Category: Thoughts from Life

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.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

If We Had to Wait

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve had writing ideas form in my mind at odd times. The problem with those odd times has been that they were not times when I could jot down my ideas or talk them out with other people…at least not in that instant. And by the time I could get to a spot to jot them down, sometimes just a few minutes later, they were gone.

I could be concerned about my memory (and maybe I should be!), but this is just normal life for me and has been for, well, pretty much all of my life. “Great” ideas pop in and out of my head in an annoying instant, leaving me wishing I could have a running recording of my brain to reference whenever I wanted to retrieve those amazing thoughts.

But, then I have to ask the question…are they really that amazing?

Long ago, I started praying that God would bring back to my mind any thoughts I’d forgotten that were truly good, true, righteous, and worthy to be shared. I’d forced things enough times to know that sometimes I just needed to let ideas go instead of trying to explain them. There are times when He has brought the ideas back, sometimes in even greater clarity. But many other times, including the last couple of weeks, the ideas have just disappeared, never to return.

I have to trust that they weren’t worthy of sharing.

That realization leaves me wondering about my words on a daily basis. All of those things that I just say when they come to mind. My responses during a discussion or conversation. My spur-of-the-moment ideas that burst from me at a time when I can say them out loud to someone. My answers to questions. My reactions to emotional experiences, both positive and negative.

What if I couldn’t say any of those things immediately? What if I always had to wait at least a few minutes, with life and thoughts and interactions moving on without truly leaving space for preserving those words? How many of those words would endure? How many of the things I feel I just have to say would prove to be truly worthy?

What if we always had to wait? How much would change about our speech? Our relationships? Our interactions?

Sometimes I actually do bite my tongue. I don’t say what I think I should say. What I think would fit so perfectly. And often when I succeed in that endeavor, I find within a couple of minutes that my words would not have been helpful. I discover that silence fit much better.

That’s not to indicate that everything we say is bad. But sometimes waiting, just a few moments even, can make all the difference in our ability to live out the psalmist’s prayer that the words of our mouths and the meditations of our heart would be acceptable to our Redeemer (Psalm 19:14).

We are not forced to wait. But we can develop that habit. We can pause, just for a moment, and listen to the Spirit’s wisdom. We can choose to wait for Him to affirm our words as being a taste of righteousness or convict us of the need to guard our tongues.

That’s a habit I want to develop. I’m far from it, but I want it to be my aim. I hunger to always pause, to hear the Spirit’s voice well, and to have both my words and my silence be a positive contribution to the nourishment and encouragement of those around me.

I don’t have to wait. But I want to choose to wait.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Ready?

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

As I sit down to write, I’m enjoying a delicious fresh peach, picked last week from one of our own peach trees. We’ve planted peach trees in four of the last five towns we’ve lived in, but we’ve rarely been able to enjoy those peaches. Usually it’s because God has moved us before the trees have become mature enough to harvest, leaving a gift of peach trees behind for whoever came next.

This year, though, spring brought hope! First came the rumor that this year was expected to be a year of peach abundance. Somehow a variety of factors were supposedly coming together to produce a bountiful crop in a wide range of growing regions.

Second was the realization that our young trees were at the right age to produce their first real harvest.

Finally, for the first time in our personal peach tree planting history, I’d researched the best way and time to prune peach trees rather than going with the general guidance for fruit trees. (Did you know peach trees need a different approach from other fruit trees? Yeah, I’d missed that before this year.) I tackled that task with a bit of trepidation, sure my big-time black thumb and I would kill the trees. Within a few weeks, though, it was very obvious I had not. The remaining branches were literally bursting with blooms, followed by evidence of newly developing fruit. A late frost threatened to damage the blooms and baby peaches, but temps stayed just a few degrees above the danger threshold, much to our delight.

Over the following months, we watched closely. We knew it wouldn’t be a huge harvest because the trees were still quite young, but it looked like we’d get several dozen peaches! We thinned out where too many peaches were growing too closely together. We smelled the amazing fragrance of growing fruit. And we prayed that the squirrels would leave them alone.

