Posted in Faith Nuggets, Thoughts from Life

On Puzzles and Noticing

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I love puzzles. Fortunately for me, I also have a daughter who enjoys puzzles, maybe even more than I do! Over the years, we’ve loved sitting down to puzzles together, working on them for Sabbath rest or in stolen moments here and there.

The summer before she headed off to college, we started a rather complex puzzle. With 1500 pieces, it wasn’t an abnormally sized puzzle for us. We frequently tackle 1000-piece puzzles without a second thought, and a 500-piece puzzle isn’t even really a challenge at all. So, there wasn’t anything extraordinary about this 1500-piece puzzle in its size.

It was the image itself that caused us to wonder about our sanity as we dove in. This particular puzzle was constellations. A dark background covered in tiny words and dots and details. Several times I wondered if my eyes weren’t just a bit too old for this heavily detailed puzzle.

We started the puzzled over the summer. Then my daughter headed off to college. I tackled a couple of things here and there — parts that I knew wouldn’t be too challenging because I could see the patterns easily. But I didn’t make a lot of progress.

My daughter came home for Christmas, and we decided to spend some time puzzling. That first day back on the “job” I noticed something I had never seen before, even after months of having the puzzle out. I noticed blue lines and patterns connecting the stars in the middle of the puzzle. Images. Patterns. Designs with coherent flow.

I had expected the center to be almost impossible to figure out systematically because of the teeny tiny dots and numbers. But what I found was a series of patterns that would make the puzzle much more easy to solve. Connection points. Anchors.

These had been there all along, I just hadn’t noticed them.

Oddly enough, I’d just finished a book a few days before that talked about noticing. Sitting patiently with art or other aspects of beauty to observe and gain awareness that a glance — or even a long look — will never provide. The idea of sitting in front of a single painting for minutes, much less hours, seems so very hard to me. And yet, I’ve caught myself lingering at times before a snippet of beauty only to find that I could hardly tear myself away. So much to see and take in that a lifetime couldn’t possibly be enough!

I’ve long argued that we need to approach Scripture this way as well. Sitting with it, reading and rereading it, discovering what we can’t see quickly. This approach was pressed into my heart and mind by a college class. Our professor would hand us a passage and have us list all of our observations. When we felt we’d gleaned all we possibly could, he would tell us to go and do it again. We’d moan and groan, thinking there was nothing else to be seen. We’d get ornery and list blatantly obvious, seemingly ridiculous details, only to discover that those details would awaken us to a whole list of things we’d missed before.

In recent years, this concept of lingering and observing that once was as natural as breathing has become foreign to me. In some ways, I’ve been afraid to linger because lingering isn’t always happy. Sometimes it’s simply overwhelming, producing unexplained emotions that leave me with more questions than answers. Lingering can mean dealing with painful things. Things that I can’t fix. Things that only hurt.

Little observances have been awakening my heart. A lakeside sunrise so incredibly beautiful that I couldn’t bear to pull my eyes away. A pattern than stirred thoughts and made me want to create despite the fact that art is not in any way a gifting of mine. A puzzle that seemed so challenging because of all of its apparent sameness, only to reveal itself to be full of patterns and nuances that, once discovered, made it almost easy to complete.

Noticing stirs thoughtfulness. Thoughtfulness stirs emotions. Emotions stir connection. And connection breathes life back into parts of me that have been, at best, dormant and, at worst, dead.

Fortunately for me, I serve a Lord, Savior, and Master who not only awakens the dormant but can actually bring the dead back to life.

Sometimes with something as simple as a puzzle.

Posted in Faith Nuggets, Thoughts from Prayer

Who Are You?

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

We love superheroes. Even if we aren’t Marvel or DC fans, we still find ourselves drawn to the stories of heroes of fantasy, history, and everyday life.

There’s an interesting thing about heroes, though. Many of them don’t really want to be known. The motivations vary. Some are truly humble, and they want to be able to do for others without the restriction of having their every motive and action questioned.

