Category: Meditations & Meanderings

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Don’t Wanna

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I have a bad case of “don’t wanna” today.

I didn’t want to get up. I definitely didn’t want to get on the treadmill. I didn’t want to make myself do chores. But, I pushed through them all because they were necessities. I just made myself do and do some more. Because all of those things had to be done.

But now it’s time to sit down and write, and the “don’t wanna” bug is striking here, too. My Choffy is gone and the will power that triumphed over my earlier lack of motivation is now waning.

Writing isn’t a chore. It’s something I ultimately enjoy. But it is still work. It takes effort. It’s not the mindless fluff we as a society like to fall back on when we lack motivation. When I have a case of “don’t wanna,” anything that takes work suddenly becomes less appealing, including those things that I know to be good and nourishing for me.

I had to get out of bed. Exercise and chores were necessities and part of the routine, and I made myself do them. But writing? Writing is much more optional. Yes, it’s something that Doug and I have agreed is an essential part of my day — something that we feel God has instructed me to do daily in this stage of life. But, once my allotment of motivation starts to wane, it can be hard to truly make myself sit down and process through thoughts enough to type them out in a way that makes sense.

Especially when the Choffy is gone.

(If I’m rambling incoherently, you now know why.)

But here I am, sitting down to do it anyway. And in a bit, I’ll pick up the guitar and continue to work on reforming callouses on my fingers so I can hopefully relearn the little bit that I once knew — and maybe even add some skill growth to that. After that, I’ll do the other, less optional, tasks that will finish out my day, but those will be more like the chores. I will find the motivation because there’s not much choice. The writing and guitar practice, though, have to be a little different.

You see, there are times when we just have to stubbornly push through the things we don’t want to do. We have to make ourselves take care of necessities. But when we apply that same attitude toward the things that are good for us, the things that nourish us, we end up losing something. I think we lose the nourishment.

That’s why I stopped writing personally for years on end, devoting my writing energy to work tasks only. That’s why I stopped learning guitar. That’s why my daughter was the only one to use the sewing machine for quite some time. That’s why my yarn sat unused. I tried to apply the same motivation to those activities that I applied to life’s required activities and just make myself do them. As a result, they became the same. Requirements. Work and exercise and chores were essential for life and had very tangible repercussions if I didn’t do them. But an activity intended for nourishment that no longer gives nourishment but only feels like a chore? Yeah, that’s a different story. There reason for doing goes away.

And therefore so does the activity.

So, what do we do about it? Do we just quit the activity and try to find something new that nourishes? Personally, I think that’s a mistake. I think that leaves us on a wild goose chase, hunting down some magical “thing” that will someday maybe make us happy. But we’re not looking for happiness. We’re looking for nourishment that comes from doing the things God created us to do.

I believe that instead we need to rethink our motivation. I still need to do the activity on “don’t wanna” days, just like I do with chores and exercise and simply getting out of bed. But, when it comes to things like writing and guitar — and sewing and knitting and even making a spreadsheet just for the fun of it (yes, I’m that nuts) — just pushing through and doing for the sake of doing defeats the purpose. I need to seek the nourishment.

That’s hard to do. Honestly, I don’t have a practical step-by-step suggestion for how to make it happen other than to hunger for the nourishment. Today, I’m not writing because I feel like it. I’m writing because I need to process how I feel. I didn’t feel like sitting down and trying to figure out what to write. So, instead I just wrote about how I felt.

And suddenly, I’m feeling nourished. Not because I pushed through but because I processed. Not because I forced myself to work but because I chose to work through the “don’t wanna” and find nourishment.

When a case of “don’t wanna” hits and infects even those things that are supposed to bring nourishment, then maybe we don’t need to just push through. Maybe instead we need to receive nourishment. We need to remind ourselves that mindless things we tend to fall back on when we “don’t wanna” are never nourishing. So we do the work. Not to fill an obligation but to be nourished. Because we know it’s important. Because we know it will fuel us, not just to do the necessary, but to truly live.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

The In-Between

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a wordy person. When I get a thought or idea in my head, I want to flesh it out well. Completely. I need you, my dear reader, to get the full picture. And that usually means a whole lotta words.

