Category: Thoughts

Posted in Thoughts from Scripture

Why Can’t You?

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

“If I can do it, anyone can do it!”

The words are meant to encourage. To motivate. To make something seem not so hard. I’ve been on the frustrated receiving end of those words. I’ve also been guilty of saying them.

I’m not known for my grace and coordination. I remember my father frequently informing me that coordination strikes every ten seconds, and one of these days it would hit me! It doesn’t very often, for the record. But, that means that if a task requires coordination, I assume that if I can do it, anyone can. (Cue driving a stick shift. My father tried to teach me. He’s one of the most patient men I know, despite his teasing about my lack of coordination. But he did give up on teaching me to manage the clutch. He successfully taught me how to drive an automatic — and how to parallel park, thank you very much. But it was several years later, well after I was a confident driver, that my future husband finally taught me how to drive his five-speed truck.)

If I can do it, anyone can do it…right?

A book I was reading this morning made reference to Hebrews 4:14-16. Even though I knew what the passage said, I’m trying to make a habit of always rereading Scripture references brought up in books or articles I’m reading, paying attention to context and depth. So, I turned to the passage and read the familiar verses.
14 Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens—Jesus the Son of God—let us hold fast to our confession. 15 For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has been tempted in every way as we are, yet without sin. 16 Therefore, let us approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in time of need. (CSB)

I suddenly felt slapped in the face. Shame spread over me, tears sprung to my eyes, and I couldn’t even bring myself to go back to the book I’d been reading. Why this visceral reaction? Because the voice I heard in my head was not one of encouragement, reminding me of the amazing loveliness of our High Priest. Instead it was an ugly voice.

“If He could do it, why can’t you? You claim to have His power, but you fall to your weaknesses. You succumb to temptation. You are never without sin. No boldness for you!”

Ouch! I knew it wasn’t truth. I really did. And yet, how often is this our go-to thought? As we discuss passages that talk about righteousness and our place before a holy God, we are much quicker to think of ourselves as sinners who just barely scraped our way in because of the grace of God than we are to think of ourselves as children of God who can approach the throne of grace with boldness.

You think I’m wrong? Listen to our music. Our prayers. Our discussions in Bible studies and Sunday school. The way we never, ever want to refer to ourselves as righteous. It’s only Jesus who is righteous. We deserve nothing because we can accomplish nothing.

And it shows in our other conversations, as well. Oddly enough, looking at one another and saying, “If I can do it, anyone can do it,” is more a reflection of our own frailty and lack than it is of believing in one another. We think so lowly of ourselves that we firmly believe that we can only accomplish things that are unbelievably easy.

And so, when we come to the holy, precious, truthful Word of God and see the hard things we’re called to do in the power of the Spirit, we falter. We remind ourselves that we’re not Jesus, so we can’t go boldly before His throne of grace.

We neglect the truth, the very point, of passages like this. Jesus gets it! He knows right where we are! He’s been there, knows exactly what is needed to navigate this exact struggle, this exact weakness, this exact journey of grief. And because He succeeded, He knows just what we need to get through it. So, instead of looking at us and saying, “If I can do it, anyone can,” He looks at us and says, “You can’t do this on your own. You need Me. My mercy. My grace. The very things I had at my disposal when I took on Your weakness. And I am giving you what no one else can: full and open access to all of it. All you have to do is come to Me and desire it. Ask for it. Receive it from My hand.”

Where are you struggling? Where are you weak? What are you failing to do no matter how hard you try? What are you seeming to do successfully on the surface while recognizing deep down that the cost is too high for you to keep it up?

Why can’t you just do it? Because you, like me, have fallen prey to the lie that you have no right to go boldly before the throne of grace. But Jesus says otherwise.

Let’s go boldly before His throne today.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Messy & Real

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I’m struggling today.

I want to publish something, especially after not getting anything up in the chaos that has been our past week. But, I’m tired, words aren’t flowing very well, and I’m not even doing a great job of processing old stuff to edit. In all honesty, none of that stuff feels “real” for today. It was real and genuine at one time, and it will be again. But not today.

Here’s the deal: I like things neat and tidy. Orderly. Give me a good routine, a nicely ordered checklist, a structured week, and a place for everything with everything in its place, and you’ll have a happy Ann.