Others simply cling to being mysterious, either through alter-egos or staying in the shadows. This is a common theme throughout mythology and story-telling. You never really know the true identity of the hero, and the hero doesn’t really want to be known. Mystery is part of their success.

We kind of idolize that, don’t we? And sometimes we think we want to imitate it. But then it gets lonely and we discover that, truthfully, we want to be known. We want to be seen. Maybe not in a cocky or self-important way, but in a relational way. We’re tired of isolation and desire relationship. We want people to see us. To know us.

All of this went crashing through my mind recently as I was pondering my Scripture and devotional readings for the morning. I don’t know that any of it specifically related to the reading; it was more connected to a heart desire. A desire to truly get to know more of God through His Word, His actions, and His presence in each day.

I strayed to the thought of mythological gods and demigods, our foundation for superhero stories of today, and realized that few if any of them ever wanted to be known by mere mortals (unless there was romance involved — those stories get a bit crazy!). They wanted to stay lofty and mysterious.

The same has been true of religions throughout history. The relevant gods all remain mysterious and distant, unknowable by mere mortals.

But our God is different. He, by nature, is too great for us. He isn’t truly knowable. Yet, what has He done throughout history? He has created ways for us to know Him, even going to the extreme of sending His Son to give us an avenue for knowing Him. Think of how many times Jesus indicated to His disciples that if they knew Him, they’d know the Father! What an amazing concept!

Here’s where the thought gets really mind-boggling.

We want to be known, right? We want to be seen.

What if that desire to be known is actually one of the signs that we are made in the image of God? What if that very craving, that very desire, is a reflection of God in us?

On the surface, that can seem a bit heretical, I know. It makes God seem self-centered and egotistical, especially considering that our desire to be known usually has selfish motives.

And yet…

God walked in the garden with the first humans so that they could get to know their Creator. He revealed Himself throughout the Old Testament through awesome works, the law, and the prophets.

Then He sent Jesus.

The Almighty God, Creator of the universe longs to be seen and known by us! This infinite, unknowable God reveals Himself in ways that make sense to our finite, limited minds.

What if we were to seek to know God in the way that we truly want to be known? Seek the truth of His heart? The depth of His desires? The vastness of His love?

He wants to be made known. He wants us to know Him. And He wants us to help Him be made known to the entire world. What an overwhelmingly profound reality!

Lord, who are You? Who are You really? How can it be that You want little, insignificant me to know You? How is it that You, the Almighty God of all existence, can be willing to take the time to not only know me but to reveal Yourself to me? Personally. Intimately.

Help me desire to know You even just as much as I want to be known. And may that ultimately change. May my desire morph into being fully about knowing You, trusting that I am always known by You.

Reveal to me who You are!

Posted in Perspective

A Quarter of a Tank

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I like word pictures. They help me take abstract thoughts and ideas and turn them into practical realizations.

Recently, something I read or heard about mental health filled my mind with a word picture that overwhelmed me with stark awareness. I don’t remember what exactly triggered the image, but I remember how powerful it was. Our society is becoming more open to discussing mental health and the impacts of anxiety, depression, and other mental health issues. Even neurodivergence is garnering more positive discussion these days. But, those who have never personally interacted with neurodivergence or mental health issues still have a hard time grasping what the challenges really look like.

That’s where word pictures can be incredibly helpful. Shall I share mine with you?

Imagine you own a car that looks great and sounds/runs fine once it’s started. But, the simple act of starting it uses up three-quarters of a tank of gas. Every. Single. Time. And, I’ll be honest, I’ve never owned a vehicle that uses that last quarter of a tank of gas as efficiently as the first quarter of a tank. So, you can’t do as much on that last quarter of a tank as you could with the first quarter of a tank were you starting from full.