That also means I need to have learned a lesson or figured out an idea well enough to share it with you. Obviously, no lesson is ever fully learned and no idea is complete and finished because there’s always more growth in this life. But, I can give you the fullness of this particular part.

I also want to write regularly. Multiple times per week. But the truth is that I don’t have completion that often. Oh, I have experiences mixed in there that make for good writing fodder, but even that can dry out. As I try to rebuild a regular writing habit, I’m smacked in the face with the reality that much more of life is spent in in-between times than in times of fullness and completion.

That’s where I need to get comfortable. In the in-between. In the process. I need to become more aware of the many things that happen in those moments when nothing is complete. I need to be able to process the pieces, even before I see the last puzzle piece put into place.

That’s the thing about learning and growing. I often see it as big chunks, building blocks that go into place completely formed. Yes, we’re working on a building. I get that, and I know that’s going to take a while to complete. But, I like to look at each huge stone after it’s put into its place. I like to see exactly where it fits in the grand scheme of building.

But each step to get the stone to that point is important as well. First, it has to be chosen from the right spot in the quarry. Then it must be cut out. It must be perfectly shaped so that it fits just right in its spot in the middle of dozens of other uniquely sized and shaped stones. It must be transported. Only then can it be placed.

Yes, so much more time is spent in-between, on the build-up to the placement of that stone. And there’s a lot of learning that happens in the process. A lot of growing. A lot of experiencing.

If we only share with one another what the finished product, or even a finished single step of the product, looks like, then we miss sharing the bulk of our lives together. And sharing life isn’t about showing off what we’ve become. It’s about walking together in the process and encouraging one another when the chisel hits and it hurts. When we’re jostled and bumped in the transport stage. Or even when the stone’s shape is really, really odd and we can’t figure out how in the world the next stone can possible fit around this one.

The in-between isn’t a comfortable place. But it’s a good place. A growing place. A learning place. I look forward to learning better how to live there. How to pay attention to each step. And how to walk it in community with those God has placed around me.

Let’s share the in-between.

Posted in Thoughts from Prayer

The Love of God

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I pray.

I have a prayer list. I also pray and journal through my daily Bible reading, seeking to listen to what the Spirit is saying to me through the Word of God.

I lift up short prayers during the day as needs or thoughts come to me.

Which obviously means that I do listen. I listen for His guidance about who and what to lift up to Him. I listen for nudges to send someone a text of encouragement. I listen for His teaching and correction, because I desperately want to be growing in righteousness and purity.

But lately I’ve been convicted of something. I’ve realized that I don’t listen for His affirmation. For His words of love. For His expression of delight in His creation.

Don’t get me wrong, I hunger for it. I’d love to know deep down in the core of my soul that He loves me. Truly loves me. That I am beloved and treasured by Him. That I bring Him delight as His creation.

Yes, I know Scripture states this to be true and therefore I should simply believe it. But it’s a lot easier to focus on all of the ways I need to improve. I’m a perfectionist who deals with the glaring reality of my imperfections. So, it’s much easier to hear words of correction whispered to my heart. It’s harder to take that particular truth of Scripture — one I’m quick to assure anyone and everyone else of — and make it my own personal reality.

In order to know this truth deep down in my soul, I first have to listen for it. Listening for affirmation takes a whole lot more time and energy than listening for correction and teaching. For nudges of action. Listening for truth that will change the core of my being, that will adjust how I think about myself, takes effort. It goes against the words I’ve told myself all of my life (and even what others have said to and about me). That I am just one of the many, very ordinary, and no one worth attention. That I fail so easily. That it’s enough that God would let me have salvation at all.

And yes, it is enough. But the problem is that my lack of listening often leads me to perceive salvation as a distant mercy that I just happen to be caught up in rather than an act of personal, intimate love.

Typing it out makes me see how ridiculous it is, and I would always encourage anyone else to walk away from such thoughts! And yet, I still act like this is how God sees me.

It’s not that I see God Himself as distant, because I hear His voice regularly. But I convince myself that His love is distant because I don’t hear His words of love easily. I want Him to make me better. Purer. More righteous. Being obedient is more important than feeling loved, right? If I can be “more” then I will be able to believe that He really does love me and has all along. These are the wrong and unbiblical thoughts I have to confess all the time in order to grow in the intimate knowledge of His love.