So, just out of curiosity, how often has even one full day been nice and tidy for you? Yeah, me neither. It might be desirable, but it’s not ever real. We try to make it reality, though, don’t we? Especially those of us who are ordered, structured people. Whether on a blog, via social media, or even on Sunday mornings when we head to church, we like to give others these neat and tidy snapshots of our lives. Lessons learned and wrapped up in a bow. Thoughts that are complete and full and structured. Smiles that say we’re fine and blessed and everything is going great!

On the one hand, that’s what I want to give today. It’s what I wanted to give last week, too. I knew the week was going to be chaotic, messy, and exhausting, so I intended to have multiple posts scheduled and ready to go, posts that reflected those structured thoughts or tied up lessons or abundant blessings. (Don’t get me wrong, I do have structured thoughts and solid lessons learned and abundant blessings. But, they are never that simple and straightforward.) Instead, I ran out of time. So, I ended up sharing nothing.

Then I sat down this morning to remedy last week’s neglect, and I hit a wall. I didn’t know what to share, either in fresh writing or in edits of my backlog. I don’t have a whole lot of brain power this morning after the exhaustion of last week, so I figured I’d just find something to share that says, “Hey, I’m back!”

Except I want to be real.

I want to be seen. I want to be known. I want to share what I’m experiencing and learning. But I often find myself wishing that I could be seen and known without revealing that my real life is messy and untidy, despite my best inclinations. I want real life to be that neat, tidy, bow-on-the-top package so that I can be honest and be orderly all at the same time. (For the record, I can’t even tie a pretty bow on a gift, so that mental image does make me laugh a bit!)

But it’s not. I cannot be known and seen without admitting the mess. I cannot honestly share genuine thoughts this morning without admitting that I’m just plain tired. Oh, I can find something I’ve written in the past and tidy it up for you, but it will not reflect me right now.

Sometimes that’s okay. Sometimes it’s better to wait until I can give something that’s a little more complete and whole, a little tidier, and a little more coherent. Sometimes you don’t need to see the mess.

But sometimes you do. Because the honest truth is that life is messy for all of us. And we’re all learning and growing through that mess. And if all we ever share is the pretty — and complete — packages, then we’re not being real or honest with one another. And as a result, we’re not encouraging one another.

So, here’s me being messy and untidy. Here’s me letting you know that after a week that was exhausting and chaotic — although also really good — I don’t have a lot to give or even a lot of ability to receive. But I’m here. And today is a “real” day. And that real day is part of what contributes to the learning and growing, the thoughts I can share and the lessons I’ve learned.

If you’re in the middle of messiness or exhaustion or chaos, know you’re not alone. And know that this is part of real life. This is part of growing. This is part of truly living. Part of the puzzle pieces that come together to give us thoughts and lessons learned. Part of what enables us to encourage and strengthen one another in the journey.

That’s what I have today — the realization that even in the mess and exhaustion, there is something to share. When I struggle, I still have to try. Wherever you are today, I hope you can find the encouragement to do the same.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

About Me

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Yesterday I wrote over a thousand words before I ever started writing an actual blog post. I have no idea what I will do with what I wrote first. It doesn’t really fit anywhere right now. It’s just there.

Today I wrote another 1800 words before starting this blog post. It doesn’t fit with yesterday’s writing, I don’t think, so it’s not like I can put it all together. It could be the introduction to a book. Maybe. If I can figure out how to flesh out the rest of the idea. But I don’t know. It’s just there. It’s just thoughts that poured out of my head randomly, exploding from a place that has been buried for a long time.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I vividly remember being ten years old standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes while mentally writing an instruction manual for washing dishes. (Yes, please laugh. It’s hilarious.) Later, I kept a notebook where I hand wrote portions of stories that filled my head.

But I could never go anywhere with the stories. I had bits and pieces, but nothing real that I could truly form into a plot or a point. Having heard “real” writers talk about how their stories almost wrote themselves, I figured I wasn’t a “real” writer. I was just a wannabe writer. A fake. No need to waste time on such nonsense if I wasn’t a real writer.

