Erin Ulerich

When There Is No Script

Coffee by Jennifer Pendleton at Bricks, French Camp, MS

I like drinking coffee with friends. Coffee conversations are unhurried and agenda-free. They wind their way around our day-to-day lives, and then move toward deeper ground, when we talk about what’s really going on.

Through coffee conversations, I’ve discovered that our lives take more twists and turns than a roller coaster. I have a love/hate relationship with roller coasters, but I have a total hate/hate relationship with free-falls in real life. The brokenness of this world will knock on our front door, no matter how much protection we think we have wrapped around our life. There’s no bubble wrap for life.

And when that happens, we simply don’t know what to do.

Sometimes there’s no script to follow.

Sometimes there’s no way out. We have to go through.

And that is where the fight for hope begins. For the next few weeks my posts will form a series called When There Is No Script. In this series I’ll explore questions like:

Why fight for hope? What does fighting for hope even mean?

What is a hope warrior? What is brokenness? What is hope?

And sprinkled among the posts, I’ll share stories of Hope Warriors, people who have decided that the free-fall will not define them, and the darkness will not win.

Because when there is no script, we get to write our own lines.

We Were Made to Hear His Voice

When Maggie was just over a year old she began having ear infections. We took her to the ear doctor for a hearing assessment. I held Maggie on my lap in a room that had rectangular speakers on different sides of the room. Maggie was supposed to turn toward the appropriate speaker when she heard her name being called.

“Margaret” the voice boomed through a speaker on the left side of the room. Maggie didn’t respond.

“Margaret” the voice boomed again, on the right side of the room. Still, no response from Maggie.

Panic welled up inside me She’s going to fail this test! I’m a horrible mother! How could I not know she couldn’t hear! until one clear thought pushed through.

“Wait!” I yelled toward the speakers. “We call her Maggie. She doesn’t know the name Margaret.”

The test went quite smoothly after that.

We were made to hear God’s voice. Sometimes we don’t hear His voice because we don’t recognize the name He is calling us.

Beloved. Loved. Precious One. Friend.

We expect Him to use words like : Mistake. Failure. Oh, it’s you again

Sometimes we don’t hear His voice because we haven’t really met Him. The way we meet God seem backwards to me.(Have You Been Introduced?) It is amazing that God gives us the chance to introduce others to Himself.

The best introductions lead to His Word because that is the place where who God is and who we are can be clearly seen. His Word is more than a book. It is God’s words of “This is who I am, this is how much I love you, and this is what I’ve made you for.”

Through His Word we find this beautiful truth.

We are made by God. We are loved by God. We were made to hear His voice so that we can know Him.

So what does His voice sound like? When we hear His voice, we can be sure it is His when:

There is love and conviction, not condemnation and guilt

When we keep things in the darkness, fear and shame grow and overrun us with thoughts like God would never forgive me. These thoughts keep us in the darkness, away from God. These thoughts are from the enemy of our soul who wants to distort our perception of God – His character, His love, His actions. The enemy constantly throws up smoke and mirrors and keeps us off-balance.

His voice is kind and constant, even when He is dealing with our sin. He will not sweep our sin under the rug, or pretend that it doesn’t matter. He will bring it out into the open to deal with it because He sees our misery.

God doesn’t point out our sin to condemn us. God’s purpose in lovingly revealing our sin is to encourage us to acknowledge it and confess it so He can change us. The Enemy’s voice brings condemnation. You will know condemnation because it will bring guilt and offer no clear means of relief. On the other hand, the Holy Spirit brings conviction that always provides a road map out and away from a specific sin. His aim is always to lovingly steer us in the direction of His grace.(p.70,Discerning the Voice of God: How to Recognize When God Speaks by Priscilla Shirer)

When God speaks to us His words will not heap judgment on us, He reveals our sins to lead us to repentance, but this revelation is buffered with the hope of His grace, love, and another chance. He has already undergone the punishment for our sin once and for all on the cross.

His voice points to His character. It points us back to Himself.

One of God’s greatest desires is to make Himself known to us and lead us into a more intimate relationship with Him. He wants us to know Him.(p. 66, Discerning the Voice of God: How to Recognize When God Speaks by Priscilla Shirer)

The place to get to know God is in the Bible. From Genesis to Revelation His love, His desire for relationship, His dealing with sin in order to restore relationship is described on every page.

So if we were made to hear His voice, why don’t we? What keeps us from hearing His voice?

Noise. Our lives are noisy. Our phones ding with every email, text, and reminder. TVs are always on with some new drama (real or fiction) unfolding. There is always something to do, somewhere to go, someone to talk to.