Yes, I pray.

But at some point my prayers have to intersect with the truth of a God who loves. Personally. Intimately. Passionately. And my listening has to be slow, deliberate, and intentional enough to hear Him say those words to me. Imperfect me who feels so undelightful.

I need to hear His delight.

I’m a work in progress. But I’m growing. And the more I grow in the knowledge of His love, the more those other prayers I pray will be overwhelming filled with His love. That is where I’m meant to be.

Posted in Thoughts from Life, Thoughts from Scripture

The Heart of a Friend

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Some days, my heart is just heavy.

A part of me wants to just bury my head in the sand and ignore all of the yuck. But, in doing so, I end up trading sadness for naiveté, and that won’t do me any good either. My best choice is to sit with my heavy heart and ask God to speak into it.

And when I choose to sit with Him, He does speak, so very faithfully. He shows me Himself and His own heart while also showing me the areas in which my heart does not align with His. He shows me where, as I grow to better see and identify with His heart of love for those in this world who do not yet know Him, I’ve also been growing in bitterness toward those who are blocking that love. Those whose words and actions drive souls away from our Savior instead of toward Him.

He’s shown me that none of them are to be my enemies.

The things He’s shown me have led me to ponder what it means to have the heart of a friend. The heart of someone who grieves over another’s pain. The heart of someone who is pained by injustice. The heart of someone who aches over the reality that so many in this world are caught up in the hands of evil. The heart of someone who takes all of those realities to the Lord God Almighty, seeking His perspective, His heart, and His miraculous path to both justice and mercy.

This is where I struggle. This is where I’m convicted. Portions of the Sermon on the Mount speak into that conviction:

You have heard that it was said, An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. But I tell you, don’t resist an evildoer. On the contrary, if anyone slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. As for the one who wants to sue you and take away your shirt, let him have your coat as well. And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two. Give to the one who asks you, and don’t turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.

You have heard that it was said, Love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven. For he causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward will you have? Don’t even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what are you doing out of the ordinary? Don’t even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
Matthew 5: 38-48 (CSB)

As I read this recently, a question popped into my head: If my dearest friend had a need, how would I want to meet it? I would want to go over and above. I would want to lavish not only the need but any extra possible. I might not always be able to, but I want to. That’s my heart.

What if I viewed everyone that way? What if I made that the practical application of these verses from Matthew 5? To go above and beyond in my care and concern for all I come in contact with?

Much of the heaviness on my heart has been there for years now as I’ve watched people on all political sides sling mud on social media with such vitriol as they slam anyone who doesn’t love their favorite politician (or worse, does love “the other guy”). This is nothing new. It’s been going on for decades. It’s just so much more visible and available with social media.

It was there as I watched the hatred flow from all sides during the pandemic. It’s there every time a non-Christian publicly acts like, well, a non-Christian and Christians yell about being persecuted.

Every time someone else does something we don’t like, we use it as an opportunity to gripe, complain, degrade, and label. We forget that we’re supposed to be different. We forget that when we join in the flow of anger and hatred, we are not doing anything out of the ordinary. We are no different from the “Gentiles” we so greatly hate.

And yet, we’re commanded to be “perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

To treat all people as we would treat our dearest friend. To pray for them. To serve them. To love them.

Some days, I struggle to love those who hate Christ. Other days I struggle to love those who claim Christ but show hatred to their fellow man. Some days I just struggle to love them all. But Jesus Christ, Almighty Creator of all things, the one who loved so enormously that He gave His life for all of us, commands me to be like Him.

That’s my hunger, to obey and love like He did. Not to try to voice my opinion in an argument or get other people to think like me or make sure to let them know how wrong they are. Instead, to pray that they, too, will know His love. That they will see His heart. That they will hunger for His presence.

I’m far from perfect yet. But that’s my goal. And I’m so thankful for the love of the One who can so fill me with Himself that He can help me reach that goal.

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

The Art of Growing

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I’ve been thinking a lot about growth lately.

Part of it is spurred by the growth of my children, especially considering my youngest just became a legal adult and joined his sister at college.

