Category: Meditations & Meanderings

Posted in Faith Nuggets, Thoughts, Thoughts from Life, Thoughts from Scripture

Purpose Enough

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I’ve done it all my life. When I hit a bump in the road, a struggle, a discouragement, or a time of suffering, I ask why. I think knowing the reason will help me cope. Make it worthwhile. Help me truly reach for joy in the suffering.

More than that, doesn’t seeing a reason help with my testimony to others? “Look what God is doing!” I could say — if I only knew what God actually was doing.

But what happens when a reason is not given?

I’ve been there. Instead of, “Look what God is doing,” I have to fall back on, “God is in control and He does love me, even if I don’t feel it right now.” That’s harder. So much harder. Especially when the pain goes on and on and on or when I hear the questions of why God would allow suffering in the first place.

I confess, the lack of being able to see God’s hand — an inability to see how He could be glorified through the situation or how the question of pain and suffering even fits with a glorious, loving God — has distracted me from resting in Him many times. I believed I needed evidence. But so many times, He has withheld that evidence from me.

Instead, He’s given Himself, which is actually the exact provision I truly need to process through the struggle.

Therefore, since Christ suffered in the flesh, arm yourselves also with the same understanding—because the one who suffers in the flesh is finished with sin—in order to live the remaining time in the flesh no longer for human desires, but for God’s will. 1 Peter 4:1-2 (CSB)

What if, contrary to what we often try to argue, God doesn’t send suffering so that He can turn around and glorify Himself through some grand, magnificent miracle? What if, instead, He takes the suffering that is already here, that this world is utterly steeped in, and uses it? Redeems it by driving us to cease from our sin? To continue to grow in righteousness? To become more like Him?

When we endure suffering faithfully, when we truly push through those times of pain and heartache and choose to trust God even in the middle of them, those fleshly lusts lose their allure, don’t they? We realize what is truly precious, and we cling to it, turning away from the sin that once ensnared us.

Yet how many times do we forget that truth when we are standing in the midst of a struggle? We ask for purpose for our suffering, a lesser gift, instead of seeking His righteousness to grow in us.

I would love to be free from suffering. I would love to completely remove the suffering from everyone around me. It’s bad. It’s not what God intended, and I imagine it grieves His heart. I hunger for the day when He fulfills His promise to make all things new. The day when suffering will be completely gone.

In the meantime, though, I hunger for righteousness. Even while I remain in this world of suffering, I want to become the type of person who thinks with joy of the day when both will be done away with and we will live in perfection with Christ our Savior. With God our Almighty Father and Creator.

No matter what the suffering, may that truth return to my memory and be purpose enough for me.

The Christian Standard Bible. Copyright © 2017 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. Christian Standard Bible®, and CSB® are federally registered trademarks of Holman Bible Publishers, all rights reserved.
Posted in Thoughts from Scripture

Belief

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Abram believed the LORD, and he credited it to him as righteousness. Genesis 15:6 (CSB)

The biblical narrative of Abraham and Sarah is such a familiar one that it can be hard to study, teach, and discuss, especially among others who have familiarity with Scripture. Creation, the fall, the flood, Babel…then Abraham being singled out. We know it all well.

But there’s something about Abraham’s story that I have taken for granted. I haven’t really thought much about how much he knew.

Think about it. The Bible’s focus is God’s communication with us as His people. It’s not a history or science text. It doesn’t explain how the world was created or how exactly the flood covered the earth. We don’t get to know what happened in the cosmos when the sun stood still for Joshua or the shadow moved backward for Hezekiah. The star that appeared at Jesus’s birth remains a mystery to us.*

No, those stories do not tell us the how. But they do make it clear that Almighty God was directly involved with His creation in so many ways. And it’s not just the big, unexplainable events. There are also details that show He has chosen to be intimately accessible to His creation and His people. That accessibility only grew with His sending of the Holy Spirit in Acts, and we as modern Christians have 2000 years of church history giving testimony to the fact that His interaction with mankind didn’t stop with the writing of Revelation. It continues to this day!

We have so much. So very much.

We still struggle sometimes in our belief that this invisible God who exists beyond our ability to know or imagine truly wants to be in relationship with us. But, we have so very much evidence to support that truth.

What did Abram have? When he chose to believe the Lord at this moment in life — this moment when he and Sarai were childless and too old to imagine that would ever change — what evidence did he have about God to convince him that God’s promises could be trusted?