Some people, especially those living day-in and day-out with depression, anxiety, or other such quiet, nearly invisible challenges are like that car. It takes 75% (if not more) of their supply of will power just to get out of bed. Then, as with a car that has to stay idling all day just so you don’t have to restart it (since you don’t have enough gas to do so), much of what’s left is consumed with trying to figure out where to even begin with the rest of the day.

It’s easy to look at that person and say, “If you would just do _____ or have _____ attitude, it would help you and you’d feel better.” But, there are a lot of ______s to do, and they add up so quickly. And that “easy” attitude adjustment requires so much energy, will power, and discipline. All of those things that should be simple are not. A healthy person can do those things and barely use up an ounce of gas. Not so for someone running on that bottom quarter of a tank. It might cost them a gallon, an incredibly high cost.

Someone in your life operates on that quarter of a tank day in and day out. Everything expected of them is extraordinarily costly. And they’re afraid that tomorrow it will take 80% of their allotment to get started, maybe even 90% by next week. So, they’re hoarding. Protecting.

I wish I could say that there was an easy fix to help them eliminate the start-up consumption, but there’s not. Eventually, some of them can find ways to improve their car’s efficiency or even get a new car. But for now, they’re just doing the best they can, and they’re doing it with the assumption that their struggle is not going to be understood. That they’re just going to be handed “simple” solutions from a society that wants them to pull it together and just be “normal.”

Maybe there is a better option. Maybe instead of feeling like someone who needs to be fixed, they simply need to feel seen and understood. Who knows what that simple act of understanding can accomplish?

Posted in Thoughts from Life, What I Do

Day Two

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Day One was a good day. Well, for writing at least.

All of my timing worked out. Even with a slightly sluggish start to the morning, I got in my exercise, morning devotional reading, and school with my son and still had time to spare before I needed to clock into work.

So, I sat down to a blank screen and had just over 1000 words written before it was time to quit. For the first time in a while, the ideas and the words came together to flow into productivity.

On the one hand, that’s a great thing. Day One success can be so helpful to get up and do Day Two. Then Day Three. Making it a habit.

But, Day One success can also be a struggle.

The very next morning, I procrastinated for 30 minutes. I wrote some reviews because that was easy and safe. I sent a couple of check-in chats on Marco Polo. I cleared my inbox.

Why?

Because I was scared to sit down to another blank screen and not have Day Two go like Day One did. On Day One, I had ideas before I ever sat down. On Day Two, I was going to have to sit down first and see if the ideas came to me.

That’s just plain intimidating.

And for over half an hour, I let that fear and intimidation keep me from even trying. I let it eat away at the time I had available to write. I let it distract me.

But I finally made it. I started tapping away at the keyboard, and the very experience of the morning gave me something to write about. I didn’t have as much time to write because of all the time I wasted. I wouldn’t make it to 1000 words. I probably wouldn’t even make half that. But I showed up, and that very act showed me that I actually did have something to say.

Here’s the deal, though. On Day Three — or Day Twelve or Day One Hundred and Fifty-Seven — I might actually sit down to a blank screen and have…nothing. At some point, my fears will become reality.

But I’m also realizing something else. On those days I’ll still have something to do. I’ll have a folder of rough drafts ready to be edited. I’ll have a folder of completed drafts ready to be published. I’ll have something to work with. Why? Because I sat down on Day One and turned my thoughts into typed words. I sat down on Day Two and conquered my intimidation.

On Day Two, I confirmed the habit of doing it anyway. Of sitting down with the intention of working toward being a writer once again. This is a part of me that has been dormant for far too long. And because of that, I’ve been incomplete. I need this.

So, I’ll do it.

I’ll do it on the days when I have the ideas before I even sit down to the computer — and then enjoy seeing those ideas materialize into coherent content. I’ll do it on the days when I have the ideas but then can’t seem to get them out coherently. I’ll do it on the days when there are no ideas beforehand, but something comes to me because I make myself do it anyway.

I’ll do it on the days when there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. At all.