Reviewing old blog posts has also spurred some of my thoughts as I’ve seen growth in my perceptions, mental processes, spiritual understanding, and even prejudices.

It’s all making me realize just how disdainfully we view growth sometimes. Think about how teenagers scoff at some of their own prior passions and interests, calling them childish. Think about how we sometimes find ourselves ashamed or embarrassed of how we used to be.

I think we’re wrong.

Just as we would never disdain an infant’s crawling phase now that they can walk or run or drive, perhaps should stop viewing some of our growing phases with disdain. Yes, I know that our growth is a bit different. I know that there are times when we realize that our previously deeply held beliefs and convictions were not just immature, they were wrong. I recognize that there are things we’ve confessed that we’d rather just leave behind.

But, sometimes instead of leaving them behind, we pretend they never existed. We act as if we never had to learn how to crawl in order to be able to run.

What if we were to celebrate spiritual, mental, and emotional growth just like we celebrate the amazing growth of an infant into a toddler and beyond? What if we were to process every aspect of our growth, the good and the bad and everything in between, as necessary components of who we are today? What if we were to see growth as an art form — a painting or sculpture developing over time with increasing complexity? With oopses and mistakes that needed to be corrected, yes, but with the understanding that even those mistakes spurred ideas and shaped the lines and curves that produced beauty?

What if we were to participate in the art of growing rather than hiding the process? What would that look like?

First, I think it would look like being honest about our growth. An example for me is some of those old blog posts. I started writing publicly when my youngest was a newborn, nearly 18 years ago. Some of the things I wrote were just plain wrong. In some instances, I wrote out of idealism. Ignorance. Naiveté. In others, I wrote out of stubbornness. Frustration. Hurt. Anger. All of those experiences and feelings and spaces of understanding meant that many times I was wrong. Not always. Not even usually. Much of what I wrote I still identify with, even if some of it is now outdated and irrelevant. But sometimes I was wrong or, at the very least, undeveloped or immature. I need to be okay with that. To be able to admit it, to be thankful for growth, and to learn from those experiences

Second, it would look like celebrating the things that have brought us where we are today. I can’t help but picture all of the building blocks of what I know now, even with the hits and misses and stumbles along the way. All of those times of falling when I was just trying to take a few steps forward, all of those times of being knocked down, make up the growth process. I would not be who I am today or know what I know now without all of them. Yes, even the times when I was just plain wrong.

Finally, it would look like sharing the process with one another instead of denying it, but doing so in a way that never shames someone else. There are other people walking through what I walked through 18 years ago. They are learning what I learned then. As I am being honest about ways that I was wrong then — and all through my learning process (And this will include things that I’m wrong about now that I’ll have to confess later, because I know those things exist even if I can’t see them right now!) — I have to be careful to not beat down someone who hasn’t yet been through the growing process. This doesn’t mean I can’t help them learn from my mistakes. But, I must never use my honesty to shame someone else on their journey, only to help them. Only and always.

Growing hurts. Growing involves times we are not going to be proud of. But growing is also art. It’s creation. It’s beauty. Shall we celebrate it together?

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Those Who Sit Alone

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

There’s a post going around social media that tends to show up every year about the time school starts. And it’s a good post. It talks about choosing to see and sit with the student who sits alone or doesn’t seem to talk to anyone else.

It’s beautiful advice, for people of all ages — yes, even us adults. But it’s also incomplete.

Here’s the thing. That teen who sits alone and doesn’t seem to talk to anyone does so because they don’t really “get” small talk. They don’t want to force themselves into a group. They want to be heard, but if they have to force others to listen, it’s not worth it.

That person who finds a seat in the back on the bus, sits alone in the cafeteria, or engages in some other solitary activity might very well be lonely and aching for someone to come and initiate the conversation. Other days, though, they are intentionally choosing to be alone because they need to have a few minutes of energizing time before getting to school, while transitioning between classes, or before expending social energy.

None of those are character flaws, nor are they deficiencies that have to be solved. They are just differences in personality and character. And, to be honest, there are more people like that than you might think.

