Category: Thoughts from Life

Posted in Thoughts from Life, Thoughts from Scripture

The Place of Impact

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

If you’ve ever sought out advice about how to read the Bible, you’ve probably received a wide variety of recommendations. Some will suggest that you should read the Bible straight through from cover to cover every single year. Or, if not cover to cover, then in chronological order. But, definitely the whole thing. Every year.

Others suggest that if you read that quickly, you’ll miss details. So, you should focus in on individual books of the Bible and take as long as you need to explore them from year to year. It might be three, five, or more years before you get through the whole Bible, but the close focus is more important than getting all the way through.

As with much advice passed around in life, advice about how to approach Bible reading is frequently presented as one or the other with no in-between. There’s a right way and a wrong way. Which one are you going to pick?

If I’ve learned anything about advice over the years, it’s that the real solution is rarely black and white. It almost never falls to one extreme or the other. The best spot is somewhere in the middle. With Scripture reading, it’s a both-and approach. Get the big picture and get the details. We need both.

Recently, though, I realized that even that is not complete advice simply because it’s not a one-time thing. It’s not a situation of reading the Bible through one year to get the big picture, then slowing down from then on to get the details. It’s important to go back and forth. Get the big picture, get the details, then apply the details back onto the big picture again. And repeat. Again and again and again.

This reality was highlighted for me when preparing to teach a lesson from Philippians 3. All of it. Crammed into one short lesson.

Now, I love Philippians. It’s such a practical epistle, giving solid instruction. It’s also so…cheerful. It makes me smile and reminds me that healthy community is possible. But, let me tell you, there is a lot packed into that short epistle. And as I studied, I was overwhelmed by it all. I know Philippians well, having studied it deeply on multiple occasions. I have explored the big picture. I’ve focused on the details. I’ve studied and explored and learned so very much.

In this particular instance, though, that knowledge was working against me. I spent the entire week trying to figure out how to summarize the details of a whole chapter and do it in a way that was coherent and meaningful for a youth Sunday school lesson. I never could quite get it. It wasn’t until Sunday morning, day of the lesson, that I finally had my “aha” moment. I finally remembered to step back again. To take in the context of the whole epistle. To see where chapter 3 fit into the overall flow.

(To be completely transparent, I’m pretty sure the Spirit had been whispering that to me all week, but I’m pretty hard-headed sometimes and don’t listen well.)

As soon as I stepped back, the patterns showed up. I began to see how the various parts of chapter three all intertwined. No, we didn’t have time for the details. But we had time for a meaningful lesson.

I don’t say all of this to give my own brand of advice. I share this to remind us to wash all advice, especially advice on walking with Christ, through the lens of experience. Activity. Actually doing the walking while following the leadership of the Holy Spirit. A novel concept, I know.

We often don’t know what we’re missing in our studies of Scripture until we are pressed to share what we’ve learned with other people. Likewise, we don’t really see what’s missing in a lot of our pat spiritual answers until we’ve had to drag our methods, beliefs, and preconceived ideas through the realities of life. And sometimes those realities are a little messy — muddy, even.

My one-week experience of studying Philippians 3 for a Sunday school lesson was a small drop in the bucket of my overall life. But, that experience very much exemplifies how I need to pattern my life as a follower of Christ. The big picture view of Christian experience, idealistic though it may be, is very critical to our growth. The nitty gritty details — represented by our focus on how the Word and our faith speaks into today’s challenges, needs, and struggles — are also critical. Both grow us. They hone our listening skills and help us see Christ at work all around us, at every turn. In all honesty, though, they tend to limit us to a combination of idealism and very specific, personal application.

If we’re going to impact the world around us and give our neighbors a vision of Christ’s love for them, we have to move beyond both idealism and personal application. Fortunately, when we allow the Holy Spirit to be active and alive within us, He has the ability to merge the two and communicate the powerful love of God to those around us in a way that speaks to their own idealism and personal needs. He can handle using our growth to speak into the messy realities of the lives around us.

That’s where I want to live. In the place where both my big picture idealism and detailed experiences can truly be used by the Spirit to impact the life of another.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Obedience

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Have you ever stopped to question why disobedience happens? Why do children disobey their parents? Why do employees disobey their bosses? Why have God’s people disobeyed Him throughout history?

We all like to fall back on the simple answers of rebellion and pride. And those are relevant answers. And for some people, that really is the crux of the matter. They don’t want anyone telling them what to do. But often even those reasons spring out of something deeper.

Obedience is scary.

Obedience requires us to trust that what someone else tells us to do is the right thing. That if it all falls apart, they will be there to bear the weight of the failure.

And obeying God? On the one hand, that should be easier because He’s perfect and infallible. He sees all and knows all. But He’s also unseen and incomprehensible. Sometimes His instructions don’t seem to make sense and we second guess whether we even heard Him right or not. I mean, we have the Bible and can see the miracles there, but does that really translate to now? Does He still really work that way?

It’s not just the big things, either. Today I’m struggling with something as simple as writing. I find myself wanting to do just about anything else. I feel like He’s given me the instruction to write. But since I have tried to reinstate the habit of writing, I’ve struggled so much with knowing what to write. Or, when I do have an idea, I struggle with being able to translate the thoughts in my head into something communicable.