Did he have more than what we find today in the first eleven chapters of Genesis? Had he heard personal stories of God’s presence in the lives of people since the flood? Maybe he did. But, we also know that, while Noah was personally chosen to be the one to ensure that humanity continued after the flood, Abram was the one at the front edge of the grand narrative of God’s intimate and personal plan for salvation. Most of the action in the salvation story starts with him.

Abram had a flood story. He had knowledge of God’s judgment. But, he didn’t have all of the stories of God intervening on behalf of the children of Israel, his descendants. He didn’t know that God Himself would come to earth in the form of a baby. He didn’t see the expansion of the church after Pentecost.

All he had was a call and a handful of visions amid years of silence.

Yet he believed. And that belief, that allegiance to this unseen God, was credited to him as righteousness.

That’s the kind of belief I want. The kind of belief that says yes to the God who has proven His desire to interact with little ol’ me. Honestly, I wonder if that’s what Abram saw. Having lived in a society that believed in distant gods who held themselves aloof from mankind, he encountered something different. Almighty God talked to him. Chose him. Directed him. Instructed him. Spoke to him.

God does the same with me. Even if there was never another miracle, never another answered prayer, God talks to me. Me! Someone who has no reason to stand out. This Father God sent His Son to earth, His own essence incarnate, to ensure an eternal restoration of connection between mankind and Himself. He wants us to know Him. Not just to worship Him, although that is important. Not just to recognize Him as God, although that is critical. But to know Him. Personally. Intimately.

Even me.

What a tremendous reason to believe Him.

*I do love Patrick W. Carr’s interpretation of the star in his novel The End of the Magi. Fascinating idea, even if it is still just the product of one author’s imagination.

The Christian Standard Bible. Copyright © 2017 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. Christian Standard Bible®, and CSB® are federally registered trademarks of Holman Bible Publishers, all rights reserved.
Posted in Thoughts from Life

Words

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Have you ever found yourself boldly stating something as fact, only to discover shortly after that you weren’t quite right?

Or have you ever processed back on a concept you taught or shared or lived out with confidence that you have since learned to view in greater depth…and therefore differently?

Today I’m struggling, not because I don’t have any ideas to write about, but because I’m increasingly aware of the weight of sharing those words.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not under any illusions that I’m this huge influencer or anything. It’s not that. But, the truth is that words or ideas shared with even one other person can have an impact. Can cause a ripple. Can either nourish or infect.

I’m not an expert in much of anything. I have experience in many things, but I’m living proof of the idea that the more you learn, the more you discover there is to learn. Things I used to proclaim boldly are now a little less solid in my own mind. It’s not because I’ve changed my mind or become wishy-washy. It’s because I’ve learned more and discovered that nothing is as clear-cut and simple as I once thought it was.

I love writing about, talking about, and teaching from Scripture. But I know that there have been times I’ve taught poorly. I’ve spoken wrongly. I’ve written with an overly simplistic or overly superior approach. I want to instead share from a place of grace. A place of learning. A place of recognizing that I don’t know it all and still have much to learn.

I’ve either started or hashed out several ideas in my writing time in recent weeks. I have a stash of ideas, half-written posts, or rough drafts from other writing days. Sometimes I’m afraid to post them. Afraid that I’m wrong or that I’ll make someone mad or that I’ll push buttons that don’t need to be pushed.

Other times, I sense that the thoughts are incomplete. That I haven’t really brought them to fruition and haven’t made a solid point. Still other times, I have a distinct sense that my timing is bad and that I just need to wait before clicking publish.

The wisest people I know are those who are careful about what they say. This doesn’t mean they are always right or that they never make mistakes. But they are careful. And they own their mistakes.

That’s how I want to be. Wise.

So, I prayerfully continue to sit on some of my words. To wait before I share. Not just on the blog, but on social media and hopefully in person as well. (That one’s harder, because in a real conversation I speak so much more quickly than I speak! Ouch!)

Because above all, I want my words to point others to Christ. I want them to be full of truth, honorable, kind, and humble. That is my prayer.

Posted in Faith Nuggets, Thoughts from Scripture

Remembered

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

My morning devotional reading is quite varied. I do a personal Bible reading as well as reading for Sunday school and Bible studies. I usually read a devotional, and I keep two additional books going, one for spiritual growth and another for general personal growth.