It’s good to go and sit with them. It’s good to go and make them feel seen. But, when you do go and sit with them, it’s important that you don’t expect them to suddenly become just like you. Also know that you’re not engaging in a once-and-done kind of action that will magically change a person’s life. If you’re going to go sit with someone, go with the intention of exploring a friendship, getting to know someone who’s not just like you.

And while you’re sitting, keep a few things in mind.

First, they might not know what to say, especially if you come in with the small talk. Their answers to your questions may be short and unengaging rather than naturally flowing into a conversation. They probably aren’t trying to shut you out. But, you may find a completely different scenario playing out if you prayerfully notice and ask questions about their interests rather than just trying to engage in small talk.

Second, you might have chosen to sit by them on the day they need to be alone rather than the day they are feeling lonely and are longing to be noticed. You probably won’t know until you try to talk to them. (Unless they are reading a book. If they’re reading, chances are they need the alone time!) If they don’t respond or engage, don’t get angry. Instead, take the opportunity to learn what it means to be comfortable sitting with someone in silence. Just letting them know that you care about their presence. That goes a long way toward showing that you want to be a friend. Oh, and don’t give up. Try again another day.

Which leads to the next thought to remember. Realize that the single act of going to sit with someone one day will not automatically inform them that they are invited to come sit with you the next day. Be willing to not only go sit with them but also to invite them to come sit with you, not just once but again and again. Let them know that your actions aren’t just about walking away from your norm to spend a moment with them, although that is an amazing treasure and gift. But, they also need to know that you are not ashamed to include them in your space. With your people. It may take a while for them to know that you truly want to spend time with them. If you are not persistent, they’re probably going to assume that you were just being nice for a day, not that you really want to get to know them or include them.

If you do invite them into your space with your people, help them feel seen. When group chatter is happening, intentionally ask for their input. They won’t jump in and give it. They’ll sit quietly, even in a group. And guess what? That’s okay. Some people just need to be with others. They don’t always need to be talking. Even so, ask for their input. Seek to include them in the conversation. But understand that just being actively included is a good thing, too.

Sitting with the person who typically sits alone and talking to the person who is quiet are both beautiful acts of interest and inclusion. But just remember that, when doing so, you’re not working to fix a broken person. You’re instead choosing to get to know someone who isn’t just like you. You aren’t changing them. You’re changing how you view them. You aren’t stepping up to be a hero for a day. You’re discovering what it’s like to expend the effort necessary to build a relationship that doesn’t come naturally.

And while you’re sitting, especially if you follow through and sit day after day after day, you might just discover what it means to build some of the deepest relationships you’ve ever known.

Posted in Thoughts from Life, Thoughts from Scripture

The Meditation of My Heart

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I love justice. I hate injustice. Like so many Christians, injustice makes me angry, and I’m tempted to quickly jump on a bandwagon and cry for change! Demand justice for those who have been harmed!

Unfortunately, I’ve encountered a problem over the years. I’ve discovered that, in this world marred by sin, justice and injustice are not black and white. There isn’t a hard, fixed line between them that makes it easy to always know which is which.

That reality is hard to wrap our minds around. We’d rather take the quick snippets and statements, interpret them as cut and dried facts, and jump on them. And, friends, there has been a lot to jump on over the past decade or so, especially as easy access to information (whether factual or not) floods our days and our senses with what we perceive to be evil injustice — and as others manipulate that information to intentionally create that exact response.

Our quick jumping has created a rage culture. And we as Christians are taking the lead in that culture. We very, very easily see the injustice and we very, very quickly jump into the rage. It doesn’t take much to set us off.

I struggle with anger. It took heavy conviction from the Holy Spirit to force me to rethink my parenting, to learn how to not discipline out of a place of anger. To become aware of how being quick to anger damages my marriage.

But, does it really help to learn how to not act in anger toward my children and my husband if I am constantly expressing my anger toward the rest of the world?

A framed verse hangs on the wall just inside our bedroom door. I see it every time I walk out of the room. Admittedly, I don’t always notice it these days. It’s just there, as it has been for years. But my eyes still take it in, and my brain still knows what’s on it. It’s Psalm 19:14:

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, Lord, my rock and my Redeemer.

