the tears and the sorrow, and so much more? How do my words/ our words impact those around us?

There have been many times that I have lifted my words to God. I have lifted them through poetry when my mom was lying in an intensive care unit. I have lifted them to God when I didn’t understand why our family was struggling with the deep grief of a mental illness. I have lifted them to God as I have yearned for God to answer the desires of my heart. But lately, I have not truly taken the time to sit, listen, and let the words truly flow onto the paper or the page as I remember the vulnerability in sharing who I am through words that I have written to share.

Working at a church, I write sermons, lead worship and Bible studies, teach Confirmation class etc. And I am pretty comfortable doing that, but ask me to share a poem or my heart and immediately I am filled with fear; deep fear. There is something so incredibly scary about sharing truly who I am with the rest of the world and especially with those that I serve. Yet God wants us to share our stories with each other. There is pure gift in knowing each other’s stories and knowing that we are not on this journey alone. I cannot tell you the number of times that God has placed someone in my path because I needed that person to hear my story OR I needed to hear their story.

Too often in this world, words are used in a negative way. We use them to bully others. We use them to hurt peoples feelings. But God wants us to use our words for the greater good. God wants us to use our words to bring glory to him. I know that can be difficult especially in this world where we use words to hurt each other, but God always sees us and knows our heart. That is a promise that I still want to cling to daily. I think of a blog post I read earlier today where the writer shared this quote by Jen Hatmaker: “People may hate us because of Jesus, but let’s not make them hate Jesus because of us.”

So, my friends, I am grasping onto that promise that if only one person reads this post and this poem, that is a-ok with me because that one person may just be Jesus. And knowing that he is seeing me and my words, I am throwing out my fear and sharing my own words with you. This poem was written about two years ago as I was thinking about  my mom, her journey with a mental illness and how very difficult that can and has been for me especially.

My Momma By Tara L. Ulrich
Talking about boys and life, 
Picking out my wedding dress,
Sharing about my life and loves;
These are all things that I wish
I could do with my momma
Like my friends have with their mommas.

Yet she is still my momma.
My momma has always been my shining star.
She has always been one 
Of the most kindest caring people in my life.
Yet she cannot do the things that I wish for
To the degree that I hope and pray for.

Yet she is still my momma.
I want to talk to her about boys and love.
I wish that she could come with me
To pick out my wedding dress someday.
I yearn for the day when our conversations
Will be more than a few minutes. 

Yet she is still my momma.
Momma has taught me so much about life.
Momma loves my sister and I UNCONDITIONALLY!
Mmomma continually shows me that normal is relative.
Momma is and will always be my momma;
A momma who reminds me daily
Of what it means to be who God created me to be! 

I am linking up with Anita at Inspire Me Monday, Holly at Testimony Tuesday and Kelly at the RaRa Linkup.

  


A Poem for My Momma

My friend Amy posted this on her Facebook page last night and when I read it, it made me sigh. Oh how true are these words! God has picked me up and taken what I need God to take…even when that is easier said than done. I am so very thankful for the ways that God has walked with me and my family and continues to walk with us. I am also so very thankful for my faith in God.

If you’ve been reading my 31 day challenge, you heard me talk about writing poetry as a form of prayer to God and for my Mom. I thought I would share with you some of the poems I have written for her and about our journey. The poem I am choosing to share with you today fits really well with my Day 2 post! Thanks for reading!

My Momma
By Tara L. Ulrich
Talking about boys and life,
Picking out my wedding dress, 
Sharing about my life and loves;
These are all things that I wish
I could do with my momma
Like my friends have with their mommas.
Yet she is still my momma.
My momma has always been my shining star.
She has always been one of
the most kindest caring people in my life.
Yet she cannot do the things that I wish for
To the degree that I hope and pray for.
Yet she is still my momma.
I want to talk to her about boys and love.
I wish that she could come with me
To pick out my wedding dress someday.
I yearn for the day when our conversations
Will be more than a few minutes.Yet she is still my momma.
Momma has taught me so much about life.
Momma loves my sister and I UNCONDITONALLY!
Momma continually shows me that normal is relative.
Momma is and will always be my momma;
A momma who reminds me daily
Of what it means to be who God created me to be!

Click Here for all the 31 Day posts

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday

My hands mark the sign of the cross
on the foreheads of those near and dear to me,
tears begin to trickle down my face
as I look into their eyes and say the words,
“Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.”

And as the ashes trace
the sign of the cross on their foreheads,
I am reminded of the mortality of each of them,
Reminded that death does and will come,
But also reminded of the love and mercy
of the One who promises He will
Never leave or forsake us.

