Tag: life

Posted in Thoughts from Life, What I'm Learning

Celebrating

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I’m struggling today.

I had a post started, sharing thoughts about something I’d read this morning, but it fell flat. I need to ponder it more, work with it more, figure out how it fits into my life and thoughts and intentions…and actions.

And, to be honest, there’s a bit of melancholy resting on me today. January 1 is just a day on a calendar. We have to rotate it through sometime. Why not today? Throughout history, cultures have always chosen a day to do celebrate the start of a new year. Of a new rotation of opportunity and experience and existence. And celebration is so important. God Himself ordained times of celebration, including a new year celebration, as He set up the structure for the nation of Israel. Celebration is good and helpful.

Yet sometimes it really does just fall flat. Sometimes it really does just feel like it’s an arbitrary day on the calendar, especially after the hard years we’ve walked through lately, one after another.

Sometimes the desire to celebrate is there. But the means to do so? Those aren’t as readily available.

So, we struggle.

I’ll be honest, I don’t want to struggle through 2025. I know there will be ups and downs. There will be sweet times and very hard times. I know this, not because I’m expecting a repeat of the last six years (remember how many people were so ready to be done with 2019 and were fully convinced that 2020 would be better?) but because we live in the real world. There will be births and deaths, joys and heartaches, beginnings and endings.

For the past six years, though, the hard has weighed me down heavily. The negative has made it a challenge to truly celebrate the positive.

So, for this year, I want to learn to celebrate purely. Not to ignore the reality of the negative. Not to shove down the weeping and mourning that will inevitably come. Not to deny the fact that life can be so very hard sometimes. But to decide that I won’t allow those things to keep me from celebrating the good. Because there is good. There’s been good every single year. If I’ve missed it, it’s because I’ve been so focused on the bad. That’s the easy route, to be honest. I want to accept the more challenging route. I want to be able to walk in the bad while still being constantly ready to celebrate the good — even in those instances when the two are walking hand in hand.

I’m struggling today, and I know I’ll struggle many more times in 2025. But I’m also determined to relearn how to celebrate. I’m determined to make that more of my focus than the struggle. Because this life of following Christ and seeing His work in the world around me is worth celebrating.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Today’s Pieces

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I love puzzles. Fortunately, I have a child who also loves puzzles, and usually during school breaks we keep one going that we can add a few pieces to as we have time.

Our preference is large puzzles with some measure of complexity. Although we have a few 500-pieces options that are beloved because of the completed images, our preference is 1000 pieces. We do occasionally tackle even larger ones, like the 4000-piece world map that we assembled and then framed for display. It took us a while to get that one done, but we absolutely love the finished product!

This year, though, we discovered something new: Christmas countdown puzzles. The puzzle pieces are presorted into 25 numbered boxes, each box containing around 40 puzzle pieces. Each day, we pulled out the appropriately numbered box and assembled only the pieces for that day.

Honestly, as fun as the countdown puzzles were, they were not incredibly challenging. We could complete the day’s section in a matter of minutes and quite easily since we knew that all of the pieces fit into a compact section. (Although, to be honest, we both got behind on our puzzles, so we rarely had a one-box-only day.) In that regard, this approach is not one we’d want to do very often. We like the challenge of a large puzzle with lots of shapes and colors.

On the other hand, though, the countdown puzzles have offered an illustrative reminder about life — a reminder I really need right now as we pass through the Christmas season and approach a new year.

You see, my brain often attacks life as if I have to try to figure out a huge puzzle. I see a huge pile of random pieces, including edge pieces that create a frame or border, and feel that I have to dive in and solve it. This urge is especially strong in times such as the transition into a new season, whether it’s a new calendar year, a new school year, or a new phase of life.

But, life — especially life as a Christian — is much more like that countdown puzzle. There is a Designer who already has the whole picture in hand. He knows exactly where each puzzle piece goes. He knows how the frame works, and He knows that I don’t even need the whole frame to figure out the puzzle. I just need to focus on what He’s given me for today.