That verse has been tossing about in the back of my mind lately as our church Bible study group discusses Ephesians and Paul’s message of unity among believers. It has played back as my husband and I process through Jesus’s instructions in the Sermon on the Mount, teaching us how to treat one another, both those who believe like we do and those who are our “enemies.” It has stayed in the picture as I develop Sunday school lessons discussing how the church should be presenting ourselves to the world around us.

With every lesson, the Lord reminds me that it’s not just cleaning up my words as I relate to my family. It’s also ensuring that the meditation of my heart glorifies Him. And a heart that is so quickly inclined to anger, so quickly pushed to rage, so ready to scream “justice!” is not a heart meditating in a way that is acceptable to my Lord, my rock and my Redeemer.

Because His heart is one that sees all. Knows all. Processes the deepest, darkest corners. He recognizes the nuances of life that we try to force into black and white. He sees the hearts of those we so quickly rage against. He knows their struggles. He died for them, too, and longs for them to be His children. That’s the meditation He hungers to share with us.

He knows anger. It’s written all over His Word. He is the only God of true justice. That too is exemplified through His interactions with humanity. But, oh His mercy! His beautiful, amazing mercy flows through it all. It interacts with His righteous anger and His perfect justice in a way we cannot even begin to comprehend. We simply must accept it.

And He gives that mercy to us so freely to enable us to see with His eyes. To remind us that justice is His, not ours. Our place is not to rage, because our rage will not accomplish true, righteous justice. Our place instead is to reach out with His hands of mercy. We are to touch those beaten down by injustice while also praying for and seeking to shine love into the hearts of those who cause injustice.

That is not my natural inclination. But, the more my heart meditates on the Lord’s love and mercy, the more I can turn my anger over to Him. The more I can surrender justice into His capable hands. The more I can guide my heart to ache over others’ need for Him rather than raging against them for their actions. The more both my words and the meditation of my heart will be pleasing to Him.

Lord, may my meditations not longer be rage. May they instead be love. May they be mercy. Above all, may they be pleasing to You, readily reflecting Your love and mercy to this world mired in the mud of injustice.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Investment

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

As I went through my early morning routine, the thoughts were rolling. My overactive brain was fleshing out not one blog post idea but two, both begging to be released through my fingertips.

As soon as possible, I sat down at the computer. And almost immediately it all dried up. All of the eloquent words flowing through my brain. All of the passionate ideas welling up inside me. They weren’t necessarily gone. They were just…flat, refusing to come together in any coherent manner.

Frustrated with the lack of flow, it became easy to get distracted by the nature of the day. Conversations with various family members and little tasks here and there were much easier to focus on than the flashing cursor and impossible words. I tapped out a few notes and thoughts to make sure I was doing some writing, but, for the most part, I was derailed.

This isn’t a first for me. And it’s not just about writing, either. It happens with other projects and activities. Even chores, if I’m honest, but it’s really not hard to distract me from those tasks! The catch is that I usually do get back to chores or work tasks simply because it’s the responsible thing to do. It’s only the nourishing things I walk away from. Go figure.

Far too often, I never get back to the nourishing things. I let the realities of life leave me derailed. Sometimes it’s simply that I set aside a particular writing prompt thought or a specific project. Other times, I stall out completely, ignoring writing or working on any kind of project for weeks, months, or even years on end. I welcome distractions as excuses. I know the activity will be nourishing and that I should invest. But when it doesn’t flow easily, when it takes a lot of work, it’s easier to set it aside and invest energy in life’s essentials instead.

I don’t think it’s that I’m lazy. I think it’s that there’s something in my brain that tells me these things aren’t really worth my time. They’re selfish. They’re purposeless. They’re useless. I’m really not that great at them anyway. Why waste the time, both mine and other people’s? Why let these activities clutter the day?

Unfortunately, the productivity mantra of our culture not only supports those thoughts of uselessness but also gets hammered into our heads on a daily basis. We act on it, even as it systematically wears us down and makes it increasingly harder to actually do the things that nourish us.

And it’s all a lie. Sadly, even if we know it’s a lie, it’s a hard one to get around.