And yet, there have been times in my life when the words really did flow. I didn’t always know what to do with them, just as I have no idea what to do with the words that have pounded out through my fingers over the past couple of days. But, I’ve been most healthy as a person — and had the strongest inclination that maybe I am a writer after all — when I’ve let the words just come. When I’ve written them whether I knew what to do with them or not.

The problem is that I like to be productive. To have a purpose for what I do. If the words have no place, why should I waste my time writing them?

But, when I’ve tried to only write what has seemed productive, the writing has dried up, leaving me in seasons where I couldn’t write my own thoughts. Where I had no voice. Where I wondered if I even had thoughts at all any more. Those seasons left me feeling dry and dead and silent and so very far from being seen or understood.

A lesson I’m very, very, very slowly learning is that sometimes productivity has nothing to do with the usefulness of what I produce. Sometimes it has to do with just being good for me, even if it does absolutely nothing for anyone else. Sometimes that really is productive.

That’s hard for me. I’m a people pleaser by nature. And, after all, doesn’t Scripture warn us against thinking too highly of ourselves? So, it’s definitely hard to believe that I should spend any time on an activity that might never do anything for anyone else. How can that be godly? How does that grow the kingdom? How does that even compute?

And yet, I am better today for having written those 2800 words yesterday and today, as well as the words that I know I’ll turn into blog posts. I am healthier. Which means I am more capable of investing in other people. These are realities, but I have to figure out a way to convince myself of their validity day after day after day. Otherwise, I won’t keep writing the random thousand words here and there. And if I don’t keep doing that, I won’t be able to keep writing blog posts. Or processing the thoughts I have in my head that make me who I am and help me engage well with others.

Sometimes it is about me. I don’t like it. I struggle with it. But it’s the truth.

Sometimes it’s about you, too. Sometimes you need to do things solely for the sake of your own health. Your own growth. Your own pleasure, even. Because when you do, you are learning who God made you to be. You’re learning the gifts He placed in you. You’re honing them and developing them. Even if in this moment it feels selfish and all about you, it’s actually about so much more. It really is about honoring God with every single part of who you are.

I’m going to forget this. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but probably next week. Next month. A year from now. I’ll forget it. And I’ll need to be reminded. I won’t want to be reminded, but I’ll need it.

So today, while I’m aware and accepting this truth, I’m saying it.

What truth do you need to say out loud today? What do you need to record? What will you need reminded of next week? I’ll be glad to help. Because this is how both of us will grow. Are you in?

Posted in Thoughts from Scripture

Growing

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I am growing. It’s a natural part of life. We should always be growing mentally, emotionally, spiritually…in many ways. Growth is life, and we should seek it, even when it’s not the most comfortable thing in the world.

Over the years, though, I’ve learned a truth about growth. Just about the time you think you’ve made good progress and you can claim a measure of maturity in an area, something comes along to show you just how much you have left to learn. This is most especially true when it comes to spiritual growth. The Holy Spirit is such an amazing teacher, isn’t He? He gives us just what we need each step of the way to learn the next lesson. But, on the flip side, this means that we don’t see the fullness of the growing challenge ahead of us. We see the next step or two. Not the full hill. He’s patient with us and kind to us and helps us not feel so overwhelmed on the journey. But, we still have to recognize that our growth won’t stop with the next lesson learned.

Recently I was preparing a Bible study lesson/discussion on 1 Corinthians 1:10-25, the next passage in the guide I was working through for this particular group time. I went in with a general theme to work from, but mostly I did what I normally do when exploring a passage for personal study or teaching. I started reading through the passage repeatedly, asking the Lord to show me where He wanted me to go with the discussion time.

Sometimes I pray that prayer very specifically in hopes that He’ll give me just what I’m supposed to share in the Bible study or discussion time. But I know better. He never stops there. He also always gives me my own little private training session. Or discipline session. Or kick in the behind. Whatever you want to call it. It’s real. And it’s not always fun.

But it’s always good and necessary.

In this particular instance, I was doing a little research on Corinth, learning about the Corinthians’ love for a good debate and their societal tendency to elevate those who were the most eloquent in said debates. I jokingly thought to myself how poor of a fit I’d have been in Corinth. I hate debates and arguments. I want to just make a statement that will help both sides understand each other and move on. Agree to disagree, people. It’s okay! You can have different views and still get along. Let’s make it happen!

