Posted in Uncategorized

When Something Has to Give

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I have a good daily rhythm in place. It’s full, but not excessive. There is wiggle room and space to breath. There’s space for rest. Even so, I have to recognize the reality that there’s always plenty to do. And, while there’s wiggle and breathing room in the daily schedule, there’s never empty space that is just waiting to be filled.

Consequently, there are weeks when something has to give. There are times when I have to look at the routine and pick out something that can be compacted, delayed, or even completely set aside for that day or week.

I’m in the middle of a few months that will include more irregular weeks than routine ones. It’s normal for this time of year. While a few of my commitments are new, most of them are expected events, activities, or appointments that tend to all cluster together this time of year. I expect them and know to prepare for them. But their impact is still very real and very present.

And in times like these, something has to give.

Over the last couple of weeks, the “something” has been writing. On several of my normal writing days, I was on the road or participating in a commitment. Other days, I really needed to devote that time elsewhere. I did compact chores a little bit, knowing that I could shift and juggle them over the course of a few weeks without getting too far behind on anything. But, the biggest bulk of flex time could be most easily found by setting aside the writing in favor of necessities.

Here’s where the challenge comes in, though. It’s easy to assume that because writing is the easiest thing to set aside, that means it’s the least important. After all, my writing has very little definable purpose. It does not produce income. I am not working toward any particular publication. I have no deadlines. It’s just time that I’ve set aside by choice.

I may not enjoy chores, but I can only set them aside or compact them for a short time before I fall behind. They must be done. The hours each week that I devote to contract work may be very flexible, but by the end of each month, I have to have hit a certain number of work hours for the month if I am going to get paid the agreed-upon amount. How I manage those hours can flex from week to week, but ultimately (specifically by the last day of the month), I’ll have to get them all in. And, of course, there are always other responsibilities related to church and life and health that must get done.

Writing is the one thing that has no obligation. No commitment. No necessity attached to it.

In the last few months, I’ve been reminded why I started writing years ago. It’s my most reliable creative outlet. And, whether we acknowledge it or not, we are all designed to create in some way. It may not look like what our society defines as creativity. We may have to work a bit to understand it. But, it’s there. And when we stifle our creativity because it doesn’t feel practical or purposeful to a culture focused on productivity, we suffer.

For many, many years, I only wrote for work. There were a variety of reasons I stopped writing personally, but at least part of it was related to that sense of productivity and the recognition that my writing didn’t really produce anything. And through those years, my personal growth suffered because I wasn’t writing.

Now I’m trying to get back into the habit, but those old lies don’t die easily. Those lies that tell me that because my writing is not productive, it’s not important. Those lies that use the example of the truly busy weeks, those weeks when writing does have to be set aside, to try to convince me that every week is too busy. That every hour set aside for writing is taking me away from something more important. I have home projects that are glaring me in the face. I could be working more contract hours. I could be spending more time on this or that ministry investment.

There’s always something. And in the light of the “something,” I could go back to where I was for many years. I could make it the rule that writing can be set aside. I could make writing the exception, the thing that only fit when I really have time.

And then I would never have time.

It’s hard. I’m fighting it today, especially since we only have two or three routine weeks over the course of about three months. This is one of them, and there are so many other things that I could be doing to maximize my productivity this week.

Instead, here I sit. Writing. Choosing. Even if it’s just a few minutes here and there. Even if I don’t get everything published on schedule. I’m choosing to write.

Yes, there are always times when something has to give. In all honesty, even with the best and most flexible of schedules, we’re rarely going to face weeks where we can get it all done because random things always pop up. But, even when something has to give, the practice of creating is still important. It still has to be a choice.

And today, I choose to do whatever I can to keep it going.

Posted in What Works for Me

What Works for Me

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I got caught up in a variety of tasks this morning and ran out of writing time. But, in an effort to keep up the habit (more on that to come), I took enough time to review and update another old post to republish and share. So, here you go!

The more I have delved into the worlds of ministry and homeschooling, the more I have seen a certain truth reveal itself: What works for you just might not work for me.

We love to give advice. When someone has a problem, we are quick to share the perfect solution. After all, it worked perfectly for me. Doesn’t that mean it will work perfectly for everyone?

What we forget is that we are not a one-size-fits-all people. We are unique by design. As a result, one solution will not fit every single one of us. In fact, very often one solution will fit, well, one of us.

That produces quite the conundrum. If what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa), then I suppose we can never help one another!

Fortunately, that supposition is far from true. We can help one another. We just have to know how. As we dole out “helpful” advice, the most important thing to remember is that all situations are different. That realization needs to form the foundation for all advice that we give.

So, what do we do with this realization? How can it truly shape the advice we give? Here are some tips I have learned:

Explain why it works for me.

Over the years, I’ve written a lot of reviews, blog posts, and articles that offer information about a product or method. Each time I dive into this style of writing, I try to start with a little “insider” information. I don’t share my life story, but I do give enough information about my circumstances to allow readers to discern how their situation or personality might relate to or differ from mine. They can then make mental adjustments as they read. This can just as easily be accomplished with spoken and informal advice.

Learn to pay attention to how the recipient of the advice is different.

I have learned just how important it is to be personal and relational, truly listening to people and where they are before I dish out advice. (Okay, so I’ve learned how important it is to do this; I’m not always great at following through with it. I’m learning.) Only then can I clearly see the ways in which what works for me needs to be adjusted before the advice can be useful to the recipient.

Don’t take it personally when advice is not taken or does not work.

I am still learning to repeat to myself, “What works for me might not work for them.” It’s not only okay, it’s good.

Receiving Help

But, there is another side to all of this. There is the receiving end. Though many of us prefer to give advice than to receive it, we are often are in need of what others have to share. So, how can we receive help with both wisdom and grace?

Do not take advice at face value.

No successes are accomplished simply by formula – there are always other, often unnoticed, factors involved. What other factors were involved in your friend’s success story? How do those factors relate to your situation? What changes might you need to make to act on the advice you are given?

Determine to prayerfully consider the advice given.

Often we listen with a smile on our faces, respond that it sounds like a good idea, and walk away with no intention of actually following through with the advice. Why? Because we all have that tinge of pride, be it ever so small, that makes us shy away from acting on the advice of others.

We may or may not actually use the advice, but let’s not allow pride to be the reason. Let it be because it really won’t work for us. Prayerfully consider. Hold it up to Scripture. Be willing to consider.

We are a community, whether we like it or not. A community helps. May we be willing to both give and receive with more grace, wisdom, and discernment!

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.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Don’t Wanna

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

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

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

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

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

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

Especially when the Choffy is gone.

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

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

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

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

And therefore so does the activity.

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

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

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

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

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

Posted in Thoughts from Life

The In-Between

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let’s share the in-between.

Posted in Thoughts from Prayer

The Love of God

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I pray.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, I pray.

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

I need to hear His delight.

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