Posted in Thoughts from Life, Thoughts from Scripture

The Heart of a Friend

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Some days, my heart is just heavy.

A part of me wants to just bury my head in the sand and ignore all of the yuck. But, in doing so, I end up trading sadness for naiveté, and that won’t do me any good either. My best choice is to sit with my heavy heart and ask God to speak into it.

And when I choose to sit with Him, He does speak, so very faithfully. He shows me Himself and His own heart while also showing me the areas in which my heart does not align with His. He shows me where, as I grow to better see and identify with His heart of love for those in this world who do not yet know Him, I’ve also been growing in bitterness toward those who are blocking that love. Those whose words and actions drive souls away from our Savior instead of toward Him.

He’s shown me that none of them are to be my enemies.

The things He’s shown me have led me to ponder what it means to have the heart of a friend. The heart of someone who grieves over another’s pain. The heart of someone who is pained by injustice. The heart of someone who aches over the reality that so many in this world are caught up in the hands of evil. The heart of someone who takes all of those realities to the Lord God Almighty, seeking His perspective, His heart, and His miraculous path to both justice and mercy.

This is where I struggle. This is where I’m convicted. Portions of the Sermon on the Mount speak into that conviction:

You have heard that it was said, An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. But I tell you, don’t resist an evildoer. On the contrary, if anyone slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. As for the one who wants to sue you and take away your shirt, let him have your coat as well. And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two. Give to the one who asks you, and don’t turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.

You have heard that it was said, Love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven. For he causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward will you have? Don’t even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what are you doing out of the ordinary? Don’t even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
Matthew 5: 38-48 (CSB)

As I read this recently, a question popped into my head: If my dearest friend had a need, how would I want to meet it? I would want to go over and above. I would want to lavish not only the need but any extra possible. I might not always be able to, but I want to. That’s my heart.

What if I viewed everyone that way? What if I made that the practical application of these verses from Matthew 5? To go above and beyond in my care and concern for all I come in contact with?

Much of the heaviness on my heart has been there for years now as I’ve watched people on all political sides sling mud on social media with such vitriol as they slam anyone who doesn’t love their favorite politician (or worse, does love “the other guy”). This is nothing new. It’s been going on for decades. It’s just so much more visible and available with social media.

It was there as I watched the hatred flow from all sides during the pandemic. It’s there every time a non-Christian publicly acts like, well, a non-Christian and Christians yell about being persecuted.

Every time someone else does something we don’t like, we use it as an opportunity to gripe, complain, degrade, and label. We forget that we’re supposed to be different. We forget that when we join in the flow of anger and hatred, we are not doing anything out of the ordinary. We are no different from the “Gentiles” we so greatly hate.

And yet, we’re commanded to be “perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

To treat all people as we would treat our dearest friend. To pray for them. To serve them. To love them.

Some days, I struggle to love those who hate Christ. Other days I struggle to love those who claim Christ but show hatred to their fellow man. Some days I just struggle to love them all. But Jesus Christ, Almighty Creator of all things, the one who loved so enormously that He gave His life for all of us, commands me to be like Him.

That’s my hunger, to obey and love like He did. Not to try to voice my opinion in an argument or get other people to think like me or make sure to let them know how wrong they are. Instead, to pray that they, too, will know His love. That they will see His heart. That they will hunger for His presence.

I’m far from perfect yet. But that’s my goal. And I’m so thankful for the love of the One who can so fill me with Himself that He can help me reach that goal.

The Christian Standard Bible. Copyright © 2017 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. Christian Standard Bible®, and CSB® are federally registered trademarks of Holman Bible Publishers, all rights reserved.
Posted in Thoughts from Life

The Art of Growing

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I’ve been thinking a lot about growth lately.

Part of it is spurred by the growth of my children, especially considering my youngest just became a legal adult and joined his sister at college.

Reviewing old blog posts has also spurred some of my thoughts as I’ve seen growth in my perceptions, mental processes, spiritual understanding, and even prejudices.

It’s all making me realize just how disdainfully we view growth sometimes. Think about how teenagers scoff at some of their own prior passions and interests, calling them childish. Think about how we sometimes find ourselves ashamed or embarrassed of how we used to be.

I think we’re wrong.

Just as we would never disdain an infant’s crawling phase now that they can walk or run or drive, perhaps should stop viewing some of our growing phases with disdain. Yes, I know that our growth is a bit different. I know that there are times when we realize that our previously deeply held beliefs and convictions were not just immature, they were wrong. I recognize that there are things we’ve confessed that we’d rather just leave behind.

But, sometimes instead of leaving them behind, we pretend they never existed. We act as if we never had to learn how to crawl in order to be able to run.