Today, I have my set of pieces. Today I have my small focused space. Today I have my allotment of wisdom and understanding. Today I have all I need to accomplish the portion of the puzzle that needs to be completed — the portion that attaches directly to all I have already done throughout my life.

I just need to focus on the “box” handed to me today.

I’d rather have it all figured out. I’d rather have the big picture and be able to rush to completion. Not necessarily of all of life, but at least of this upcoming year or season.

I know better. I know life should be lived out each day and the path my loving Father has set me on should be cherished and lived abundantly. Yet I still try to tackle the whole and jump ahead to the box I’ll need for tomorrow or next week or even five years from now.

God slows me down and hands me what I need for today. He reminds me that He holds the fullness of my life and that He already has in place what I’ll need for tomorrow or next week or five years from now. He’s holding it safely. And between now and then, He’s giving me what I need so that when I get to those future pieces, I’ll have a place to put them. I’ll know where they fit.

I’m tempted to dump out the whole puzzle and try to figure it out on my own. He’s gently reminding me that He sorted the pieces for a reason, and that I can trust Him with them all.

Now that Christmas is past, we’ll probably pull out another big puzzle and enjoy the challenge of it before my daughter heads back to school. But as I put away the countdown puzzles, I’m thankful for the reminder God gave me each time I opened one of these small boxes. I’m thankful that when I do go back to the big puzzles, even they will help me remember.

And I’ll be thankful for everything that God has given me to be a part of His will and plan for today.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Silence

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I’ve shared a lot lately about my struggle with writing. Too many words. Not enough words. Thoughts not coming together or not fitting the time. But, those aren’t the only issues. This political season and the nature of our division (not a historical first, by the way, either politically or religiously) also highlight another reality for me: sometimes I feel like there’s no way to truly reflect what’s going on in my head, so I stay silent.

The first time this struggle hit me very tangibly this was years ago when we were in a rough ministry season. I had a lot of thoughts. (My children would emphasize this power of this by capitalizing Thoughts and adding some type of trademark or copyright character to it. I love that!) And I wanted to process and even publish those thoughts. But, I knew that doing so could cause major issues. The things I said could, and most likely would, be misunderstood by people who could easily use them against my husband, if not my whole family.

So, what did I do? I stayed silent.

Unfortunately, the silence didn’t limit itself to those particular thoughts. I began to feel like I couldn’t say meaningful enough things for holidays or special occasions. So, where I once wrote sweet birthday greetings or extensive blog posts celebrating my husband and children…I pulled back on my words. Eventually, even there, I became silent.

Most recently, I’ve been silent regarding politics. Honestly, this is not new. I hate politics. Always have. I do not like the arguments and the debates. I’ve never been the quick-witted type of person who can enjoy them, much less readily participate in them. If I have the time to come up with my perspective, I can word it well. But, when it’s challenged, I need time to process and evaluate before I respond.

The sharp-tongued political scene does not lend itself to the “release my thoughts and then step back and let people do with them as they will” approach. It is, by nature, a back-and-forth, debate-and-argue area. An arena where I don’t fit.

So I stay silent.

The problem is that my silence still speaks. It lends itself to people assuming I agree or disagree with them simply because of my race, gender, religious affiliation, or “station” in life. But the truth is so much more complex. People I love dearly have aligned themselves with Democrats, Republicans, and various third parties. Other precious ones can’t really get behind any of the above. I have mentioned before that I am, by nature, an empath. A mediator of sorts. I hate arguments and debates partially because I am better at seeing multiple sides of a situation than I am at arguing one side or the other. I like mediating and helping people come together. See each other. Learn to love one another despite differences.

But that often leaves me seeming wishy-washy and as if I have no convictions of my own.

The truth is that I have strong convictions. Convictions that don’t fit neatly into any box. Convictions that would probably make the debaters on all sides somewhat angry with me because I didn’t agree enough with any of them. I’m not wishy-washy. I’m just weird. And it’s hard to express my weirdness without causing problems.