All of those things vary and rotate depending on what’s in front of me at the moment. But, a number of years ago, I decided to add something consistent to my devotional reading: the Psalms. Every morning, I read from the Psalms. Some years it has been one a day, while other years I’ve slowed down and spent a week on each Psalm. Sometimes I’ve just focused on reading the Psalms themselves while other times I’ve included coordinating devotionals or commentary reading.

Through it all, it still amazes me that year after year I can see new things. These songs and prayers have become very familiar to me, and yet I still can be surprised by them.

Take Psalm 111, for example. It’s a beautiful “Hallelujah!” song of praise. But, for some reason, this year the contrast between Psalm 111 and the preceding Psalms hit me like it’s never hit me before.

In case you’ve never noticed, some of the Psalms can be quite brutal. Even in my darkest of times or heaviest of moods, I squirm at the extremity of some of the prayers I read in this emotion-filled ancient hymnal. But the greatest jolt comes when those deep, dark, and sometimes ugly prayers are followed immediately by ecstatic songs of praise.

Many of the Psalms preceding Psalm 111 are those dark, heavy prayers. In past readings, I’ve often felt a sense of relief in arriving at Psalm 111 after sitting through the heaviness of some pretty extreme lament. This year, though, the opening “Hallelujah!” hit me with a jolt and made me sit up and take notice. When I did, I was taken off guard, not by the disconnect, but by the continuity of this praise on the heels of grief. By the way it merges so well with the deep laments of some of the preceding Psalms.

The key for me was verse four: “He has caused his wondrous works to be remembered. The Lord is gracious and compassionate.” (CSB)

His wondrous works. Remembered.

We often think of words like wondrous, wonderful, and awesome in strictly positive terms. With that mindset, reference to God’s amazing and wondrous works bring to mind His miraculous hand rescuing His people. The parting of the Red Sea. The provision of nourishment. Healings. Resurrections. And those are all very, very valid remembrances and are some of the exact works that would have come to mind when the ancient Israelites recited or sang Psalm 111 together.

But, his wondrous works are also seen in His judgment. Why? Because the “works of his hands are truth and justice; all his instructions are trustworthy. They are established forever and ever, enacted in truth and in uprightness.” (verses 7-8)

Even when His works aren’t positive but instead bring the pain of judgment and leave us feeling forgotten and abandoned — themes many of the preceding Psalms explore — His wondrous works are still perfect and good and trustworthy.

We remember His wondrous works and we praise in ecstatic joy. But we also remember His wondrous works to give us something to cling to when it feels like everything is falling apart around us. We remember so that, even when we feel forgotten and abandoned, we can know somewhere in the depths of our beings that we aren’t.

He causes His wondrous works, whether miraculous works or works of judgment, to be remembered so that we can know we, too, are always remembered by Him. Whether we can lift up shouts of delight and joyful songs of praise or are simply grasping for whatever we can find to just help us survive in our depths, we remember. And our remembering assures us that we are remembered.

Wherever you are today, may this remembrance be yours. He is true. He is trustworthy. And He remembers you.

The Christian Standard Bible. Copyright © 2017 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. Christian Standard Bible®, and CSB® are federally registered trademarks of Holman Bible Publishers, all rights reserved.
Posted in Faith Nuggets, Thoughts, Thoughts from Scripture

What He Has Done

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Revisiting another old post…this is a reminder that I needed today.

Every morning, I copy a few verses of Scripture. I love copying. It slows me down and makes me really think about what I am reading. Recently, Psalm 92:4 was the verse that made me pause.

Psalm 92 is a psalm of praise, which is nothing unusual. Psalms such as these abound, not only in the book of Psalms but throughout Scripture. I often seek out these songs when I am struggling to praise. They help me focus and redirect.

But, something about verse four of this particular psalm helped me realize why I do sometimes struggle with praise. Take a look at the verse with me.

For You, O Lord, have made me glad by what You have done, I will sing for joy at the works of Your hands.

The psalmist is focusing on what God has done, again a common theme in psalms of praise. But, truly pondering this truth made me realize something about myself.

I too often focus on what God has not done.

Sadly, focusing on what He hasn’t done comes quite easily. And the more we do it, the more easily it comes. Why? Because we love to focus on prayer requests. And not just prayer requests, but specific prayer requests. Physical healing. Marital healing. Provision. Open doors. Salvation.

When the answers we expect don’t come quickly, we pray harder. And we focus more and more on the reality that the healing is not coming. The marriage still fell apart. We were forced to make alternate decisions because the provision or open doors we expected were not there. And that loved one is still hardened to Christ Jesus.