I processed through this passage, expecting to make my mental observation about not wanting to move to first-century Corinth and move on. But no. The Lord gave me that nudge that said, “Let’s take a look at this for a minute.”

Uh-oh.

The hinge point was verses 22-23: “For the Jews ask for signs and the Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to the Jews and foolishness to the Gentiles.”

And the thought came to my mind: What is your goal when you try to bring peace to an argument? Is it to bring peace? Or to proclaim Christ?

Oof. I knew immediately that this thought was not one for building a lesson or laying the groundwork for a discussion. This was for me. This was to wake me up to my own priorities. I hunger to stop conflict. To make things feel better and help people see eye to eye. That’s enough, right? Nope. Not if my calling, my whole purpose in life, is to point people to Jesus Christ. If that’s my purpose, then it’s not about this side or that. It’s about Jesus. Period. A no-brainer, right? And yet, it was still a lesson I needed to be taught.

This is the reality of spiritual growth. It can come from unexpected directions at unexpected times. It can catch us right in the middle of a moment when our focus is on something completely different. It can catch us by surprise. But, if we’re listening, we always know when that moment hits. We suddenly see something very clearly and wonder that we didn’t know it all along. And then we are confronted with the challenge of implementing this new understanding in our lives.

That’s growth. It’s not huge or magic or like a bolt of lightning striking us with an epiphany. It doesn’t always “preach.” It doesn’t even have to be specifically while we’re studying Scripture. I’ve had these nudges in the middle of cooking a meal, teaching my children, or driving down the road.

Growth is listening. It’s being aware when the Spirit says, “Let’s take this further.” It’s recognizing that the Lord Jesus Christ knows each of us better than anyone. He knows what we know and what we have yet to learn. He knows what we’re going through and what we’ll be facing next week. He knows what we need to pay attention to. And He will tell us.

And when we listen, we grow. It’s not always pleasant. It’s not always fun. It sometimes hurts.

But it’s always, always good.

Posted in Thoughts from Life, Thoughts from Scripture

The Choice

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, Your consolations delight my soul. Psalm 94:19 (NASB)

This was the first verse on my mind this morning. I felt the anxiety tighten its band around me, even though I had no idea where it was coming from or what specific thing was causing it. So, I breathed this verse and asked the Lord to whisper to me the truths of His consolations. The things I sometimes don’t automatically remember when I’m in the middle of anxiety.

When the anxiety hits, instead of the consolations I usually see the circumstances. And never the good parts, no matter how numerous they might be. I only see the negative parts of our circumstances. The struggles. The discouragements. The places where we are lacking. I know this shouldn’t be my focus, but it can be hard to redirect. To actually enumerate the consolations of our amazing, victorious, loving God.

When I look in Scripture, I see many who were stuck in their circumstances. Abraham in the waiting. Jacob in his bondage to Laban. Joseph in slavery and prison. David in being pursued, first by Saul, then by one challenge after another. The Israelites in slavery and exile. The prophets in abuse and rejection of the people. And on and on and on.

But what I don’t see is evidence of rejection by God. They might have felt forsaken and abandoned by God, forgotten in their mire. But they weren’t. They just needed a different perspective.

This is what the psalmist recognized when penning the words of Psalm 94. Perspective was everything, and that perspective revolved around choosing to remember and receive God’s consolations. The truth about God.

That’s where I am today. The specific circumstances that weigh down on my heart and mind change through the years. But they are always there, in one form or another. They impact my heart, my mind, and even my health. They have wounded my husband and our children. We have often felt completely powerless to change them or to even protect our children.

Yet God is calling me to remember His consolations, no matter what today’s circumstances are. He’s calling me to remember who He is. His goodness. His truth. His purposes. His love. Circumstances may or may not reflect those things in the moment. But, He is above circumstances, and circumstances don’t change Truth.

The problem is not with the reality of God. The problem lies in the choice before me today. Before all of us in the throes of a struggle. Will we choose His consolations?

It’s hard work, and it’s easy to grow weary. But today I will choose His consolations.

I can’t speak for tomorrow or the next day, only for today. And today I will choose and pray that they really do delight this anxious soul.