Locked Elbows. Deep down we are afraid to let God get too close, afraid that knowing Him might mean changing things in our lives that need changing. So we say I want to know you, but we keep our elbows locked and our hearts closed so that He stays at a safe distance. I’ve been there, and I’m so thankful that God wasn’t content being on the outer edge of my life. He patiently drew me closer through His love and grace.

Not recognizing our name. Like Maggie’s hearing test, we miss hearing his voice because we don’t recognize the name He is tenderly calling us.

Each day the Lord pours his unfailing love upon me..” Psalm 42:8

For the Lord your God is living among you.
    He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
    With his love, he will calm all your fears.
    He will rejoice over you with joyful songs. Zephaniah 3:17

When was the last time you pictured God singing over you with joyful songs?

You bring Him joy. You bring a smile to the face of God.

His voice is not in the media storm of the day. His voice is not in the rushing news feeds on our screens. His voice, clear, constant, and quiet, is in His Word. The more we read His Word, the more clearly we will hear His voice.

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I highly recommend Discerning the Voice of God: How to Recognize When God Speaks by Priscilla Shirer. I went through this study during a crisis of faith where I was so mad at God that I sat down on the road of life, crossed my arms defiantly, and stopped talking to Him. God responded by bringing this study to my church and used it to bring me back to speaking terms with Him. I’m so glad He knows me and loves me enough to continually pursue me, even when I lock my elbows. He loves you like that as well.

When Lies Seek to Ruin Us

I cry whenever my children perform in talent shows. I can’t help it. I am so proud of them. It takes courage to perform on stage and I want to encourage my children to be brave. This world needs brave people.

But when my son wanted to dance in a talent show, I wavered. After all, I know the gene pool he comes from and there aren’t many dance-y genes in there.

What will the other kids say? I thought. What if he gets laughed at?

He persisted, undaunted by my wavering, and he danced to Axel F (my ’80’s heart was proud) and the crowd clapped and cheered and laughed in the places where they were supposed to. He loved it, and he experienced the thrill of trying something new.

And I cried as he danced. I cried because I was proud, but I also cried because my fears almost kept him from having this experience.

In a recent talent show, a spunky 10-year-old girl ~~played the drums~~ ROCKED the house on the drums. She definitely had talent, but even more, she enjoyed every second of playing those drums. She didn’t perform, she radiated.

And I cried while she played. An ache swelled in my heart as questions filled my mind. When did I stop finding joy in the things I’m good at? When did I get so insecure, afraid to try new things, afraid what others would think?

I can trace this fear back to lies I’ve believed over the years. Lies like I’m not good enough, my efforts won’t make a difference, it’s better to keep things the way they are, that change isn’t worth the effort.

These are lies I believed for far too long.

I hate lies. I hate they way they paralyze us, they way they eat into our souls, they way they cripple and maim.

I hate the lies that curl around my daughter’s heart, trying to take root, whispering in her ear, You are a nobody. You are useless. You are helpless.

I hate the lies my husband hears, You are a failure. You will never change.

There is no end to the lies we hear. You don’t deserve good things, You don’t matter, What you think doesn’t matter, You can’t make a difference.

Lies are powerful and if left in the dark they will take root and grow stronger until we eventually accept them as truth.

So what can we do? If we focus on the lie, even to argue against it, it grows stronger. The way to fight the lies is to change the playing field and focus on truth. As truth seeps into our hearts, the lies lose their power over us.

The truth really can set us free.

For years three major lies controlled my life. These lies were just under the surface of my heart, influencing the way I viewed myself, the way I viewed God, and the way I believed God viewed me.

I found freedom as I listened to truth. As I began believing truth I found the freedom to begin living bravely, courageously, and honestly. Instead of being paralyzed by fear, my heart grew strong enough to begin fighting for hope. And in the midst of this journey I scribbled my thoughts on paper. These thoughts became a 31 day series called Truths That Make Life Beautiful, because that is exactly what they did.

These truths changed me. You are loved. You are not alone. You have purpose.

When we feel unloved, alone, or useless, life is dark and filled with struggle. When we believe lies, beauty is hard to find. But truth has a way of bringing fresh air as it chases away the darkness.

Truths That Make Life Beautiful

You are loved. You are not alone. You have purpose.

Oh Mama, I Get It Now

Maybe it’s the hot weather. Maybe it’s all the togetherness we experience in the summer. But there are days when I’m pretty sure my children are out to get me. Moments when they seek to take my sanity and tear it into shreds.

Now don’t get me wrong. They are cuties.

But sometimes there’s a gleam in their eyes that makes me a little nervous.