What have you allowed to slip? What have you not done because you’re not getting around to being yourself? What have you allowed intimidation to keep you from doing?

What can you do today to get started? To reinforce what you’ve started but are afraid to continue? To keep going even when you’ve hit a dry spell on something that’s been going so well? To grow and improve in something you’ve been doing diligently?

No matter the obstacles before you today…do it anyway.

Posted in What I'm Learning

Who Am I?

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

That is the question, isn’t it?

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for a little while now. And I’ve been slowly coming to a surprising realization regarding the answer: who I am changes.

I used to think that wasn’t possible. Yes, our stages of life would change, our circumstances would change, and even our interests might change. But the core of who we are has to stay the same, right?

In a way, yes. I’ve been created as a unique individual and there are certain aspects of my being and my personality that will always remain constant. But over the past few years I’ve experienced some confusion as I’ve tried to evaluate what is enjoyable and fun to me. What ideal life would look like for me. What fills and nourishes me. It’s honestly easier to just default back to the things that used to answer those questions and fill in the blanks for those evaluations.

Easier, though, isn’t always right. And those old answers seem a bit off to me these days. I’m not excited about the same things I used to be excited about. I’m not nourished by the same activities or fueled by the same types of situations, events, and circumstances. I don’t even love the same gifts I used to love. Or something as basic as the same foods!

Who I am has changed.

I recently took the time to evaluate my blog and go through and unpublish a lot of posts. Most of them, in fact. Why? Because who I am has changed. I don’t communicate the same way anymore. I don’t hold all of the same thoughts and ideas. So, as I get back to writing and publishing, I want to make sure that what is posted on my blog truly reflects who I am.

I have changed.

But that still leaves me with the question: Who am I now?

I honestly don’t know. And I struggle to have the intuition to dig it out. I’m a practical person who doesn’t work well in the theoretical (that’s one thing that definitely hasn’t changed and never will!). So, it’s much easier to look back and retain who I’ve been than to look forward and figure out who I’m becoming. It’s too abstract. I instead have to go with what I know today.
Today, it’s about writing. I’m a new writer. I know that seems odd since I’ve been blogging for nearly 15 years, so let me explain: I used to write, and I loved it. I wrote about my family’s daily activities on our family blog, highlighting both the fun and the struggles we had as a family. I wrote about things I learned as a mom. Spiritual truths I’d gleaned along the way.

Then I hit a stretch of life where I could no longer be public about lesson and struggles. I won’t go into the details of why, but the reality was that I no longer had that freedom. At first I tried to journal through it all anyway without publishing it on the blogs. But, I found myself undisciplined. The rhythm of blogging ensured that I made writing a part of my daily life. Without the blogging, I found myself lacking the discipline I needed to truly hash through the process of writing.

It was a mistake. I think I knew it at the time, but I just didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. The consequence was that, over time, I lost my own voice. I did a lot of ghost writing, a lot of dispassionate writing about ideas and events that I could easily address. But they were never me.

Now I’m coming back. But “me” is very different now. I can’t just rediscover that old voice. I have to find my new one. For instance, I’m not the work-at-home, homeschooling mom of three children ranging from elementary to early high school. Instead I’m the soon-to-be empty nester who is in between jobs and wondering what’s next.

And that’s not the only thing that has changed. Ministry has changed. Marriage is very different a quarter of a century in than it was 15 years in. My fifth decade of life is different from my fourth. Life is just…different.

So, I’m diving in. I’m figuring out who I am. Not who I will be for the next however many years I have on this earth. But who I am now. This year. In 2024.

And I’m going to record it, because someday I’ll look back at all of those old blog posts that I wrote in my thirties and at the things I’m writing now as I close out my forties. I’ll take note of the journey, and I’ll compare all of that to where I am in that “someday” moment. I’ll see who I was. I’ll acknowledge who I am. And I’ll take an active part in shaping who I will become.
And one day, when I step into eternity, I’ll know fully that the whole purpose was to learn who I am ultimately: a child of God whose whole purpose is to bring glory to Him…with all of who I am.