Posted in Thoughts from Others

Before the Experience

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

There is a wise bit of advice often given to writers: write what you know. Obviously, knowledge of a topic can come either from experience or research, and there is a very solid place for research. (My amazing hubby’s research for his dissertation, for instance, is giving him a great deal of understanding!). But when it comes to writing about walking through life, it has often seemed to me that research without experience can lead to a sense of untested idealism. Advice is tied up in a neat package, but it leaves readers in the trenches feeling like failures because their experience doesn’t fit into the neat package that a writer presents.

I’m a practical person, so I tend to get frustrated by those who write out of a sense of idealism. This is why I have long felt that I need to have experience before I write. I need to be able to say, “I’ve been there!” Experience shines a light into corners that research never reaches, granting a sense of companionship and camaraderie between the writer and the reader. Because of this conviction, I’ve put certain topics on the shelf, convinced that I really don’t have a solid leg to stand on when it comes to writing on those topics, no matter how passionate I was about them and how much I’d studied them.

Then along came the story of an author I follow, and suddenly my conviction waffled.
Don’t get me wrong — I still don’t like untried idealism. But…well, let me tell you about Shelly Miller, and you’ll understand what I mean.

I first “met” Shelly Miller through her book Rhythms of Rest: Finding the Spirit of Sabbath in a Busy World. I’d been studying Sabbath as my family attempted to begin incorporating it into the fabric of our weekly lives, and Rhythms of Rest provided another source of insight. I found Shelly to be real and accessible, her insights presented from the perspective of one who had pushed through the complications of observing Sabbath in a culture that, well, didn’t. And, to top it all off, she knew what it meant to figure out Sabbath from within the world of ministry. All in all, Rhythms of Rest was obviously a book that stemmed from experience. I could trust Shelly to tell me like it was, not spout of some idealistic nonsense that a homeschooling pastor’s wife like me could never implement.

In late 2019, I started noticing references to a new book by Shelly Miller, one that would come out in 2020. It was entitled Searching for Certainty: Finding God in the Disruptions of Life. I immediately put it on my wish list. I knew the Millers had experienced their ups and downs, their times of struggle and uncertainty. I knew, once again, that I could trust her.

That was proven a few months later when Shelly was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive form of cancer. Suddenly, the book she’d already written — the one that was just waiting to process through the steps necessary to get it to publication — was coming back to strengthen her. She found herself revisiting all that she had explored, studied, and researched to compile this book, almost afraid that it wouldn’t hold up to a real disruption. But it did. All that she’d studied was now proving true in her life, and she was drawing real comfort from the truths she’d written about.

Don’t get me wrong…she’d known before what it meant to find God in disruptions and uncertainties. But she was now experiencing a disruption greater than any she’d experienced before. And the truths were still holding up. God had prepared her. She thought she was sharing with her readers. Instead, she was storing up truths for what she and her family were about to face.

How powerful that the last book she’d ever get to write would also hold the very truths that she’d have to lean on to get her through her final months on earth.

So the question comes to me: Do I trust my God to be big enough to teach me truths before the experience, truths that will hold firm during the experience?

You see, there is research and study and experience. Then there is God. There’s a God who can teach us what we need before we need it. There’s a God who can build in us and prepare us and strengthen us. There’s training and growth that comes from experience, and then there’s training and growth that comes simply because we’re daily immersing ourselves in the Word, allowing ourselves to be taught by the Spirit, and dwelling in the presence of a holy, omniscient God who loves us and desires to equip us in every way.

That’s the God I want to serve.

The God who can teach me through it all.

While on the one hand, I need to be willing to admit when what I’ve said, taught, or written has been rife with idealism (because, trust me, I’ve been guilty of that!). But, sometimes I need to go ahead and say it, then prove that God is who He says He is when the time comes for the lessons to be tested.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

My View

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I can see irises through my office window.

When we moved here, I transplanted just over a dozen of my iris bulbs. At our previous home, they were planted in a nice little circle around a large oak in the front yard. The new home also had a spot in the front yard where flowers could easily be planted around a tree, and that tree happened to be right outside the office window. Perfect location!