Nourishment is not useless or pointless or purposeless, nor is it selfish. I can tell someone else that all day long, but it takes a lot more work to convince myself of it. Far too often I don’t have what it takes to both convince myself to keep going and stick with the original plan.

Like that day everything dried up. I jotted down notes for the ideas that had been overflowing in me earlier in the morning, but then I did set them all aside. I walked away from the frustration of fighting both the battle of uselessness and the battle of getting those thoughts back. I chose to save them for another day. I still haven’t gotten back to them, even months later. But maybe someday I will.

The important thing about that morning, though, wasn’t that I saved up thoughts for the future. Instead, it was that I didn’t let myself give up. I came back from my distraction and chose a different topic. I wrote totally different words. I affirmed the nourishing action, even if the specific details of the nourishment didn’t work out as planned.

Losing those thoughts wasn’t an isolated event. The same thing has happened multiple times in the months since that specific day. Sometimes I’ve handled it well and other times I haven’t. But I know one thing for sure: investing in nourishment was never a bad idea. And the times I walked away and didn’t invest almost always led to greater exhaustion.

Today I was tempted to walk away again, this time without even trying to sit down and write. But I knew I needed nourishment, and that nourishment required investment. So, here I am, reinforcing the truth by writing about it.

Maybe next time I’ll be even more motivated to push forward and invest in the work of nourishment until it’s a steady habit again, one that overcomes the voice of stark productivity. One that strengthens my tendency to walk toward nourishment instead of away from it.

Posted in Thoughts from Kids, Thoughts from Life

The Smallest Acts

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

It was the summer of 2017, my son’s first experience with summer camp.

So many details of that summer were chaotic. My husband was heading to Peru at the same time we were heading to camp. I was the only adult taking several girls to PraiseWorks, the youth version of the camp, and there wasn’t an adult available to accompany my son Steven to JoyWorks, the children’s side. We finagled the details so he could hang out with another church, knowing that I was staying on the same campus and could be available to help when needed. But, it was still a bit crazy sending my 10-year-old son to navigate the campus and make sure he was on time to all of his activities.

My amazing kid rose to the challenge without fear or hesitation, and he enjoyed the week. But if you ask him about it these days, a very short 45-minute track session is all that matters to him. That 45 minutes completely changed my son’s life.

Children who go to JoyWorks spend a week participating in choir rehearsals, enjoying times of worship, and attending six track sessions that introduce them to different worship arts skills. One of those track sessions is an introduction to guitar. Campers walk in to find three-quarter sized, nylon stringed beginner guitars specially designed to introduce children to the instrument. The track leader then walks them through guitar basics, including naming the parts of a guitar, describing a chord, and teaching them a few chords.

When it was Steven’s turn for guitar track, he was the last child in his group to walk into the room — and all the guitars were taken. Quick on the uptake, the track leader, Caleb, didn’t miss a beat. He handed my son his own guitar and began to lead the track, borrowing the guitar back from my son when needed to demonstrate a skill.

On the surface, there was nothing truly unique or special about the track. Caleb, a regular at the camp, was a young man who was passionate about guitar, worship, ministry, and children. He encountered a brief problem, saw a quick solution, and handed a 10-year-old boy a guitar to make sure he could participate. I have a feeling he never dreamed that brief action, followed by a quick 45-minute group lesson, would completely and totally change that little boy’s life.

But it did.

Steven came home after that week and picked up his grandfather’s guitar, a dreadnought far too big for him. But he didn’t care. He wanted to play. The next couple of years saw several starts and stops before he truly committed to learning how to play guitar. But, over time, guitar became his “thing.” Others started to notice, and someone gave him a hand-me-down electric guitar to play around with. Then he inherited his greatest treasure, his great-grandfather’s Gibson. Other guitars have been added to his collection over the years (including a second treasured 50+ year-old Gibson!), and he has become quite an accomplished guitarist.

And he attributes it all to the investment of one young man in a 45-minute guitar class seven years ago.

This year, my son went to his last camp, this time as a senior at PraiseWorks. On the last day, he got to see Caleb and tell him thank you one more time. I’m thankful my son recognizes the impact. I’m glad he’s been able to say thank you.

It’s a powerful reminder that we have absolutely no idea how our normal, everyday actions can completely change a life.