Yes, it is very easy to notice all of the things He has not done.

It is much harder to stop, step back, and acknowledge what He has done, especially in the midst of disappointment over seemingly unanswered prayer. But that, my friends, is exactly what we must do.

What has God done around you this week? How has He shown His might? His power? His love? His creativity? His sense of humor? His majesty? His grace? His mercy? His protectiveness? His jealousy? His desire for a relationship with you?

How has He sought your attention? How has He reminded you of His Word? How has He used others around you to reveal Himself?

Once you start looking, you will be amazed by the infinite ways He has shown Himself this week. The incredible evidences of His handiwork will be overwhelming.

And, amazingly, the more you notice what He has done, the easier it will become – until one day you wake up and realize there is little, if anything, He hasn’t done.

Posted in Faith Nuggets, Thoughts, Thoughts from Life

One of Those Weeks

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

This is another post from about ten years ago. Odd enough, it fits with where I am this week. I did just write something fresh with a similar topic, actually, and I’ll share it soon. But it needs editing and I’m out of time. So, for now, I’ll share this from way back then and be reminded myself of the importance of being faithful and obedient…even in “those” weeks.

Do you ever have those weeks? You know, the ones where there is already more on the to-do list than hours to complete the list, but more comes along all through the week. Or the ones where very tool you need to attack the list in an efficient manner fails you. Or every task takes longer than it should. Or a crisis hits. Or all of the above.

No, I’ve never experienced weeks like that. Definitely not this week. No. Not at all.

Can you hear the sarcasm dripping across the written page? Yep, this is one of those weeks for me.

Typically in those weeks I don’t have much time to write, but this morning I just felt like I needed to. I didn’t really sit down with a thought of what to write – just a desire to take five minutes and do it. (Warning: my raw thoughts can be scary!)

I don’t have anything deep and meaningful to lift you up out of a week like this. I don’t have a magic wand to make it all better. I don’t even have Scripture that tells us that Jesus has a way to help us eliminate weeks like this. In fact, the Bible tells us just the opposite. We’ll have these weeks. Period.

All I have is a promise: If we are obedient, He will work through us. Yes, even in weeks like this.

If my attitude is any indication, I have not been very obedient this week. But I want to be. I want to finish well. I want today to show full reliance on Christ. I want to be His hands and feet today, setting aside anything that gets in the way.

That means I have to surrender the todo list to Him, too.

So, here I go. I’m choosing to be used by Him right now. I’m choosing to not have a bad attitude about having one of those weeks. I choose to be a Christ-honoring wife and mother instead of a gripey, irritable one. I choose to not get agitated when things don’t go as I planned. I choose to not be annoyed by interruptions. I choose to not be overwhelmed by the todo list, but to prayerfully tackle it in full submission to the Holy Spirit’s leadership.

Are you having one of those weeks? Know that I’m also choosing to focus my mental energy on praying for you. Because I know how it feels. And I know how Jesus can turn it around.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

If I Could Only…

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I’ve waited months for a morning like this. Crisp. Cool. The sun shining from a clear blue sky, washed clean by recent rains. Long before that sun had even risen, we were settled on the front porch with our little tabletop fire pit, enjoying our morning reading in the fresh air. I even had a jacket on! What a glorious feeling!

I’m not a summer fan. The heat and I just don’t get along well, and summer is something I tolerate only because I do like living in Arkansas. And I know that so many of the people around me love the warmth of summer. So, I rejoice for them. But I keep waiting. Anticipating. Telling myself that I’ll feel more alive when the cool comes.

And this morning, I have the hint of it. Not the permanence. Tomorrow morning will be a good ten degrees warmer. We’ll probably still be on the porch, but I doubt I’ll need that jacket. And we still have 90s in the forecast.

But, the cold is coming, and this morning reminds me that it’s not interminably far away.

And yet, even with the taste of it, I’m struggling. The motivation I hoped for is elusive, and the energy to tackle my Monday is running low. It’s as if the wonderful, glorious, cool weather isn’t really a magic switch that turns on my motivation or my ability to be diligent with what’s in front of me. Who knew?

Yes, go ahead and chuckle. Laugh at me outright, if you like. It’s a legitimate response. Because we all know that, while certain things we love can fuel us, they are not the source of who we are and what we are capable of. Yes, I may be more comfortable when the temperatures are cooler, but hot weather doesn’t stop me from being who I am.