The catch was that the bulbs didn’t bloom. I didn’t really expect blooms the first year after we moved, one full year after transplanting, although I knew it was possible. But I did kind of expect them the second year. So, I was disappointed when there were no blooms at all. The third year, when I began seeing irises elsewhere around the community, I went out to check my own. Just leaves. Not even a sign of stalks growing.

Less than two weeks later, I suddenly had buds on three of plants! Then buds showed up on two more plants! Although it was still fewer than half of the transplanted bulbs, those five began to produce abundantly, providing wave after wave of beauty.

And the best part was that I could see them from my window. Every time I got up from my desk or passed through the room, the irises were there to make me smile.

It sounds perfect, doesn’t it? A beautiful view from my window! But what if I told you it was incomplete?

You see, only four of the five sets of blooms can be seen from my window. The fifth one is behind the tree.

But there’s more. My fledgling hydrangea bush is off to one side of the porch, out of sight from the window. It is just starting to produce color, pink this year instead of the blue it boasted when we bought it last year. I have to make sure to step outside if I want to enjoy the new growth. My Norfolk pine, the one bought years ago as a small living Christmas tree for our bedroom, comes inside during the cold winter months. During that season, I can easily see it on its high perch, safe and sound from cat attacks. But as soon as the overnight temperatures rise enough each spring, I move the large pot to a spot right beside the front door where it will be able to enjoy the humid warmth and get the right amount of sunlight. It sits just out of sight between the office window and the front door, along with the potted blueberry and elderberry bushes lined up on either side of it.

I’m honestly horrible at growing things, and more plants die at my hand than survive. But these are growing, and it’s delightful to see them. But in order to do so, I have to actually step outside. I can’t enjoy their beauty through the window like I can most of the irises.

Oh, and have I mentioned the peach trees? This is their first year to be mature enough to produce, and they are covered in maturing peaches. Not only can I not see them from the window, there is also no way to smell them from inside. The peach smell has been glorious from the moment those beautiful buds first began to swell and produce fruit! I just have to step outside the door to see and smell and enjoy.

Life is beautiful in the same way, isn’t it? God gives us so much to see from right where we are. It’s glorious and it’s nourishing. But do we catch the fact that it’s also incomplete?

God has given us the incredibly nourishment of our immediate families, our work and social spaces, and our church home. There is so much to see and smell and taste and touch in those spaces. It can be so very nourishing and powerful.

But as beautiful as life is in the immediate spaces God has created for us, if we don’t look further, we’ll miss the fuller and more powerful beauty. If we don’t step out of our comfortable spaces into the wider world, we’ll lack an understanding of how God creates beauty in the most unexpected ways. We’ll miss the smells and sights and visions of His expansive kingdom. We’ll miss the understanding that there is beauty beyond our wildest imaginations, beauty that will be fully revealed when we cross the boundary between temporary and eternal.

My view from my office window is precious and nourishing. But stepping into my yard gives me much more. Will we step out and see the greater Kingdom beauty that exists all around us?

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Not Today, Please

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Lately, I’ve been processing through some things I wrote years ago but never published. At the time, I was putting pressure on myself to organize my blog just so, taking time to design and maintain themes. And a lot of what I was writing either didn’t fit into the themes or took too much effort to design just right. So, it just got stored, waiting for…someday.

But there’s also another category of writing from those years. Thoughts that came from a place of deep struggle. Pain. Darkness, even. I don’t specifically remember writing the words, but I do remember never intending to publish any of that content. It felt too raw. I needed to process my feelings, but I did not believe I was free to show that side of myself to other people.

I know, and have always known, that we encourage others by sharing it all. Not just the good or nourishing. Not just the wrapped-up-in-a-pretty-package lessons after they have been learned. But the struggle, too. The hurt. The ugly. But it takes a lot to actually be the one to encourage that way. Not just the freedom of courage, but freedom in many other areas as well.

Today I am in a very different place with a new set of struggles but also a new fount of freedom. And today I found one of those posts that I never meant to publish. I have no idea what was happening at the time, but I know it’s not the only time I felt this way. Nor is is the most recent time I’ve felt that way. So, today, I’m going to do what I never intended to do. I’m going to take advantage of where I am right now and share it. And if you have ever felt this way, or even feel this way more often than not, I hope that today you can know you are not alone.

I’m just not feeling it today.