Posted in Meditations & Meanderings, Thoughts from Life

Shine Right Now

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been slowly working my way back into a habit of personal writing. A blog post here, a few paragraphs of fiction there. Nothing big, just an attempt to try to rebuild the long-lost habit.

Everything I have written is safely stored in a Scrivener project and marked with a status. Most are marked as rough drafts, reminding me that I need to go back and edit them at some point. Meanwhile, I’ve also been trying to clean up the blog and even think about some fresh organization. After all, it’s been a few years. I need to revise my presentation before I just start publishing stuff again. I need to have something good and attractive and just right before I get back to publishing again. For now, just building the habit is enough. Right?

Right???

Maybe. And maybe not.

Early this morning, I followed a trainer named Shannon along a beach in Australia while listening to an audio devotional that Heather Thompson Day recorded back in December, all thanks to the marvels of technology built into my treadmill and my phone. Neither of these lovely ladies were actually with me in my living room today. But both of them were a part of my morning because at some point they decided to click “submit.” They chose to put their work out there on display for me to access whenever I needed it.

As I listened to the podcast, I was struck profoundly by a comment about shining enthusiastically through anything you do, whether the audience is huge or small. I was personally being impacted because two women had chosen to make their talents public. They had chosen to put themselves out there, having no clue how many people would watch or listen. They had no guarantee of reaching a record-breaking number of viewers. They simply wanted to put what they had out there for anyone who might be willing to take advantage of their material.

They didn’t keep their thoughts and actions hidden in a Scrivener file on their computer.

Yes, that is the exact thought that went through my mind as I walked and listened. And that first thought was immediately following up by the conviction that I’d been hiding, too. Hiding behind rough drafts and the need for organization. Hiding behind the idea that I never really had an “audience” anyway. Wasn’t all of this just about the writing for my own edification? If I am focused on rebuilding that habit, is it really important to actually publish what I write? I mean, on the one hand, I want to be productive and write for more than just my own mental processing. But, there’s no rush, is there? No one is waiting for me to publish a blog post. Who even really visits personal blogs anymore, anyway, other than random bots?

All of the excuses came right back to the original realization: I’ve been hiding. There are many reasons for it, even beyond the excuses. But I wasn’t meant to hide for the Kingdom of God. I was meant to shine for Him. I wasn’t meant to edify myself. I was meant to edify the body of Christ and draw others to become a part of that body.

It might be that no one reads. It might be that I don’t impact a single soul by publishing a random post on my blog. That’s a possibility anytime I publish a blog post. But if I keep hiding, it’s more than a possibility; it’s a guarantee.

So, this is me, coming out of hiding. This is me typing this post directly into WordPress instead of in Scrivener. This is me committing to just a quick edit before I click publish. This is me turning on a light bulb to shine right now, even if no one else sees it for weeks or months or years…or ever. My job is to take what God has given me and commit to putting it out there.

Posted in What I'm Learning, Work & Life

A New Direction

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I have a dream of one day writing fiction. There are stories bopping around in my head, many of them with great and captivating characters. In my reading experience, a great character can make up for a great number of writing flaws, but even the most creative and descriptive authors will fall flat for me if their characters aren’t captivating.

The problem, though, is that I still need a point to my stories. Just developing a character does not drive fiction. A good character is critical, but without a story, there is nothing to carry the character. And, while I have great characters and good story starters in my head, I seem to lack an overarching plot that will engage a reader through to the end.

So, I haven’t bothered to start writing that fiction.

In all honesty, it’s more comfortable in this spot of not writing. But, I also have to admit that two things are highly challenging this position of inactivity. The first one is my children. Often as they discuss the stories they are writing, they make comments like, “Guess what I discovered today? That character is a red-head! So many things about her make more sense now!” Or they’ll talk about something unexpected happening or someone doing something funny. They talk as if they’re reading stories, not writing them. As if they are watching the stories come into being, not creating them.