The particular breed of tree we planted usually produces mature peaches by sometime in July. But, around mid-June, as we started to notice a change from greenish-yellow to a pretty orange on some of the fruit, we began to wonder if it was wise to wait until July.

One afternoon as we passed by the trees on our way up to church, we randomly checked on a couple of the peaches. They were a bit fuzzy, turning orange, and had a slight give when I lightly squeezed them. We picked them and shared one as we walked. It was mouthwateringly delicious!

And about a month earlier than we expected.

We almost didn’t check, simply because we didn’t expect the peaches to be ripe for a few more weeks. It was a whim. Maybe a bit of impatience. Who knows? But we checked. And we were rewarded, not only that day but over the course of the next couple of weeks as a few more peaches ripened each day.

That sometimes feels like the nature of readiness. It rarely falls when we expect or when we want. It’s often inconvenient and frequently frustrating. It requires watchfulness and expectancy, sometimes taking us by surprise when it comes early. But more frequently it discourages us by its delay.

We want readiness, whether in ourselves or in our circumstances, on our timetable. Not too early and not too late. When it fits with our busy schedules. When it will produce what we perceive to be maximum results. When it causes the least inconvenience.

I don’t know about you, but that’s rarely been my experience. Typically readiness has come much earlier than I was prepared for or exhaustingly later than I hoped. And yet somehow also at just the right time.

That “somehow” probably has something to do with the fact that God holds every detail of life and existence in the palm of His hand, and He has no trouble ensuring that readiness occurs in a perfect season, even if we can’t quite fathom that perfection.

I’m thankful for early peaches. Our summer schedule involves being away at camp the week I really expected the peaches to mature. By then, we’ll not only have picked them all but will have either eaten or put away the delicious little harvest. Readiness happened at an ideal time. Even at a time when we were able to share some of the first ones we picked with our daughter who lives over two hours away, thanks to an unexpected trip her direction!

Readiness isn’t on our timetable. It’s in the hands of our Creator. Whether earlier or later than we expect, He’s always right on time for His will to be accomplished.

May we tune our hearts and minds to an expectancy that allows us to enjoy His readiness as much as we enjoy a delicious fresh peach. Because His will is just as perfect and delicious, no matter when it happens.

Posted in Faith Nuggets, Thoughts from Life

Joyful & Triumphant Adoration

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I came across this old post this morning. Originally written over a decade ago around Christmas time, it still resonates with a reminder I need today. Every day. So thankful for the Spirit’s whispers to my heart, rather it’s from the words of others or from reminders of things He’s spoken to my heart in the past. 

As I opened my journal to write out my thoughts and prayers this morning, my heart felt heavy. At first I couldn’t even think what to write. Where should I begin? How could I turn it all over to the Lord?

In my heart and mind I felt the jumble of needs.

The spiritual weight of several people I love who have never surrendered to the Lord. Or those who have surrendered but are distant from Him now, hurting themselves and others with that distance.

The emotional weight of watching people dear to me struggle under grief, uncertainty, and need.

The mental weight of seeing my own schedule and todo list, wondering how to balance it all while still being available for my family and the ministry needs around me.

I just didn’t know how to begin to pour it all out before the Lord.

But we had music playing – instrumental Christmas music. The song running at the time was a piano version of “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

The first line ran through my mind as I listened:

O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant

All I could think to write was,

Joyful and triumphant? That’s not how I feel this morning, Lord. But I will still come adore You. For You alone truly are worthy.

Do you realize that He is not just worthy – He is faithful? Oh, so very, very faithful. Powerfully faithful. And in that moment, He showed that faithfulness to me.

Not many words followed on my journal page, but one powerful thought took control: the reminder that He can take any of the things weighing down on my heart and use them for His glory.

But, it doesn’t stop there. He doesn’t just take any of it. He takes all of it. Let that sink in a minute. There is no picking and choosing. There is no sense that He has to prioritize and only handle certain things for His glory. No, He has the power to take all of it – every single thing that weighs us down – and glorify Himself through it.