The glorious truth is that when we walk in obedience, doing what God has put right in front of us and responding even to the smallest nudges of the Spirit, He can use us in extraordinary ways. Sometimes we get to see the results of those small actions, but often we may never know what our actions and words accomplish. Let’s invest anyway.

May our lives be so in tune with the Spirit that He can impact others this way at any time, in any situation, even in the smallest acts — whether we are aware of it or not.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

I Was Wrong

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Have you ever noticed how some words are so hard to say? You may know them to be true beyond all shadow of a doubt. But actually saying words verbally or writing them publicly moves truth from an idea to an action, something that you are putting your identity and reputation behind.

I love you holds specific connotation in our culture, and speaking those words out loud marks the speaker in a very specific manner.

I need goes against the core mentality of rugged individualism or the false mantra that God helps those who help themselves. We all need, yet we fear showing weakness by verbally admitting that need.

I am sorry admits that we have caused hurt. We struggle to let go of our intentions long enough to admit that others can be harmed by our words and actions — yes, sometimes even when we believe we have said or done the right thing.

One of the hardest things to say, though, can often be I was wrong.

I’ve been wrong many times in my life, but I also have a personality strongly inclined toward perfectionism. I vividly remember being a child who identified “wrong” as “bad.” If I was wrong, I was imperfect, and therefore I was a bad person. Not just a growing person who had made a mistake or a bad decision. Nope. A bad person to the core. And if I was wrong, and therefore by nature bad, how could people love me? How could my parents tolerate me? How could God desire to claim me? How would I ever have friends or eventually find a man who would be willing to be married to me if I was a bad person? Therefore, I had to be right. Yes, even as a child who had so very much to learn. Because otherwise I was doomed.

Typing those words, I realized how extreme and unrealistic they seem, yet I was well into my adult years before I began to even make the smallest steps toward clearing these thought processes from my mind. (And no, I have not fully succeeded, even knowing what I know today.)

It started with needing to learn how to say the words I was wrong to my husband and children, admitting to them where I’d failed them. In the process, a miracle happened. The thing I’d always feared, that admitting being wrong would drive people to hate me, was actually revealed to be the opposite of the truth. Refusing to admit my imperfection is what drove people away. Admitting when I was wrong actually bound us closer together! (No, I don’t always do this well. Sometimes I’m still pretty bad at it. But I’m learning and growing!)

Funny, isn’t it, that I had to admit to being wrong about a core belief — the idea that being wrong meant I was bad and unlovable — in order to learn that it’s a good thing to admit to being wrong? And that admission has led me to let go of a variety of other long-held, but incorrect, beliefs.

There’s one thing I’ve never been wrong about, though: the truth of Jesus Christ. At times I’ve been wrong about my understanding of Him. I’ve been wrong about some of my interpretations of His Word. I’ve been wrong about some theological understandings and about some of the traditional beliefs I’ve claimed without truly holding them up to the light of Scripture.

But each time I’ve admitted to being wrong in those areas, the Holy Spirit has used that admission to draw me closer to the truth. To give me a heightened understanding of God.

In the process, He’s also given me a greater passion to share His truth with the world around me. Because I hunger for them to see that the sacrifice of Jesus Christ allows them to know God, too! To know truth so they can walk in righteousness!

The problem is that fear tries to temper my passion to share. What if I say the wrong thing…again? How can others trust me to tell them about the Word of God if I don’t know perfectly yet?

In addition to learning to admit when I’ve been wrong, I’ve also had to learn to go ahead and share what I know now. I’ve had to learn to openly admit that what I say is based on what I understand now, but that I hope to be always growing until my understanding is made complete in eternity. This is a great opportunity to encourage others to learn and grow for themselves. To study and explore and find out for themselves whether or not I’m right (and to come back and share with me!).

It’s liberating, to be honest. I can be wrong!

I do still struggle. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. I still hate to be wrong. I still fear what people will think of me if I admit to being wrong. But I have also learned the freedom of that admission, and the freedom is gradually holding more sway over my actions.

Only Jesus Himself was never wrong. I hunger to be more like Him every day. But in the process, I’ll point to His righteousness and be thankful that He covers me, even when I’m wrong.