And my kids aren’t alone in this. I’ve seen similar comments from other authors—published authors—talking about their characters or stories surprising them with unexpected actions or events.

It baffles my mind, and yet I remember reading something about Michelangelo saying that his sculpture work was simply an act of releasing a masterpiece already there in the stone, just waiting to be exposed. It’s not a new concept for artists to feel as if they are revealing rather than creating. And maybe they are. Maybe God Himself has the designs, the stories, the beauty already there, just waiting to be exposed by those with the talent to do so.

Of course, that idea doesn’t help encourage me to write those stories because I fear that I will not have the talent to reveal anything. My husband and children are so much more creative than I am. So, I should leave it to them, right?

Except that I told you there were two challenges. And the second comes from within me.

You see, this post was not the one I originally sat down to write. I had a different thought that I wanted to write out. But, I felt like it needed an introduction. In the process of writing the introduction, a whole new thought filled my mind, and it turned into its own blog post. Then that, in turn, led to this thought. In order to not lose the first two thoughts, I made notes for this one, then went back and worked on the other two. At this point, I don’t even remember what those original two thoughts were or what blog posts they produced, as it’s taken me a while to come back and flesh out this thought (fear, perhaps?). But the point is that the extra ideas didn’t come from just thinking about the original topic. They came from acting on the thought.

I had a thought. I started writing it out. And more thoughts followed, one after another, seeming to come from nowhere.

I’m good at pondering. And pondering is important. It’s where ideas come from, and those ideas spur growth. But, pondering itself doesn’t actually produce growth. Acting on those ponderings is the only thing that will help me grow. Create. Reveal. Action is what really turns a thought into something real. Action is what turns that one thought into another and another until we are not creating, we’re discovering.

My wonderful husband pointed out to me recently that maybe I need to stop learning about writing and just start writing. And he’s right, as usual. The stories, the thoughts, the ideas are all in there somewhere. But they serve no purpose closed up inside my head. Only once I take a step and start writing will they start revealing themselves.

And you know something? Maybe if I think of myself as being God’s tool for revealing beauty rather than responsible for creating it, I just might be capable after all.

Posted in Meditations & Meanderings, Thoughts from Life

I Don’t Want To

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

One of my summer goals was to reinstate a habit of writing. Some weeks were good, others not so much. But, I’m seeing progress. I’m also seeing, though, that it’s not always about having time for a habit. Sometimes, it’s about pushing through a bad case of “I don’t want to.” We’ve probably all faced that, in one way or another, in this strange year we’re experiencing. Here are some thoughts that came from an “I don’t want to” day a couple of weeks ago…

Today I have a few minutes to write. Lunch is an easy prep since I’m just warming up soup that’s already in the fridge, celebrating an August day in the 80s (not at all a norm for an Arkansas summer). And I just completed another course to prepare for our official homeschool start in two weeks. Almost to that finish line! So, I have time to sit down and write a few hundred words.

The problem is, I don’t want to. It’s not the out-of-habit issue that leads to staring at a blank screen, although it has been a couple of weeks since I’ve written regularly. It’s just that, emotionally, I don’t want to hash through what’s in my head.

That’s the thing about healthy habits. (And yes, for me, writing is a healthy habit.) A healthy habit — and a healthy lifestyle — insists that we confront our thoughts, emotions, struggles, and successes head-on. We have to think about them. Deal with them. Not just every now and then, but day after day after day without fail.

Even the simplest healthy habit like brushing my teeth daily makes me aware of the health of my teeth. How are they doing? What do I need to do to keep them healthier? Improve their health? Maybe I don’t consciously run through these questions every time, but the evaluation is there.

But some of the healthy habits are more in-your-face than others. Like writing. With writing, I have to process my thoughts. I have no choice. And sometimes I just don’t want to.

