Tag: encouragement

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 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 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 Scripture

Why Can’t You?

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

“If I can do it, anyone can do it!”

The words are meant to encourage. To motivate. To make something seem not so hard. I’ve been on the frustrated receiving end of those words. I’ve also been guilty of saying them.

I’m not known for my grace and coordination. I remember my father frequently informing me that coordination strikes every ten seconds, and one of these days it would hit me! It doesn’t very often, for the record. But, that means that if a task requires coordination, I assume that if I can do it, anyone can. (Cue driving a stick shift. My father tried to teach me. He’s one of the most patient men I know, despite his teasing about my lack of coordination. But he did give up on teaching me to manage the clutch. He successfully taught me how to drive an automatic — and how to parallel park, thank you very much. But it was several years later, well after I was a confident driver, that my future husband finally taught me how to drive his five-speed truck.)

If I can do it, anyone can do it…right?

A book I was reading this morning made reference to Hebrews 4:14-16. Even though I knew what the passage said, I’m trying to make a habit of always rereading Scripture references brought up in books or articles I’m reading, paying attention to context and depth. So, I turned to the passage and read the familiar verses.
14 Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens—Jesus the Son of God—let us hold fast to our confession. 15 For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has been tempted in every way as we are, yet without sin. 16 Therefore, let us approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in time of need. (CSB)

I suddenly felt slapped in the face. Shame spread over me, tears sprung to my eyes, and I couldn’t even bring myself to go back to the book I’d been reading. Why this visceral reaction? Because the voice I heard in my head was not one of encouragement, reminding me of the amazing loveliness of our High Priest. Instead it was an ugly voice.

“If He could do it, why can’t you? You claim to have His power, but you fall to your weaknesses. You succumb to temptation. You are never without sin. No boldness for you!”

Ouch! I knew it wasn’t truth. I really did. And yet, how often is this our go-to thought? As we discuss passages that talk about righteousness and our place before a holy God, we are much quicker to think of ourselves as sinners who just barely scraped our way in because of the grace of God than we are to think of ourselves as children of God who can approach the throne of grace with boldness.

You think I’m wrong? Listen to our music. Our prayers. Our discussions in Bible studies and Sunday school. The way we never, ever want to refer to ourselves as righteous. It’s only Jesus who is righteous. We deserve nothing because we can accomplish nothing.

And it shows in our other conversations, as well. Oddly enough, looking at one another and saying, “If I can do it, anyone can do it,” is more a reflection of our own frailty and lack than it is of believing in one another. We think so lowly of ourselves that we firmly believe that we can only accomplish things that are unbelievably easy.

And so, when we come to the holy, precious, truthful Word of God and see the hard things we’re called to do in the power of the Spirit, we falter. We remind ourselves that we’re not Jesus, so we can’t go boldly before His throne of grace.

We neglect the truth, the very point, of passages like this. Jesus gets it! He knows right where we are! He’s been there, knows exactly what is needed to navigate this exact struggle, this exact weakness, this exact journey of grief. And because He succeeded, He knows just what we need to get through it. So, instead of looking at us and saying, “If I can do it, anyone can,” He looks at us and says, “You can’t do this on your own. You need Me. My mercy. My grace. The very things I had at my disposal when I took on Your weakness. And I am giving you what no one else can: full and open access to all of it. All you have to do is come to Me and desire it. Ask for it. Receive it from My hand.”

Where are you struggling? Where are you weak? What are you failing to do no matter how hard you try? What are you seeming to do successfully on the surface while recognizing deep down that the cost is too high for you to keep it up?

Why can’t you just do it? Because you, like me, have fallen prey to the lie that you have no right to go boldly before the throne of grace. But Jesus says otherwise.

Let’s go boldly before His throne today.

Posted in Thoughts from Others

Before the Experience

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

There is a wise bit of advice often given to writers: write what you know. Obviously, knowledge of a topic can come either from experience or research, and there is a very solid place for research. (My amazing hubby’s research for his dissertation, for instance, is giving him a great deal of understanding!). But when it comes to writing about walking through life, it has often seemed to me that research without experience can lead to a sense of untested idealism. Advice is tied up in a neat package, but it leaves readers in the trenches feeling like failures because their experience doesn’t fit into the neat package that a writer presents.