It’s one of those days when actually getting out of bed was a hard-won victory. One that took every ounce of the will power I had to accomplish anything. Real work, real productivity, real living all take too much effort. It would be so much easier to curl up with a book or lose myself in the mindlessness of social media. To just play. Goof off. Push it all aside. Or better yet, just hide completely. Be invisible.

To push aside the hurt of feeling unwanted – rejected, even – in the very thing that I thought was actually going well.
To walk away from the overwhelming feeling of being behind in everything.
To stop trying to succeed when at every turn I feel like I’m failing.

It would be so much easier.

And yet, I can’t. So, I wish I could write a poem like my precious daughter does. To get it all out in bare honesty. But that’s not part of who I am. I have to find my own way. Figure out my own release. Work this out in the way God created me to do so.

So, here I am. Tapping it out. Vaguely, yet openly. Not naming the hurt, yet seeing it in every word. Not exploring the sense of failure, but trying to recognize the truth behind the feeling. Not listing all that leaves me feeling overwhelmed, yet acknowledging the tension in my neck. My shoulders. My back. My head. And seeking that planner so I can create tangible to-dos to help focus my energy and relieve the pressure.

I’m not feeling it. But I’m going to do it. I’m going to dive into the work day. I’m going to accomplish tangible tasks. I’m going to choose progress, even when I’d rather curl up and hide.

And with that decision alone, I feel better.

Maybe I can do today after all.

Posted in Thoughts from Life, Thoughts from Prayer

Never to Return

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I occasionally jot down writing ideas, or post starters, to come back to later. Sometimes I come back to them and have no clue what my notes mean, so they end up being ignored or discarded. Other times, the memory of what I was thinking comes flooding back with even greater clarity than when I first had the thoughts. The writing flows in a way it never would have had I written about it back then.

Still other times, though, the post starters feel almost prophetic. It’s in those times that I truly see how the Holy Spirit works in our hearts and minds to not only grow us but to prepare us for challenges that lie ahead.

I recently revisited one such post starter for about the third time. It’s over seven years old, but the implications are profoundly appropriate for right now. Here’s part of what I wrote:

Sometimes, normal will never return. It’s a new normal.

Restoration never involves going back. It involves going forward and realizing that the only constant is Christ Himself. Not normalcy.

I’d jotted down these thoughts as we watched two different dear friends process through losing their spouses. The circumstances and ages of the friends were very different, but the reality was the same: their lives could never go back to what they had previously considered to be normal. It wasn’t possible.

The realization led me to recognize my own struggle with some changes our family had made a couple of years before. We’d made such changes many times before, but this particular time, it was harder to figure out how to make the adjustment. There were just too many differences. We had tried for so long to settle back into normalcy. But, it always failed. Only when we realized that we needed to start from scratch were we able to make some sense of the changes. And in the experience of processing through all of this, we learned what it meant to be able to rediscover routine and normalcy again, even when everything had changed.

Who knew that a global pandemic would require us to fall back on that skill again years later? That was actually the second time I revisited this thought and fleshed it out a bit more. But I still wasn’t ready to put it out there. Everything felt very raw, and I struggled with how I was processing any of it.

And now, as I revisit this thought yet again, my family is in another stage of transition. Long, drawn-out transition that prevents settling into a “new normal.” (I grew to greatly dislike that phrase during Covid, and it’s not much happier now.) Through it all, I’m realizing that we haven’t really hit a “normal” for our family in a long, long time. That forces me back to the last part of my original thought, the one about our only constant being Christ Himself, not normalcy.

That’s hitting me hard.

What if I were to redirect my thoughts and focus on something other than normalcy? What if I were to focus instead on restoration? On truly letting Christ be my constant instead of always seeking after normal?

We often think of restoration as returning something to its former glory, but that’s never the case. We can’t accomplish that because there will always be a newness. Even if the restored treasure looks the same, the materials are always new. They are always bound to the time in which they were restored, no matter what style they may represent. It’s never a return. It’s always a newness.