A habit, by nature and definition, makes the decision for us. My habit every morning is to get up, put on exercise clothes, work through a weight routine, and then go walking. The decision is made. I don’t make the decision to do all of that every morning. The habit makes the decision for me. If I do not go through that routine, then I’m making the decision not to. And that takes more effort, because then I have to rethink the flow and routine of my morning. So, as much as I do not enjoy setting the alarm early enough to get up and exercise — nor do I like the exercise itself — it’s more of a hassle to have to decide what to do with my messed-up morning. So, I exercise.

As a result, I face the health realities connected to my need for exercise head-on. Day in and day out. My weight. My eating habits. My overall health. All tied to that habit.

The writing habit, in turn, decides for me that I will deal with the cacophony of thoughts in my head. And that’s a good thing. Because when I let them pile up, they wreak havoc. They cause stress and depression. They magnify uncertainty and strengthen confusion. It’s work enough to deal with them on a daily basis. But, when they pile up? It’s downright exhausting! So, I need a habit to decide that I’m going to write, whether I want to or not.

Of course, destructive habits are no different. We have good intentions, but if our habits are unhealthy, they make the decisions for us. And our “want to” struggles to stand against them. It’s not hopeless. We can break destructive habits and build healthy ones with will power. But, if we don’t apply that will power, our habits will win. They will make the decisions.

May we always be aware of our habits. Of our healthy ones and our destructive ones. Of the evaluations they force us to make. Of the power they hold over our lives. Because when it comes down to it, our habits — not our “want tos” — are what truly shape us. What shape do we want?

Posted in Meditations & Meanderings, Thoughts from Life

Questions Without Answers

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

“Question for you,” my husband or I will say to one another. Or it may even come from someone else. A child. A parent. A friend. A church member.

“Answer for you,” comes the inevitable response. At least, we hope there’s an answer.

There’s something incredibly satisfying about being confident in our ability to answer a question. It means we’re knowledgeable about something (always a confidence booster), able to make a decision (extremely edifying for those of us who struggle to make decisions), or able to be of help to someone (Who doesn’t enjoy that?).

Of course, when we are the ones with the questions, we also want the answers to be forthcoming. Typically when I ask a question of my husband or children or anyone else, I might not need an answer immediately. But I definitely want them to ponder, evaluate, consider, research, explore, or whatever and get back with me at some point. We ask questions because, ultimately, we want answers.

And this is where spiritual growth gets tricky. Because sometimes we ask questions that only God can answer. And many times it feels that He is a little vague or dodgy with the answer.

I can’t read Scripture without clearly seeing the number of times God’s clear answers were delayed or obscured in some way. And when He was clear and quick, it was often in discipline, not in response to the heart cries of a truly searching servant. From Job to Abraham to Joseph to the prophets to the disciples to Paul, there is incident after incident of God requiring His servants to wait. To trust. To learn slowly.

This truth is clear in my own life as well. I look at what I know now and see how much of it has come, not from beautiful moments of quick illumination, but from long and hard study. From waiting. From asking question after question after question, layering one on top of the other until I don’t really remember where I started—I just know that the search never seems to end.

Reading what I just wrote makes the process seem so very daunting. Completely overwhelming. And not at all reassuring. Can we really be motivated to ask if one request seems to pile into many? If the answers never seem clear and forthcoming?

Yes. Yes, we can. And here’s why. First, Jesus told us to ask. (See Matthew 7 or Luke 11. Or go back even further to see God’s instruction to Solomon in 1 Kings 3.) That’s reason enough.

But there’s more. If we really stop and look both through Scripture and our own lives, we see that there is so much more to God’s provision and work in us than just straightforward answers. He works truth. He works understanding. He works growth. He works His will. He works Himself into our lives. And through the process, though it may take so much longer than we care to endure, we do receive those answers. But when they come, they come with fullness of life and with meaning and with purpose instead of just as simple answers to questions. They answer much more than we could ever have imagined.