So often, however, we put all of our eggs in the basket of “if I could only…” If I could only live somewhere with cooler temperatures year-round, I’d be more motivated. If I could only get that day away once a month. If I could only be with the right kind of people. If I could only have this specific job. If I could only…

We get so caught up in the fact that we aren’t where we’d love to be in this moment that we fail to be all-in right where we are. We get through the work week more focused on looking forward to days off than putting our all into the tasks at hand. We anticipate time with the people we think we really want to be with instead of pouring our attention into ministering to the people before us right now. We reminisce about the times when things were “just right.” We spend so much of our energy either remembering or anticipating the “if I could only…” moments.

What we don’t realize is that we end up hamstringing ourselves. When we finally do get what we love, even that is tainted because we have neglected diligence while waiting to get there.

The beauty of our existence is not found in the “if I could only…” moments. It’s found in how we live each and every day. It’s found in our ability to find beauty and motivation in the moment at hand. It’s not always easy. There are bad days. There are uncomfortable days. There are miserable circumstances. There are challenging people.

But, all of these people and circumstances are just as much held in the hands of our loving Father as our favorite moments and relationships. They are all opportunities for His Spirit to shine through us. They are all opportunities to grow into who He created us to be.

Living in that fullness does not depend on our circumstances. Don’t get me wrong, circumstances do have an impact. There are times that are easier than others. But, our obedience and diligence in the moments we don’t like so much is just as important as our enjoyment of the “if I could only…” moments.

This morning, despite the delicious coolness that is making me so happy, I’m struggling. I realize how much energy I’ve wasted in recent months thinking about all the things that would be better “if only.” All the ways I have not been all-in with what God has put right in front of me.

I want to change that. But, it’s going to take effort. Discipline. Work. I won’t always want to put in the work, just like I don’t want to this morning. But I must. If I desire to enjoy the glorious moments, I have to seek the beauty of the not-so-glorious. If I want to be energized when all is going like I want it to go, I have to be diligent even when I feel like I’m trudging through the sludge of life.

“If I could only…” must become “in this moment, I can.” Because I was put in this moment by a Creator who knew how He wanted to work through His child. Right here. Right now. In the hard and in the easy. In the delightful and in the drudgery.

In this moment, I can. So I will. And when the glorious moments come, I will then, too, relishing them fully.

Posted in Faith Nuggets, Thoughts, Thoughts from Kids, Thoughts from Life

Not Overwhelmed…Focused

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I was skimming through old posts this morning and noticed this one. It was a good reminder for me, and I hope it’s encouraging for you, too.

Years ago, our family ended up with a pile of yard work that consumed at least half of every Saturday for several weeks.

It started when Doug was able to borrow a pole saw and deal with some of the limbs that had been hanging over our house and yard. We wanted to get it done before winter, knowing that an ice storm could wreak havoc on the trees and our roof.

I really didn’t think it would be that big of a job. I mean, I knew there were quite a few branches hanging over the house, but I didn’t think there were that many.

For the record, it’s amazing how much bigger and more numerous they seemed when piled on the ground!

The first Saturday, we dove into the pile of what Doug had cut earlier in the week. But when we were only about halfway through the front yard pile (there was another pile on the side of the house and yet another in the back yard), Doug climbed up on the roof and cut out a few more branches.

Have I mentioned there were a LOT of branches?

The next week, we left the front yard and worked on the back yard, chopping, burning, and salvaging logs for the fireplace. We even roasted hot dogs and made s’mores, just to make it a bit more fun.

But it was still overwhelming. And we still had the side yard. And Doug cut down a few more branches in the backyard.

Yes, there were a lot of branches.

On that second Saturday, my oldest was manning the fire. We had a huge pile of branches beside the fire, waiting to be burned. But for two solid hours, that pile didn’t seem to shrink any. We kept cutting and piling, adding branches to the pile and to the fire itself. Finally, we had the back yard cleared – well, except for the huge ever-growing pile still waiting beside the fire.

My daughter, tired and hot from standing near the fire, looked at the huge pile with dread. “That will take forever to burn through, Mom!” she sighed.

Wrapping my arm around her, I turned her toward the rest of the back yard. Her eyes grew wide as she saw bare ground where branches had been piled not long before.

Life has a way of doing this to us. We see only what is right in front of us. Sometimes it is because what is right in front of us requires all of our energy and attention, leaving us no choice. Other times, we choose to keep our attention close, ignoring the broader picture.