Christ hung on the cross as he, too
was faced with his own mortality,
Giving the ultimate sacrifice,
Dying on the cross for each of us,
Again reminding us that
God will never leave or forsake us.

And so, as we leave with the
sign of the cross traced on our foreheads,
We again are reminded of our mortality;
“Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust”
“From Dust you came,
“To Dust you shall return.”

(Copyright Tara L. Ulrich)

Outrageous Grace! Unspeakable Joy!

Outrageous Grace! Unspeakable Joy! Last night I was at a church meeting and one of the ladies shared a poem that talked about the crazy “jingle jangle” of the holidays and how there is no mention of taking time to pray etc. As I closed my eyes and sat and listened to her read the poem, the one phrase that really jumped out at me was the phrase, “outrageous grace.” (Now leave it to me and all the rest of us good Lutherans to really find ourselves resonating with that phrase) But what is outrageous grace? What does outrageous grace look like? I think outrageous grace comes in so many and various ways. Outrageous grace is when someone stops to help you when you are having car troubles. Outrageous grace is holding an infant in your arms and knowing that nothing but nothing can seperate us from the love of God. Outrageous grace, I believe, is watching parents interact with their children. I am reminded of my friend L and her son. She really doesnt like making sugar cookies but she did it because her son wanted to. And in the end, the mess and the smile on his face was totally worth it…that is outrageous grace!! 🙂 Outrageous grace is taking time this holiday season to stand in the cold and ring the bell for the Salvation Army. Outrageous grace is patiently waiting for your first child to be born! (GirlwithBlog and J, I’m thinking of you today) Outrageous grace is realizing that Im not always right! What does outrageous grace look like to you?

In addition, I happened to be listening to one of my favorite Christian radio stations yesterday when another phrase jumped out at me. Im not one hundred percent sure on the artist but I think it was Chris Tomlin. The song is his rendition of “Joy to the World” (I think thats the song) and in the middle he keeps repeating the phrase “unspeakable joy”. So what is unspeakable joy? In many ways I think outrageous grace and unspeakable joy can look a lot a like. Unspeakable joy is hearing a friend tell about the benefit that was held for her and being overwhelmed by the many people and the money that was raised. Unspeakable joy is reading about a college friend and her family’s adoption journey. Unspeakable joy is watching a seminary friends family grow especially after their long awaited journey of getting that child about 3-4 years ago!

Unspeakable Joy….
Outrageous Grace….
Unspeakable Joy…
Outrageous Grace

Jesus Dared…..

During one of the growth group sessions that I attended at synod assembly today was about being creative. I was so hope-filled after hearing Bishop Mark speak that I found myself moved to write. Bishop Mark talked about how many times we have line drawn in the sand or perhaps not even in sand but concrete but then he reminded us that Jesus dared to stand on both sides of that line. This is what the Holy Spirit inspired me to write!

Jesus Dared
By T

A line has been drawn
drawn in the sand

Yet for all the needy,
Jesus dared;
dared to stand on both sides of the line

For the goodwill of all the people,
Jesus dared;
dared to stand on both sides of the line

For the sake of community,
Jesus dared;
dared to stand on both sides of the line

For justice and peace,
Jesus dared;
dared to stand on both sides of the line

For the love of all,
Jesus dared;
dared to stand on both sides of the line

For hope and transformation,
Jesus dared;
dared to stand on both sides of the line

And in daring to the cross the line,
Jesus continues to remind us
that we are awe-filled people
who cling to the promise of the Resurrection
who might just perhaps
dare to cross that line too!

The Insanity of Grace

I haven’t been in a writing mood much lately, but tonight I was inspired. The pastor that I work with wrote this beautiful piece about the pure insanity of grace. He shared it with us at our council meeting tonight. As I was driving home tonight, I kept thinking about that piece and the faces he wrote about and other faces Ive seen who capture that grace. I came home and immediately grabbed my computer. These words quickly formed in my head. I hope you like it!

The Insanity of Grace
By T

Who is this face;
This face that teaches
About the insanity of grace?

A woman rations her groceries
To help provide for those
Who need a little more
Than she does!

Is this a face
Of the insanity of grace?

A young man
Helps an older gentleman
When his car runs out of gas
On main street.

Is this a face
Of the insanity of grace?

A young child
Chooses to use
their allowance to buy toys
To help fill a shoebox
For a child in another country.

Is this a face
Of the insanity of grace?

A couple
Loads up their vehicle
To take clothes to a local mission.

Is this a face
Of the insanity of grace?

Yes, each face;
Each face is a face
That captures
The pure insanity of grace!