I’m a practical person, so I tend to get frustrated by those who write out of a sense of idealism. This is why I have long felt that I need to have experience before I write. I need to be able to say, “I’ve been there!” Experience shines a light into corners that research never reaches, granting a sense of companionship and camaraderie between the writer and the reader. Because of this conviction, I’ve put certain topics on the shelf, convinced that I really don’t have a solid leg to stand on when it comes to writing on those topics, no matter how passionate I was about them and how much I’d studied them.

Then along came the story of an author I follow, and suddenly my conviction waffled.
Don’t get me wrong — I still don’t like untried idealism. But…well, let me tell you about Shelly Miller, and you’ll understand what I mean.

I first “met” Shelly Miller through her book Rhythms of Rest: Finding the Spirit of Sabbath in a Busy World. I’d been studying Sabbath as my family attempted to begin incorporating it into the fabric of our weekly lives, and Rhythms of Rest provided another source of insight. I found Shelly to be real and accessible, her insights presented from the perspective of one who had pushed through the complications of observing Sabbath in a culture that, well, didn’t. And, to top it all off, she knew what it meant to figure out Sabbath from within the world of ministry. All in all, Rhythms of Rest was obviously a book that stemmed from experience. I could trust Shelly to tell me like it was, not spout of some idealistic nonsense that a homeschooling pastor’s wife like me could never implement.

In late 2019, I started noticing references to a new book by Shelly Miller, one that would come out in 2020. It was entitled Searching for Certainty: Finding God in the Disruptions of Life. I immediately put it on my wish list. I knew the Millers had experienced their ups and downs, their times of struggle and uncertainty. I knew, once again, that I could trust her.

That was proven a few months later when Shelly was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive form of cancer. Suddenly, the book she’d already written — the one that was just waiting to process through the steps necessary to get it to publication — was coming back to strengthen her. She found herself revisiting all that she had explored, studied, and researched to compile this book, almost afraid that it wouldn’t hold up to a real disruption. But it did. All that she’d studied was now proving true in her life, and she was drawing real comfort from the truths she’d written about.

Don’t get me wrong…she’d known before what it meant to find God in disruptions and uncertainties. But she was now experiencing a disruption greater than any she’d experienced before. And the truths were still holding up. God had prepared her. She thought she was sharing with her readers. Instead, she was storing up truths for what she and her family were about to face.

How powerful that the last book she’d ever get to write would also hold the very truths that she’d have to lean on to get her through her final months on earth.

So the question comes to me: Do I trust my God to be big enough to teach me truths before the experience, truths that will hold firm during the experience?

You see, there is research and study and experience. Then there is God. There’s a God who can teach us what we need before we need it. There’s a God who can build in us and prepare us and strengthen us. There’s training and growth that comes from experience, and then there’s training and growth that comes simply because we’re daily immersing ourselves in the Word, allowing ourselves to be taught by the Spirit, and dwelling in the presence of a holy, omniscient God who loves us and desires to equip us in every way.

That’s the God I want to serve.

The God who can teach me through it all.

While on the one hand, I need to be willing to admit when what I’ve said, taught, or written has been rife with idealism (because, trust me, I’ve been guilty of that!). But, sometimes I need to go ahead and say it, then prove that God is who He says He is when the time comes for the lessons to be tested.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Not Today, Please

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Lately, I’ve been processing through some things I wrote years ago but never published. At the time, I was putting pressure on myself to organize my blog just so, taking time to design and maintain themes. And a lot of what I was writing either didn’t fit into the themes or took too much effort to design just right. So, it just got stored, waiting for…someday.

But there’s also another category of writing from those years. Thoughts that came from a place of deep struggle. Pain. Darkness, even. I don’t specifically remember writing the words, but I do remember never intending to publish any of that content. It felt too raw. I needed to process my feelings, but I did not believe I was free to show that side of myself to other people.

I know, and have always known, that we encourage others by sharing it all. Not just the good or nourishing. Not just the wrapped-up-in-a-pretty-package lessons after they have been learned. But the struggle, too. The hurt. The ugly. But it takes a lot to actually be the one to encourage that way. Not just the freedom of courage, but freedom in many other areas as well.

Today I am in a very different place with a new set of struggles but also a new fount of freedom. And today I found one of those posts that I never meant to publish. I have no idea what was happening at the time, but I know it’s not the only time I felt this way. Nor is is the most recent time I’ve felt that way. So, today, I’m going to do what I never intended to do. I’m going to take advantage of where I am right now and share it. And if you have ever felt this way, or even feel this way more often than not, I hope that today you can know you are not alone.