Still other times, God closes our eyes to what is beyond the immediate. He knows that seeing it all would be like seeing all of those branches lying in the yard at the same time: overwhelming. The task before us would be too great. All we can handle is what is right in front of us.

But God knows that we can, in truth, handle it all. He knows He can walk us through each step until the job is done. We just need to keep our focus on Him and the little bit right in front of us.

God does choose on occasion to open our eyes to the bigger picture, letting us see how He is working beyond our tight, little world. Often, though, He simply wants us to obey in what He has placed before us right here, right now, simply walking in obedience and trusting Him to handle the rest.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Growth is Big

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Over the past few years, I’ve been nurturing a new love for liturgy. I used to avoid anything related to liturgy simple because I assumed it would be stale. Pray someone else’s prayers? That would be impersonal. Do things by rote? That wouldn’t feel alive.

Then I started making a habit of reading the Psalms every day, kind of as a devotional reading alongside whatever other Bible reading plan I was following. I honestly don’t know how many years I’ve been doing this. It started with the idea of reading a psalm a day. Then, I realized I wanted to go deeper. So, I would take one psalm and read it every day for a week. Then I worked through a book that highlighted certain Psalms and I would stay in a psalm for as long as it took me to read the specific chapter related to that particular psalm.

Over time, I began to realize that this was a liturgical practice. I was meditating on and praying the prayers of ancient kings and psalmists.

In the middle of this, I discovered the book Every Moment Holy* and fell in love with the way some of those prayers spoke what I couldn’t come up with on my own, especially in some of the struggles I was facing.

Over time, liturgy became more personal than some of my own efforts to pull my thoughts into the words of a prayer or song. Repeating a psalm or prayer day after day after day made worship feel more alive instead of less.

Today’s real thought, though, isn’t actually about liturgy. It’s instead about my gradual acceptance of liturgy being the groundwork for a new way of processing. In recent years I’ve also been reading more about the seasons of the church and the celebrations of the church year. Baptists don’t really follow any of historical and traditional church calendars all that much, and since I’ve been in a Baptist tradition pretty much my whole life, I don’t have a lot of inherent understanding of the church seasons. But it’s a fascinating concept to me, and it’s been fun to learn about.

Pentecost Sunday is one of those points on the church calendar that we Baptists really don’t talk much about. We don’t mind exploring the original Pentecost Sunday when the Holy Spirit first descended on the disciples, causing them to explode onto Jerusalem with a message spoken in languages that simple Galileans had no business knowing! That’s a cool story. But, we don’t want to take it too much further because the implications are a bit…unnerving. We don’t want to be too Pentecostal, after all.

What I’ve been reading lately, though, includes liturgies that go back centuries, woven throughout the history of Roman Catholics, Anglicans, and various Orthodox traditions. The instructions for worship for the entire fifty days between Easter and Pentecost are filled with opportunities for celebration and invitation. The liturgical prayers burst with longing for the presence of the Holy Spirit and His life-giving work in our hearts. They are grounded in Scripture yet exploding with joy. Solidity and emotion all woven into a beautiful exclamation of praise.

This learning has both thrilled and devastated me. Thrilled me because I’ve been reminded of the amazing access to the Father that we have through the Holy Spirit. Devastated me because it has exposed the many places in my heart that I have closed off to the Spirit. Places that I have built walls and have even defended with black and white declarations of Scripture and theology. Areas where I have decided that the Word of God is static, not living and breathing and sharper than any two-edged sword. Because that’s easier. It’s neater. It’s cleaner than surrendering to the Spirit of the Living God who can challenge my perceptions and expand my horizons and show me where my understanding is not just limited but also show me where I’m just plain wrong. About Him. About His Word. About my own way of living as His subject, servant, and child.

So, what’s my point in all of this? It’s not really about being a Baptist who is learning more about non-Baptisty things like liturgies or the church calendar. I think it’s more about realizing just how big growth is. And how long it takes. And how hard it is. And how much it shakes my world.

I like black and white. I like concrete and understandable things. I don’t like to be on the verge of understanding. I like to understand. Completely. I am an emotional person by nature, but I like to be able to manage those emotions and keep them organized. I like excitement, but I want it to be excitement that I can figure out and share in a structured way.