What if we were to celebrate spiritual, mental, and emotional growth just like we celebrate the amazing growth of an infant into a toddler and beyond? What if we were to process every aspect of our growth, the good and the bad and everything in between, as necessary components of who we are today? What if we were to see growth as an art form — a painting or sculpture developing over time with increasing complexity? With oopses and mistakes that needed to be corrected, yes, but with the understanding that even those mistakes spurred ideas and shaped the lines and curves that produced beauty?

What if we were to participate in the art of growing rather than hiding the process? What would that look like?

First, I think it would look like being honest about our growth. An example for me is some of those old blog posts. I started writing publicly when my youngest was a newborn, nearly 18 years ago. Some of the things I wrote were just plain wrong. In some instances, I wrote out of idealism. Ignorance. Naiveté. In others, I wrote out of stubbornness. Frustration. Hurt. Anger. All of those experiences and feelings and spaces of understanding meant that many times I was wrong. Not always. Not even usually. Much of what I wrote I still identify with, even if some of it is now outdated and irrelevant. But sometimes I was wrong or, at the very least, undeveloped or immature. I need to be okay with that. To be able to admit it, to be thankful for growth, and to learn from those experiences

Second, it would look like celebrating the things that have brought us where we are today. I can’t help but picture all of the building blocks of what I know now, even with the hits and misses and stumbles along the way. All of those times of falling when I was just trying to take a few steps forward, all of those times of being knocked down, make up the growth process. I would not be who I am today or know what I know now without all of them. Yes, even the times when I was just plain wrong.

Finally, it would look like sharing the process with one another instead of denying it, but doing so in a way that never shames someone else. There are other people walking through what I walked through 18 years ago. They are learning what I learned then. As I am being honest about ways that I was wrong then — and all through my learning process (And this will include things that I’m wrong about now that I’ll have to confess later, because I know those things exist even if I can’t see them right now!) — I have to be careful to not beat down someone who hasn’t yet been through the growing process. This doesn’t mean I can’t help them learn from my mistakes. But, I must never use my honesty to shame someone else on their journey, only to help them. Only and always.

Growing hurts. Growing involves times we are not going to be proud of. But growing is also art. It’s creation. It’s beauty. Shall we celebrate it together?

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Those Who Sit Alone

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

There’s a post going around social media that tends to show up every year about the time school starts. And it’s a good post. It talks about choosing to see and sit with the student who sits alone or doesn’t seem to talk to anyone else.

It’s beautiful advice, for people of all ages — yes, even us adults. But it’s also incomplete.

Here’s the thing. That teen who sits alone and doesn’t seem to talk to anyone does so because they don’t really “get” small talk. They don’t want to force themselves into a group. They want to be heard, but if they have to force others to listen, it’s not worth it.

That person who finds a seat in the back on the bus, sits alone in the cafeteria, or engages in some other solitary activity might very well be lonely and aching for someone to come and initiate the conversation. Other days, though, they are intentionally choosing to be alone because they need to have a few minutes of energizing time before getting to school, while transitioning between classes, or before expending social energy.

None of those are character flaws, nor are they deficiencies that have to be solved. They are just differences in personality and character. And, to be honest, there are more people like that than you might think.

It’s good to go and sit with them. It’s good to go and make them feel seen. But, when you do go and sit with them, it’s important that you don’t expect them to suddenly become just like you. Also know that you’re not engaging in a once-and-done kind of action that will magically change a person’s life. If you’re going to go sit with someone, go with the intention of exploring a friendship, getting to know someone who’s not just like you.

And while you’re sitting, keep a few things in mind.

First, they might not know what to say, especially if you come in with the small talk. Their answers to your questions may be short and unengaging rather than naturally flowing into a conversation. They probably aren’t trying to shut you out. But, you may find a completely different scenario playing out if you prayerfully notice and ask questions about their interests rather than just trying to engage in small talk.

Second, you might have chosen to sit by them on the day they need to be alone rather than the day they are feeling lonely and are longing to be noticed. You probably won’t know until you try to talk to them. (Unless they are reading a book. If they’re reading, chances are they need the alone time!) If they don’t respond or engage, don’t get angry. Instead, take the opportunity to learn what it means to be comfortable sitting with someone in silence. Just letting them know that you care about their presence. That goes a long way toward showing that you want to be a friend. Oh, and don’t give up. Try again another day.

Which leads to the next thought to remember. Realize that the single act of going to sit with someone one day will not automatically inform them that they are invited to come sit with you the next day. Be willing to not only go sit with them but also to invite them to come sit with you, not just once but again and again. Let them know that your actions aren’t just about walking away from your norm to spend a moment with them, although that is an amazing treasure and gift. But, they also need to know that you are not ashamed to include them in your space. With your people. It may take a while for them to know that you truly want to spend time with them. If you are not persistent, they’re probably going to assume that you were just being nice for a day, not that you really want to get to know them or include them.