More often than not, my journal holds questions without answers. The beginning of yet another search, even as I am still in the middle of older searches. Even as I continue to journal through previous questions that have only received partial answers. Clues lead me to the next step, but the old questions seem unending. The new questions seem unanswerable.

But, I have learned to go ahead and ask them. To go ahead and write down the questions that I know will not be answered today. Or tomorrow. Probably even this year. Maybe even this decade. But they still must be asked. Because the journey to the answer means more than the answer itself. The journey points me to Christ. The ultimate Answer. And the more I ask, the more I get to know Him.

Seems like incredible motivation to me.

Posted in Family, Parenting

Learning Well

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

When I shared my journey toward reading more non-fiction, I didn’t quite give the full picture. You see, we are a family of bookaholics. My husband and I grew up with books, and throughout our married life we have filled our own home with books. Thousands of books, both in print and in digital format.

Our children didn’t have a chance. They were doomed to love books.

It’s not so much that they had to be great at reading. Contrary to public opinion, not all of my children learned to read easily. And I’m not really referring to learning their letters and how they went together. That process came in varying degrees of ease or difficulty with each of my children, but nothing abnormal.

What I’m referring to is the act of sitting down to read for personal growth or enjoyment. Only one of my children actually has a truly inborn love for books, and most people who know my family could pick out that one child without much thought. The love for reading that the other two now have had to be actively nurtured, built, and often persuaded, just as my love for non-fiction has had to be cultivated and nourished. Despite the fact that they are all avid readers now, there still come times of persuasion when we want to encourage a new genre or challenge.

Sometimes, though, persuading our children to read certain books is as much a willingness for us as parents to think outside the box as it is for our children to do so themselves.

For example, I remember one particular book my oldest was reading for her literature class. The book was definitely outside her reading comfort zone. It was a new style and originated in a culture foreign to her. She came to me one day and told me that she was really, really enjoying the book, but she also had a problem. The comprehension questions for that particular book were strange and did not, to her, truly reflect a sense of comprehension. She began to describe some of what she’d read recently and pointed out that none of those observations were covered by the comprehension questions. Oh, she could answer the questions. But in doing so, she was having to neglect her own responses to and engagement with the book. Comprehension questions are designed to make sure that she understands. If they actually keep her from really processing the material, are they really accomplishing their purpose?

We dumped the questions. Instead, for each day’s reading assignment, she had to note five things that stood out to her and engage with those five points, explaining what she thought about them and how they had impacted her.

Parenting can never be boiled down to nutshell advice. But, the act of setting aside those comprehension questions actually does illustrate well a great number of the lessons I’ve learned about parenting over the years: We parents have to be willing to learn as we go, thinking outside the box, if we’re ever going to raise functional, adaptable children. And sometimes we have to be willing to ditch the “tried and true” advice. Not necessarily permanently, but definitely in some situations.

Each child is unique. Even beyond that, each family is unique. My nuclear family has an identity that the family I grew up in did not have. It does not insinuate anything wrong with my upbringing. But, if I parent exactly the same way my parents did, holding exactly to every bit of advice they share, then I’m holding to a standard that will not truly nourish my children—and may even cause harm. If I instead allow my upbringing and my parents’ example to be a springboard for learning how to parent my own children, then I am honoring my parents while also acknowledging the uniqueness of my children.

That’s what it means to both learn and teach well in parenting. (And yes, that goes for all parents—not just those of the homeschooling persuasion.) It means sometimes prodding because we know it’s what good for them, as with ensuring our children to learn to read well. But, other times it means paying full attention to what doesn’t quite fit. What feels off. What might not be accomplishing a desired result, even if it’s a tried and true method passed down through generations. When we are willing to stretch outside those boundaries in parenting and in learning ourselves, we set an example for our children as well, teaching them to think outside the box and pay attention to the culture, uniqueness, and specific needs of the environment or situation they are in.

And that, my friends, is learning well.

Image by ThePixelman from Pixabay