It still doesn’t stop there, though. He not only has the power and the ability. He not only can. He will. There is a certainty.

He will do it!!

Not some. All.

Maybe not the way I would choose or want. Maybe not in any way I can foresee. And maybe still not without heartache on our part. But, it will be the way that is, beyond a doubt, best. And He will be glorified.

What is weighing you down this week? What has you maxed out and overwhelmed. What has you in tears? What has you anxious and stressed?

Whatever it is, be assured that He will use it beautifully for His glory.

May I share something with you, my friends? I feel it now. The struggles are still there. But now the joy and triumph are too. Oh, what a mighty God we serve who can turn that around in a matter of seconds!

Will you come adore Him with me?

Posted in Thoughts from Life

The Work of Learning

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Let’s set a scene for a moment. Child comes in from school. Parent, grandparent or other adult is waiting, ready to start a conversation, hoping to discover how the school day went. Despite all of the hopes of the adult, the conversation frequently ends up being little more than a brief exchange, going something like this:

“What did you learn today?”
“Nothing.”

You just might be chuckling right now as you connect those words to familiar voices. You’ve probably overheard that exchange once or twice, if not had it yourself. It’s possible you’ve even been on both sides of the conversation. The adult sometimes pushes, hoping the child will dig a little deeper and realize that learning really has occurred. Other times, the adult simply chuckles, recognizing the truth that, even if the exchange remains exactly the same day after day after day, it will be obvious by the end of the year that the child did, in fact, learn a great deal through the course of the year.

Every single day, students receive information, engage with it, process it, and reinforce the learning of it through discussions, projects, and tests. Learning happens slowly but steadily, reinforced through the very system that they often assume is failing them because they don’t tangibly see what they learned that day, week, month, or year. Learning is work. It takes time. But our educational systems are designed to guide students through that lengthy process in such a way that they don’t even realizing the work is truly…well…working.

Now, I admit that not all of our educational systems are successful. That’s another discussion for another time and place. But the point is that learning happens for students whether they are consciously aware of it or not, simply because they are engaged in a system that helps them engage with the information presented to them. It is a system designed to equip the learning process.

Then we graduate and the system changes. We have avenues for learning how to meet the demands of our jobs. And we have demands that insist we learn even when there are not systems in place to help us with the learning. Tax season insists that we learn how to file properly. Life management requires that we learn how to keep up with cleaning and maintenance of our homes and vehicles.

But, there is so much more to learn than just how to do our jobs or pay our taxes or maintain homes and vehicles. A wide range of personal growth awaits us throughout our adult years. It’s just so easy to miss that growth because we lack the automatic systems that present the information we need before guiding us through a pattern of reinforcement.

So, we have to create those systems ourselves. We have to build habits of taking in, processing, and engaging with new information. And we have to make ourselves push through, even as they days, weeks, and months pass with us feeling like that child who has learned “nothing” in school. Just like that child, we don’t see the increments of growth. We’ll only discover it when we look back after a year or two, or maybe even ten, and see how we are different now. How our understanding has grown. How our patterns have changed. How our hobbies or habits or skills are more developed.

Friends, that’s hard work.

But it’s worthwhile work. It’s worth it to have a huge “to be read” stack of personal growth books. It’s beneficial to make yourself journal something every single day even if it’s hard to pinpoint what stood out. It’s progress when you keep practicing, keeping pounding, keep persevering even when you don’t benefit or progress from your effort.

It’s worth it because you’re learning something, even when it feels like nothing. Yes, it’s hard work. Yes, it seems as pointless as sitting in a classroom often did when you were a student. But, at the end of the year, you’ll be able to look back and see that somewhere along the way you really did learn. You grew. You improved. You advanced. You progressed.

That’s the hard work of learning. And it’s worthwhile. So, what have you learned today?

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Upstream

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Have you ever watched fish in a river or stream swim against the current? It’s truly fascinating, especially in those moments when they swim but seem to make no progress.

It’s how I feel so very often. Like I’m pumping those fins but not getting anywhere. I’m trying to make progress in learning and growing and serving in the kingdom of God, but I fill as if I’m going nowhere and simply exhausting myself in the process.