I had one such moment standing in a public restroom with one of my daughters. I froze, my eyes bulging. If I were a cartoon character, steam would have been pouring out of my ears.

In that moment I remembered a scene from two decades ago. I remembered rolling my eyes at a group of mothers with small children in the bathrooms at Disney World. Their words were terse, clipped.

“Stand right there.”

“Don’t touch anything.”

“No, no, NO! Get off the floor!”

I’ll never be that uptight, I muttered in all of my 17 year-old wisdom. Those moms need to get a grip.

And now, those words branded themselves in my brain as I stood in a not-very-clean public restroom and watched in slow-motion horror as my daughter licked the bathroom wall. (Why? Why would you do that?)

I felt dizzy and light-headed. I thought about germs, stomach viruses, and disease in general.

And the little wall-licker just looked at me like You need to get a grip.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I was a cutie too.

A cutie with the same gleam.

And there were moments when I pressed my sweet Mama’s sanity through the shredder.

I started at 5 years old with The Hide-and-Seek Incident. When it was my turn to hide I hurriedly scooted under my bed (it was the perfect spot!) and waited, fully expecting my friend to give up because I was in the best hiding place ever. (Is it clear that I wasn’t very good at this game?) He found me within a few minutes and began pulling on my legs. As he pulled I decided that if he couldn’t pull me out, it didn’t count. So I did the only thing I could do. I wrapped my teeth around a railing under the bed and just held on. He more he pulled, the harder I bit down. His stubbornness outmatched mine and when he finally pulled me out from under the bed my front teeth were sticking straight out.

I stood in front of the mirror trying to push my teeth back down. Mama stood beside me, looking at me. I couldn’t read her expression. I tried to explain, “I didn’t want him to find me!” but it’s really hard to talk when your teeth are running parallel to your top lip.

I know when Mama began her day, Most Traumatic Playdate was not on her list of things to do.

And that expression? Now I understand. Oh Mama, I get it.

In 5th grade I bounded into the house after school and announced, “Today was picture day and I forgot all about it!”

Mama gave me a once-over and a horrified expression filled her eyes.

I thought she was worried about paying for it, so I explained. “The secretary loaned me some money, and I can pay her back tomorrow.”

When her expression didn’t change, I figured she must have been worried about my hair. Again, wanting to put her at ease, I said, “And I borrowed a comb from someone.”

Her expression didn’t change.

I was dumbfounded. I didn’t know what her problem was. After all, I was wearing my favorite Battlestar Galactica t-shirt. I still loved it, even though the vinyl had peeled off in some places.

That was back in the day of film, and one-shot-is-all-you-got pictures. If you blinked or sneezed or wore an old t-shirt, you had an entire pack of pictures of that single moment.

Yeah, Mama. I get it now. Really, I do.

Then there was the Armadillo/Kitchen Knife Incident. I walked by a dead armadillo laying on the side of the road, which was not unusual. There were ALWAYS armadillos on the side of the road. I didn’t see one actually cross the road until, as an adult, I stopped my car so that one could make it across the street.

But on that day, for reasons I cannot explain, I was seized by the spirit of medical discovery. I wanted to know what that armadillo looked like on the inside. What color was his blood? Red? Green?

This was way before Google, and before our first set of encyclopedias, so there was only ONE WAY to find the answers to these pressing questions.

I grabbed my mother’s sharp kitchen knife and approached the dead animal. But when I touched the knife to his fleshy belly, the spirit of medical curiosity left me. I couldn’t do it.

I walked home feeling a bit deflated.

My mother was standing in the front yard. “What are you doing with my good kitchen knife?” her tone was clipped, terse.

In my defense, I had no idea that armadillos can carry leprosy. But my Mama knew. And I’m sure every fact she ever learned about the spread of disease raced through her mind as I told her. “Well, there was an armadillo on the side of the road…”

I’ll bet she felt dizzy and light-headed. I’ll bet she heard it in slow motion.

And I get it.

The Wall-Licking Incident brought it all home.

Silencing Shame By Fighting For Hope

My family loves watching American Ninja Warrior. My ten year old, Maggie, is on a first name basis with her favorites. I love the determination, the skill, and the strength of the competitors.

But most of all, I love their stories.

Flip Rodriguez, a competitor from Miami, Florida shared a part of his story and revealed a strength far greater than required for the obstacle course. He took off his mask, literally and figuratively. He brought a secret out into the light. He told the world that he had been sexually abused from the ages of 9-15. In a few short minutes he shared an extremely difficult piece of his story and then reached out to others caught in the same situation.