If you do invite them into your space with your people, help them feel seen. When group chatter is happening, intentionally ask for their input. They won’t jump in and give it. They’ll sit quietly, even in a group. And guess what? That’s okay. Some people just need to be with others. They don’t always need to be talking. Even so, ask for their input. Seek to include them in the conversation. But understand that just being actively included is a good thing, too.

Sitting with the person who typically sits alone and talking to the person who is quiet are both beautiful acts of interest and inclusion. But just remember that, when doing so, you’re not working to fix a broken person. You’re instead choosing to get to know someone who isn’t just like you. You aren’t changing them. You’re changing how you view them. You aren’t stepping up to be a hero for a day. You’re discovering what it’s like to expend the effort necessary to build a relationship that doesn’t come naturally.

And while you’re sitting, especially if you follow through and sit day after day after day, you might just discover what it means to build some of the deepest relationships you’ve ever known.

Posted in Uncategorized

The Mountain Top?

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I recently read a devotional that referenced the mountain versus valley analogy that is so common in Christian dialog. We trudge through the valley and rejoice on the mountain. That’s just the way it goes, right?

In the mountain/valley analogy, we always focus on walking through the warm, low, difficult valley as opposed to standing on the peak and breathing in the fresh, crisp mountain air. We talk about feeling low and distant from God as opposed to feeling high and close to Him. But what about the in-between? What about the climb? We don’t really talk that much about the climb.

We don’t talk about the effort it takes to get out of the valley where, even if the going is tough because of heat or undergrowth blocking our way, it’s mostly flat. We don’t talk about how we have to shift to a climb to go from the valley to the mountain. We don’t dwell on the effort it takes to be constantly moving upward.

We just talk about being either in the valley or on top of that mountain.

But, there’s a lot in between. And I daresay that, even though it’s all hard work, the in-between might be the best place to be. It does seem to be where we spend most of our time in life, doesn’t it?

There are some beautiful places to hike here in Arkansas. One of my favorites is on Petit Jean Mountain. Now, as far as mountains go, Petit Jean isn’t much. It’s probably more of a ridge, to be honest, and those who live around “real” mountains kind of laugh at us over even calling Petit Jean a mountain. But, the lack of height doesn’t diminish the reality that it’s an absolutely beautiful spot. My favorite trail on Petit Jean actually starts at a spot on top of the mountain and descends into a little valley. A beautiful waterfall awaits hikers at the end of the trail. We hike down, see the waterfall, enjoy the beauty, and then hike back up. The “peak” of the trip is actually in the little valley, not at the top of the mountain. Hiking to the waterfall is fairly easy. But then you have to get back out. You have to go back up. You have to climb. And what waits at the end of the climb? The end of the trek, with the beautiful goal of the hike left behind, down in the valley.

On other trails at Petit Jean, there honestly isn’t anything spectacular at the end of the trail or at the top of the climb. Instead, the beauty extends all along the path. There are breathtaking moments, both in expansive views and in minute details of nature. Sometimes those moments are in a little valley, other times in the middle of a climb. Sometimes we see them by looking down and other times by looking up. Still other times, the joy is found in simply looking around us at where we are right then.

Another “mountain” in Arkansas, Pinnacle, offers a trail in which the reward is decidedly at the top. Perched just outside of Little Rock, this little mountain can be fairly quickly hiked but renders an amazing view of the Arkansas River Valley.

I wonder how many times I miss the beautiful moments in life, those moments when I might discover incredibly closeness with Christ, because the trail isn’t exactly what I expect. I look for the treasure to always be on the mountain top, and often it is there. But sometimes it’s in the valley. Other times it’s along the path itself.

Those moments can be found anywhere along our journey.

As my mind travels through Scripture, I think of the number of times when God showed His presence in the middle of…life. Sometimes it was in pain and hardship. Other times He revealed Himself as His children were simply going through the normal flow of life. And still other times, His presence was most powerful after the effort of a climb. In fact, the mountaintop experiences of Scripture are much less common than the stories of God’s presence showing up right in the middle of the hike.

The truth is that our Savior is there through it all. Sometimes we sense His presence more strongly than others. And, it’s often easier to focus on Him when we’re standing on top of the world, in awe of His creation, than when we’re huffing and puffing along the path, whether in the valley where we’re constantly dodging obstacles or on the climb as we’re trying to catch our breath.

But that doesn’t mean He’s more present in one place than the other. It may simply mean that we train our hearts and minds to see Him more clearly in one place than the other.

As I hike Arkansas, I’ve learned to train my eyes to see beauty all along the path, not just at the end. What if I were to train my spiritual eyes the same way? How differently would I approach life if I expected that glorious intimacy to exist all along the way?

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.