I don’t know much about the science behind why fish swim against the current, but I can think of a few reasons why it would make sense. In some locations, if fish flowed with the current, they would eventually wash out to sea where they would die in an environment unsuited to them. And we all know the fascinating behavior of salmon who swim upstream to spawn in the same place where they themselves were spawned.

Despite my ignorance of the science behind why these fish behave the way they do, I know one thing for certain. They behave the way God designed them to behave. He created them with this natural drive to swim against the current. If He did it, it is good.

Do I trust that truth for myself as well? Do I trust that all of my struggles in life, in learning, and in serving are still in His hand? That He is guiding and strengthening and working in me even when it feels that I’m flapping away and make zero progress?

Do I trust that, no matter what, His engagement in my life is good?

I don’t really have a biblical reason to compare myself to a fish swimming against the current. It’s simply a reflection of how I feel sometimes. When I see a fish swimming with all its might and going nowhere, I identify with this living illustration from nature.

But there are truths that I do have biblical reason to believe. I share the yoke with Him, and His yoke is easy. His burden is light on my shoulders. Yes, even in the middle of the current. Even when I’m flapping my fins and feeling like I’m going nowhere.

I’m in that season right now where it feels like I’m not making any progress. But my heavenly Father is constant, and His Spirit is still whispering truths to my heart and mind. He is still growing me and drawing me closer to Himself, even when it feels like I am not truly making progress.

So, I’ll keep flapping those fins. I’ll keep swimming. And I’ll trust the progress to His faithfulness.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

So Many Words

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I’ve struggled in writing lately. A few weeks ago, I had a couple of days when the words just flowed. They weren’t ready to be published, and I still don’t know where they’ll go, but they poured out of me through my fingers.

Then they stopped.

Some days I’d write and then delete because it just wouldn’t all come together. The thoughts were there, but the ability to communicate them failed me. Other days there was just nothing. No thought. No inspiration. No nothing.

For a writer, that feels bad, something to be overcome. No writer wants to admit to writer’s block, and suggestions abound for working out of a place of blocked creativity or flow.

I wonder sometimes, though, if that is our problem. Whether we are writers or artists or engineers or researchers or teachers or whatever, we spend so much time and effort trying to resist blocked paths. I can’t help but wonder if that very effort ends up contributing to the creation of the blocked paths we so greatly fear. If we experience a void, it is something to escape, never something to lean into and experience.

Could that keep us from discovering new avenues of creativity? Could the fact that I am constantly reaching for so many words be the very thing that keeps me from listening for the words I really need? The words that will take me to the next lesson? The next exploration? The next discovery? The next thoughts to share?

Years ago, the music trio Phillips, Craig, and Dean released a song entitled “Let My Words Be Few.” The lyrics are suitably simple, focused on awe and love for Jesus and the recognition that sometimes basking in His presence is better than many words. I remember chuckling a bit when I first heard the song because it was coming from three pastors. These men rely heavily on their ability to communicate with words. Words make up the core of their professions, both through music and in the pulpit. Without words, they would have quite the struggle on their hands. Yet they recognized that sometimes their words needed to be few.

I miss that truth so very often. Apps like Grammarly fuss at me regularly because of my love for adjectives and adverbs. I like to illustrate and intensify, even when it isn’t necessary. Much of what I say could easily be expressed in half as many words, but why do that when you can make words so pretty? So many words exist. Shouldn’t I try to use as many of them as possible?

That inclination, though, can get me bogged down in words. And then when the words don’t flow, when a thought comes through in a couple of short paragraphs or doesn’t even come at all, I feel as if I’m failing. I’m blocked. And that’s bad, right?

Right??

Perhaps not.

Maybe instead of being a bad time, it’s a time to lean into. Maybe it’s a challenge of trust. If I need words, whether for my own healthy processing or for my livelihood, perhaps the void of words is a signal I’m not listening to the Author of words. The one who gives me the ability to use those words.

Perhaps He’s calling me to listen better.

Am I will to say here I am and listen, with or without words?