Before the show aired, he wrote on Instagram, “My story will finally come out to the world. One of the hardest things/ nervous times of my life. To let everyone into my world and what I’ve been through. In hopes of helping others that are going through it. To show you that you’re not alone in it. Just cause you’re in a situation doesn’t mean you have to stay there.”

He pushed through the shame, and in doing so, he lessened the shame others may feel about speaking up.

Shame is a fungus . It flourishes in the dark, covering us with its lies. Shame separates us from God by convincing us that though God’s love is real, it isn’t meant for us. Shame works overtime to make sure we feel alone, and that we stay alone. Eventually it convinces us that we are alone.

Brene Brown defines shame as “the intensely painful feeling that we are unworthy of love and belonging. She says “Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.”

And Flip Rodriguez stared shame in the eye when we wrote “Just because you are in a situation doesn’t mean you have to stay there.”

He is fighting for hope and, by opening up about his past, he is reaching his hand across the gap to help others step out of the darkness of abuse.

His words on America Ninja Warrior were powerful. He communicated truth: This is not your fault. You are not alone. He offered empathy and understanding. and shame cannot survive where empathy and compassion are offered. Brene Brown explains it this way:

“If you put shame in a Petri dish, it needs 3 ingredients to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence, judgement. If you put the same amount of shame in the petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can’t survive.”

It can’t survive. Empathy and understanding bring our shame out of the darkness and into the light – where hope can grow.

People are amazing. The way they fight for hope, even when things look and feel hopeless. I believe people do that because we are wired for hope. We were made for hope because we were created by the God of hope. This God of hope who takes the broken and messy and says to the darkness What you mean for evil, I will use for good. And that is the war cry of the Hope Warrior.

Hope warriors are not people who have it all together. They are not people who give surface answers to the messiness of life. Hope warriors are people who know their own brokenness, who aren’t afraid of the brokenness they see in others. They are people who say “I am with you. You are not alone.”

Whether or not he wins America Ninja Warrior competition, Flip Rodriquez is definitely a Hope Warrior.

Our world needs Hope Warriors. Our world needs people who cling to the beauty of redemption, because there is so much that is broken.

Pappaw’s Peanut Brittle

I’m so excited to be a guest today on Debby Hudson’s blog, Creating Space for the Rhythms of Grace. She asked for a post on memories with food and this childhood memory flooded in. Click here to read about Pappaw’s peanut brittle.

Do you have a favorite memory that is attached to food, or is that just a Southern thing? We have food at every.single.celebration.

I’d love to hear your memories!

When It’s Hard To Understand

Does your fight for hope involve unanswered prayers? Do you feel that God is stone cold silent on the subject closest to your heart?

Yeah, me too.

And that’s why I love this song. The lyrics don’t say “if”, they say “when”, because we have times when we don’t understand what God is doing. We have broken parts in our lives that need mending. We have loved ones drowning in addiction. We are lost in our own addictions.

We are a broken mess AND God is working.

He redeems, restores, rebuilds. We can trust Him.

When You don’t move the mountains I’m needing You to move
When You don’t part the waters I wish I could walk through
When You don’t give the answers as I cry out to You
I will trust, I will trust, I will trust in You!

Impressions

I have the privilege of living and working at French Camp Academy, a Christian boarding school tucked away in French Camp, MS along the beautiful Natchez Trace Parkway . It is a place where people fight for hope every single day.

I had the opportunity to write a post for the French Camp Academy blog this week. It is called Impressions. Life at FCA definitely resembles a fish bowl. Today’s post gives a glimpse into what happens in “fish-bowl living.” To read this post, click here.

If you know a young person who might need a place like FCA, you can find out more at www.frenchcamp.org

The Power of Community

Some of my favorite people (and one stuffed animal) helped me celebrate my birthday earlier this week.

This birthday felt like a big one. I’m thankful for the life I’ve had and at the same time I want to “ponder the path of my feet.” (I love that phrase in Proverbs.) I want to pause and look at the direction of my life to make sure I am heading the way that reflects who I am.

And this blog has been part of the pondering. I love writing. I have to write. Really, I do. One time I tried to give up writing and ended up scribbling my thoughts on napkins. It’s a definite need. And as I write, I want to write things that add value to the lives of my readers.

I am so thankful for you, my readers. I am thankful that you clicked the follow button and joined this community of Hope Warriors. I am amazed that something I wrote resonated with you and made you want to read more. Thank you for allowing me to share bits and pieces of my story with you. Thank you for being a part of this community.