Growth doesn’t fit any of that. We often think that life is either black and white or has grayed, blurred lines. But that’s not true. Life is colorful, and growth is the explosion of those colors in a way that breaks through our black and white lines and makes us realize that the edges we’ve defined aren’t really the true edges after all.

Growth makes us realize that what we once thought to be concrete and solid and complete is actually one small block in a massive structure we can’t even begin to process yet. Growth shows us that we’re nowhere near full understanding. Growth throws our organization and structure under the bus and keeps stretching and expanding.

Growth is realizing that the very things we once thought hindered us are actually tools to expand us. That things we thought old and stale are actually the very things that breathe life into our hearts. Like liturgies and centuries-old traditions.

Growth is surprising. I like surprises, but only those that I can manage or understand well. Growth is not easily managed. It requires constant adjustment and expansion. Constant change. Constant confession and reassessment. Those are hard surprises for me. Things that are too big for me to grasp often cause me to want to shut down. But that’s what growth is…something that is too hard for me to grasp.

Will I grasp it all anyway?

*That was Every Moment Holy, vol 1. There are now three volumes, and I highly recommend all of them!

Posted in Thoughts from Life

What if it’s Bad?

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

When I was in fifth or sixth grade, I had a school book with an especially captivating cover. I don’t remember exactly what the cover looked like, but I think it had a sketching of a bird or a flower or something beautiful from nature. I didn’t necessarily enjoy the content of the book — after all, it was a school book. But I loved the cover. And I wanted to be able to create beauty like that.

I found a piece of graph paper, and I started using it to, square by square, copy the cover of that book. I remember being very proud of my work. I thought it looked fantastic! And I was sure that meant I could be an artist if I really wanted to.

I never finished that copy. And, honestly, I have no idea how it really looked. Although I kept it for a while, I don’t really remember when it ended up in the trash can. It could still be in a pile of papers and such that I kept from my childhood, but it’s been so long since I’ve looked at those things that I don’t remember what is and isn’t there. But, what really matters is that the effort on that drawing never turned into even the smallest dabbling into art.

Why not, you may ask? Well, I learned very quickly that I couldn’t come up with ideas. Very few things captivated me like that book cover did, I couldn’t just doodle and come up with something that looked nice, and I never really got the “oh, you’re so talented” feedback that my younger sister got when she doodled and drew.

Over the years, I’ve learned that, while natural talent does have a place, skills like that have to be developed. I’ve also learned that art just doesn’t fall within the set of skills I have a propensity or desire to develop. I’ve learned that you have to do things badly before you can learn to do them well, but you also have to want to do the thing first. I didn’t want it badly enough.

But I’ve also had to learn a different lesson: Sometimes even when we’re good at something, and even when we’ve practiced again and again and again, there will be times when what we produce is just…bad.

Sometimes we can do things well that we’re not inherently good at. At times, even though drawing and painting never became my “thing,” I have still produced one-off projects that have turned out well. Meanwhile, I’ve put hours and hours into learning other crafts and skills, only to find that I still sometimes fall flat on my face when trying to produce an acceptable result.

But I’ve also learned that the process is as important as the end result. The effort that goes into sitting down and writing something that ends up being bad is important because means I’m still writing. I’m still working. I’m still seeking. If I refuse to work because the product is turning out poorly, then I won’t learn how to push through struggles to turn something hard into something good.

Not everything that I create will be good. (Something I wrote this morning was…rough, to say the least.) Hard work can’t always fix the problem. But hard work can always teach me how to strengthen my skills.

Now, there’s a difference between the work of my hands showing poor results and being plain wrong or bad in a disobedient or evil sort of way. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about being okay with a poor showing after solid effort. Being devoted to the process of learning and growing as much as I’m devoted to the result. Being persistent in pushing forward and trying again and again and again, even when I’m in a slump.

I’m not always great about that part, but I’m learning and growing. Some of what I’ve written will never see the light of day because it’s just…bad. Forced. Meaningless. But it’s important to me because it’s part of the process. Other things (many things? most things?) that I’ve written will get published even if they aren’t great, simply because they are part of the process, too.

As we develop our skills, may we all be willing to ask ourselves questions about the process as much as we critique the results. Are we learning? Are we growing? Are we discovering things about ourselves? Are we being honest with ourselves about where we are weak and strong? Are we evaluating ourselves honestly? Are we accepting the honest evaluations of those around us?

Then we’re growing.

And I think that might be the most important part of production. Not creating something perfect, but growing in the process of the creating.