And what happens on the days when I just can’t? When I can’t come up with anything to write? Or what if I write something that is just…wrong? Or something that discourages when I intend to encourage? Or something that comes from a place of naiveté or ignorance? What if I’m incapable of obedience because of all of the road blocks I’ve hit when I’ve tried to do these things in the past? What if I get it all wrong?

And that’s just writing. Something simple and, in the grand scheme of things, pretty benign since I write for my own simple blog with no more than a handful of followers. If something that tame is scary, how much more so are the “big” things.

Obedience is scary.

But the truth is that trusting in myself is even scarier. I will definitely get it all wrong on my own. I need instruction and guidance.

That’s why obedience is the epitome of faith. It is acting on the trust that God really does know what He’s talking about. But, it’s also trusting that He is powerful enough not only to command but also to communicate.

I know my hearing is faulty. I know I struggle with wisdom. But, God is big enough to make His will known, even if it means getting through to someone as hard of hearing and doubtful as I am.

He can do it. And I can trust Him.

Yes, obedience is scary. But when I’m in the hands of my loving, almighty God, it’s the safest place to be because He has promised to guide me. When I remember that, I can even place my fear in His hands. Because He promised to take that, too.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Rain

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

As I look out the window this morning, I see bright sunshine. I do enjoy sunshine. I need it after a long stretch of clouds and gloom. But, right now we have a bit too much of it. We’ve gone long stretches with all sunshine and no rain, and there is no rain in the forecast. In fact, they are saying we may go the whole month without a drop.

If I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that I’m grieving the lack of rain.

You see, I love rain. Not necessarily the dark and gloom, especially if it’s just cloudy with no rain falling. On those days, I’d rather have sunshine. But as long as it’s dripping and wet, the gloom doesn’t bother me. I’ll turn on those extra lights while I wait for the sun, but the truth is that it will take me long time to get tired of the rain. And I’m almost always sad to see it go, even when we’ve had too much and I know we don’t need more.

My love for rain probably comes from spending many of my growing up years in a desert climate. As the last of the winter rains dwindled away and the spring sun came out, the hills around us would erupt in a beautiful array of colors as poppies, irises (especially the dark purple, almost black Gilead iris that only grows in those hills), and other wildflowers overtook the landscape. But, they never lasted long. Within a couple of weeks, the flowers were dead and any grass that had sprouted up was already starting to turn brown.

As much as I loved wildflower season, I also knew what it meant. We’d have at least eight, and possibly as many as ten, months of complete dryness. Not a single drop of rain. Not even a hint of a cloud. The sky would go from brilliant blue to dusty brown. As summer progressed and the land completely dried out, massive dust storms would roll over us as thick as winter fog.

When the rains finally returned sometime between October and December, the first shower would often look more like mud than rain as it washed the dust out of the air. We didn’t care, though. We’d be out in it, dancing and laughing as we welcomed each drop. Those first rains meant cleansing. They meant that we could breathe. They meant a few months of relief from the heat. They meant blue skies and green hills, at least for a couple of weeks before cold set in and chased the grass away again.

And to this day, I welcome rain with relish.

That’s not what everyone feels when they look out the window and see rain. Some people see the gloom and desperately need the sun, even knowing that the rain is necessary. Some people are hounded with memories, not of dancing in the welcome rain, but of the destruction that so often comes with the rain. Havoc wreaked by storm lines or hurricanes, as we’ve seen horrific evidence of lately. Crops destroyed by too much rain or by hard rain at hard times. Dangerous flash floods from a sudden rainburst.

Or, perhaps the memories are less general and more personal. Ruined plans. Getting in trouble because of not having an outlet to release energy when trapped indoors by the weather.

The thing that brings me such joy can also bring incredible pain. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived with the consequences. And I so very much understand that those experiences cause some people to dread even the thought of rain, no matter how much it’s needed.

Joy and grief are like that. They intermingle but they also fight for top billing in our hearts. Sometimes the joy wins, while other times the grief is overwhelming. And in the process, we feel our own feelings and wonder how someone else can possibly feel differently. How can someone else hate rain so much when it’s so life-giving? How can someone else long for rain when the sun shining from a cloudless sky is so nourishing?

More confusing of all is when all of those feelings clash in our own hearts. When we desperately need the cleansing rain but just as desperately need the light of the sun. When our circumstances are washing out the dirt and yuck in our hearts but what we achingly hunger for is to just be clean and light and happy again.

We live in a fallen world that needs both clouds and sun, rain and dry. Neither is perfect, but both are good. Scripture tells us that nature itself groans as it waits for the perfection to be restored. For it all to be good without any mix of bad. But we’re not there yet. So, we have to learn what it means to live with it all.

We have to learn to embrace what we love while ministering to those who ache in those same moments. We have to learn to both laugh and cry with one another without sacrificing our own joy and tears.

There’s no easy answer to it. Today as I stare out at the sunshine, I admit that my soul is feeling parched along with the dry ground. But, even while I pray for an unexpected soaking rain, both for the ground and for my soul, I’m rejoicing over the light shining on both. That intermingling of joy and grief. That knowledge that God is growing me with His light, even when I feel parched. The truth that, when the rains come and there are others who feel like they are drowning, I can empathize with and pray for them even as they can for my parched soul today.

And one day, we’ll rejoice in the perfection, all receiving nourishing together. That’s the day I long for.

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 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, 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.