I’m just not feeling it today.

It’s one of those days when actually getting out of bed was a hard-won victory. One that took every ounce of the will power I had to accomplish anything. Real work, real productivity, real living all take too much effort. It would be so much easier to curl up with a book or lose myself in the mindlessness of social media. To just play. Goof off. Push it all aside. Or better yet, just hide completely. Be invisible.

To push aside the hurt of feeling unwanted – rejected, even – in the very thing that I thought was actually going well.
To walk away from the overwhelming feeling of being behind in everything.
To stop trying to succeed when at every turn I feel like I’m failing.

It would be so much easier.

And yet, I can’t. So, I wish I could write a poem like my precious daughter does. To get it all out in bare honesty. But that’s not part of who I am. I have to find my own way. Figure out my own release. Work this out in the way God created me to do so.

So, here I am. Tapping it out. Vaguely, yet openly. Not naming the hurt, yet seeing it in every word. Not exploring the sense of failure, but trying to recognize the truth behind the feeling. Not listing all that leaves me feeling overwhelmed, yet acknowledging the tension in my neck. My shoulders. My back. My head. And seeking that planner so I can create tangible to-dos to help focus my energy and relieve the pressure.

I’m not feeling it. But I’m going to do it. I’m going to dive into the work day. I’m going to accomplish tangible tasks. I’m going to choose progress, even when I’d rather curl up and hide.

And with that decision alone, I feel better.

Maybe I can do today after all.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

5 Simple Steps

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Recently someone I knew recommended an article as “good” and “helpful.” It was on a topic of interest to me, discussing an area where I have been seeking to grow, so I went ahead and clicked the link. And I was immediately deflated and reminded why I don’t typically click such links.

Oh, the suggestions in it were accurate. They were all things you should do. But they were all the most basic suggestions imaginable. The obvious. The starting point. They weren’t suggestions for those who were actually struggling to find encouragement and guidance in the work itself.

Imagine it this way.

You are trying to give someone guidance on how to learn to cook, so you give them these five pointers:

  • Gain access to a kitchen.
  • Make sure the kitchen is stocked well with pots, pans, sturdy cooking utensils, and a good set of knives.
  • Always have salt and pepper on hand, and consider a few additional spices.
  • Find a recipe you want to prepare and go grocery shopping.
  • Make sure you set out all of your ingredients and supplies before starting to cook.

All of those tips are accurate, right? But, do they really teach someone to cook? Even if you were to add a paragraph under each point, ensuring more clarity about what it meant to be “stocked well” or what to pay attention to when seeking recipes, there is still so much lacking. This doesn’t teach someone how to cook. At all. In fact, an individual who had never cooked before would probably be headed for disaster if this were their sole source of encouragement and instruction.

And yet, this is what we have to offer, not just for beginners but also for those veterans who find themselves stuck and in need of help. Five quick tips to ensure success in parenting, marriage, other relationships, business, ministry, homeschooling, political engagement, job hunting, navigating menopause, battling mental health…you name it. These are the suggestions handed down by the people who are successful. The people who have “made it.”

People are floundering because of it. They are discouraged and frustrated. They feel like failures because they’ve tried all the best tips and still can’t seem to figure things out. They have believed the lie that they can never be successful simply because they can’t take these five simple tips handed out by the “experts” and produce a five-star meal.

I’ve been guilty of writing these articles just to produce content. But I’ve also been on the side of frustration and failure when the articles do nothing to really help me figure out solutions.

So, what is the solution?

Relationship. Community. Real hands-in-the-dirt work and partnership.

You see, the problem with the cooking suggestions is not that the guidance is wrong. It is instead that we have decided to give people a witty 400-800 word article instead of instruction and aid. We have chosen to keep our distance and offer our brilliant, simple points rather than walk through learning with someone. Because if we were to do that, we know we would inevitably hit upon some uncomfortable truths.

We’d see that not everyone has what we had when we were learning the same lessons. Some people are coming from very different circumstances. Others have different strengths and talents. Different skills. Different manners of thinking and approaching life.

And that makes training messy. It means that it’s not a one-size fits-all proposition. And it means that sometimes we have to admit we don’t know all of the answers. It means that we have to recognize our own need to keep learning. We haven’t actually “made it” after all.

We don’t like to be put in that position. The 5 Simple Steps approach is so much easier.

And never successful.

We have so much more to give. Will we make the effort to build the relationships and invest the time necessary to give it?

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?