As I wrote on my “About Me” page, I believe we are made for hope and I equally believe that we grow stronger by being in community with other hope warriors. Hope warriors are not people who have it all together. They are not people who give surface answers to the messiness of life. Hope warriors are people who know their own brokenness, who aren’t afraid of the brokenness they see in others. They are people who say “I am with you. You are not alone.”

Our world needs hope warriors. It needs people who can stand firm in the swirling darkness and say “What you mean for evil, God will turn into good.” Our world needs people who cling to the beauty of redemption, because there is so much that is broken.

Since our world needs hope and hope warriors need each other, I believe our little community is going to grow.

I’d love to know: What are some topics you’d like to read about? Is there an aspect of fighting for hope that you’d like to know more about? Are there questions about hope that you want to ask? Would you like to share your story of fighting for hope by writing a post?

Keep fighting for hope, my friend. I am so glad you are here.

Warriors Among Us

I recently had my first manicure-pedicure nail salon experience.

I climbed in the car, feeling pampered and refreshed. “I got to hear part of one lady’s story and we talked about God.” I told my husband. “I wonder if that is a typical nail salon experience.”

He started shaking his head before I finished my sentence. “Erin, nobody has experiences like yours.”

Stephen shakes his head at me. A lot. Even after being married to me for 23 years, there are many areas where he can’t figure out why I do the things I do. And talking to strangers is at the top of the list.

I talk to strangers. A lot. I tell my kids not to, but I am a total hypocrite when it comes to this.

Conversations with strangers are always, always interesting. One time I met a lady who told me about her former life hundreds of years ago. I live in the deep South, so I’d never met anyone who actually believed they were reincarnated. See? Interesting.

Now, there was that one conversation on the adult diaper aisle that was more interesting than I bargained for. I now avoid that aisle at all cost, and if I can’t, I definitely avoid making eye contact with anyone on that aisle.

I’ve made great friends by talking to strangers. I met my friend Kim at a writer’s group meeting over 20 years ago. She and I hit it off so well I took her home for supper and we’ve been friends ever since. She is one of the many Hope Warriors in my life.

I also once asked Maritza, who was a Kroger cashier at the time, to help me become more fluent in Spanish. She asked if I would help her children with English. Another friendship was born, along with some pretty humorous cross-cultural experiences. To this day Stephen does not trust me to translate anything in Spanish. Just because I might have tricked him into eating a cow tongue taco that one time.

We often underestimate the power of a smile or the timeliness of an encouraging word. I know their power because I have been blessed many times by the words of a total stranger. (Except for that diaper aisle convo.)

Days after my second miscarriage, the words of a stranger comforted me as I stood in the Walmart pharmacy. After 9 years of marriage, and years of waiting for a baby, I was absolutely heartbroken. This kind lady wasn’t afraid of the tears streaming down my face as she offered words of comfort and shared her own miscarriage experience with me. In those few moments she let me know I wasn’t alone.

A few years later my daughter had a seizure while we were shopping. A stranger prayed over her and stayed with me until the ambulance arrived.

One day at the eye doctor, one of the technicians began telling me about losing her father unexpectedly. Even as she spoke of her sorrow, her faith in God and in His care shone clearly. Within a few moments we were both praising God.

Then there was the lady in the grocery store who saw my numb, tired look as my kids ran in circles around my grocery cart. Anderson was holding a giant pack of toilet paper on his head pretending to be some kind of animal. She cautiously leaned toward me and said “It does get better.”

These interchanges happened in the middle of busy settings and some lasted only a few minutes. But they have been important over the course of my life. They happened because a stranger reached out of their world and entered mine for just a second to offer encouragement, comfort, or just plain kindness.

I have met so many hope warriors by talking to strangers. People who are fighting for hope, believing that things can change, and clinging to the God who holds them up. People who have encouraged me to trust God’s hand, who reminded me of God’s love toward me even when I’ve felt like I was sitting in the darkness.

Our hearts crave hope. We were made for hope because we were created by the God of hope. Sometimes we forget that, sometimes our hope wavers, and it takes the kindness of a stranger to remind us of the truth. And other times, we have the privilege of stretching out a hand to others to say “You are not alone. Hope is worth fighting for!”

Stephen was with me one day in Subway when a woman came up to me and said “You look like a person who prays. Will you pray for me? Everything in my life is going wrong.” She sat down with us for a few minutes. We listened to her story and offered her words of truth. I tried to remind her that her mistakes can be forgiven and that God’s grace offers each one of us another chance.

As she walked away, Stephen looked at me and, of course, shook his head. My sweet husband can keep shaking his head until all his hair turns grey. I’ll keep looking for Hope Warriors among us.

Have you ever been blessed by the words of a stranger? I’d love to hear about it!