That’s where we are right now. We’ll never return to “normal.” But, we can move into beautiful restoration. We can move into a newness of life. Of course, that’s only possible when we embrace the Author of life Himself. After all, He is the only constant. The only thing that ever remains the same, no matter the changes. The only One who can never be restored because He can never be damaged. Never changed. Never warped. He is. Continuously and always. He restores us, constantly remaking us into the image He intended from the very beginning. Were we to cling to our sense of normal, we would miss the restoration. We would never succeed in becoming what we were intended to be because our normal is warped. Incomplete. Corrupted. He is bringing us into the incorruptible, but that means that we must go through the refining.

Thinking of this, I realize I don’t want my old normal back. I don’t want to settle for a new normal, either. Instead, I want restoration. It’s a process that will continue until I see my God and Savior face to face, and that’s okay. That means that this “new normal” is temporary as the restoration continues.

May I walk faithfully through it, trusting His work all the way and never hungering to return.

Because what lies ahead is so much better.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

The Goodness of Messy

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

If you’ve processed through any advice from time management gurus, you’ve probably heard about things like routines, rhythms, and habit stacking.

For the record, I love all of those. Good routines and rhythms, built around a reliable structure, breathe life into my ability to process each day. Without those, I feel more than a little lost. In times of life when I lack that solid structure and the ability to build my rhythms, it takes a lot of effort to avoid wasting my day. And usually I spend so much energy trying to figure out how to handle each day that I don’t have a whole lot of energy left for actually doing the things I determine need to be done.

So, yes, I’m a huge support of structure, habits, rhythms, and routines. But I also recognize how easily they can backfire!

Easter Sunday was the picture of backfiring habit-stacking and rhythms.

Frequently on Easter Sunday we have a sunrise service, which means that our rhythm is completely off anyway. This year, for a variety of reasons, we didn’t have that service. So, we had our normal rhythm with one exception: our traditional enjoyment of caramel pecan sticky buns on Easter morning.

The sticky buns are super easy to make in advance, which makes them easy to add into Easter morning prep. And I thought this year would be even easier without having to figure out timing around the sunrise service.

And I was right on one count. Getting the sticky buns ready was still easy. All I had to do was pull the prepared buns out of the fridge when I first got up and was prepping coffee and Choffy. My hubby turned on the oven as he headed to the treadmill, then I popped them into the oven when it was my turn to head to the treadmill. When I was done, I rotated them so they’d cook evenly, then he got them out of the oven while I was in the shower.

Easy, right?

Yes…but also no. Because suddenly all of my rhythms and habit stacking were off.

Had I been alert and awake, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But I was sleepy. Tired. And not feeling my best because of allergies. So, the brain just wasn’t firing quite right. And when that happens, I fall heavily back on that habit-stacking approach to the morning. I do this, then this, then that, almost mechanically.

But this particular morning, I added in some things. It was all fine until I went to rotate the sticky buns and had to do some quick problem-solving because the caramel was overflowing the pans. After that, I was thrown off. I got to my bedroom and forgot my post-treadmill stretches. Then I missed another step. And another. All because my habit-stacking was thrown off and my brain just wasn’t keeping up.

So, what’s my point here? To give up on the time management guru advice? No, not really. I still love having structure and habits. I still believe in rhythms and routines.

But, Easter Sunday was a reminder that I’m not a machine. Instead, I’m a living, breathing, flexible human being who was designed to respond and feel. Because of that, sometimes the best keep-me-on-track tricks fail. They are mechanics. I am alive.

Being alive makes life messy. It means that even when there seems to be a solution that perfectly fits our personalities, even that solution doesn’t always work. Sometimes things go wonky just because life is an experience.

And guess what? That is good! The mess is good. The wonkiness is good. The things that go a little haywire are good. They might not feel good in the moment, but they serve as a reminder of goodness. A reminder that we are not machines but are living, breathing human beings. That we are unique.

As a perfectionist, that can be hard for me to remember in the moment. Oddly enough, though, that was the biggest blessing on Easter Sunday. I recognized this reality right in the middle of everything going wonky. It made me feel alive, even in the moment. (Kind of appropriate for Easter, huh?)

Is life messy for you right now? Either in small moments or just in an all around immersion in mess? I know you need to get out of the mess. To deal with it. To get your structure back and recapture the benefits of the practices those time management gurus teach us.

In the meantime, though, remember that there is goodness in this mess. That you can be encouraged by it. That it serves to remind you that you are alive!