So I stay silent.

I honestly don’t know how to fix this. There are times I wish I had said things during the weeks leading up to the election. Times I wish I’d stood up to the hate seething from all sides. Times I wish I’d been able to make comments that helped entrenched minds stop and think about what they were saying. Not because I felt like I was right and they were wrong. But because I wanted to help them process how their words were impacting others.

I wish most of all that I’d spoken up more against the venom spewed by those who claim the Name of Christ. Those who have pushed people away from Him because of their approach to the political season. (And yes, I personally know people who are now much more closed to the Gospel because of the behavior of Christians during the election season.)

But I felt like my words would just cause more arguing. So, I stayed silent.

You can ask my family — I misspeak a lot. I say the wrong thing. I cause pain with my words. I respond in misunderstanding. I make comments, realize that what I’ve said reveals my ignorance, and wish I could take it back. I delete comments on social media or in private chats, even though I know deleting them won’t change them. I often even refrain from trying to explain myself because I know it will come out wrong.

It feels better to stay silent.

Except that there is a message I hold that must go out. It will not be popular. It will be misunderstood. And I may not express or explain it well. I will probably use the same words that others have used — words that trigger pain for people who have been abused by those claiming the Name of Christ — because I don’t know what other words to use. And, as a result, I will feel as if I, too, am misusing His Name.

That fear holds me back and makes me want to stay silent even in this. But I cannot. It is not better to stay silent when I know the words of life. I know the Giver of life. I know the One who can cause all of His children, even those who disagree politically, to live in unity. And when I hold this knowledge back silently because I’m afraid of saying it wrong, again, I’m living in sin.

Ouch.

I cannot stay silent.

My prayer is that I will learn to speak. I will learn to carry the words of the Spirit on my tongue and in my fingertips. That I won’t worry about what arguments or debates I spark by those words but will instead let the Spirit work His miracle through me, letting others see the love of Christ in me no matter how the words challenge and penetrate. Because I don’t want to give my opinion and my words. I want to give His.

I want to no longer be trapped in silence. Oh, Lord, let me become Your voice instead!

Posted in Thoughts from Kids

Giving Life

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I’m struggling to find words. Not ideas. Just the words to share those ideas in a way that is kind and loving and not grumpy or angry. I’ve written and rewritten. Edited and tweaked. Debated.

You see, I have a component to my personality that can sometimes be beneficial, but other times it’s a bit of a nuisance. I can easily see multiple perspectives of a story. I can understand, and even empathize with, two sides of an argument — yes, even when my own opinions fall heavily on one side or the other. While I can’t always envision how our actions and words will ripple into the future (my husband is a genius at that!), I can see multiple responses to situations happening in the moment. And in this moment, that vision is breaking my heart. And I want to share it so other people can understand. But can I? Here’s my attempt, feeble though it may be.

We’re heading into the time of year when stories of generosity will flood our media. We’ll be drawn to the heartwarming tales of people whose lives were impacted by extravagant gifts as well as to the people or organizations that make those gifts happen.

We as Christians love to not only hear these stories but to also find a way to be a part of these stories. We want to show how we are being the generous hands and feet of Jesus. On the one hand, it’s not a bad thing to be active participants in these stories. But there’s another side to this tale that we also need to consider, and that’s the side of the everyday people who are watching as we broadly and boldly declare our generous acts for all to see.

We need to consider the grocery store cashier or restaurant server who is hoping and begging for enough hours to simply pay their bills. They have no clue how they’ll go beyond that and be able to give gifts to their loved ones. But, they watch as the church crowd floods their workplaces, still dressed in our Sunday best and talking about the sweet time we had blessing gifts to be sent out to the uttermost parts of the world. But, even as we talk about our own generosity, we’ve already turned off our Christ-like attitudes to the people serving us. We are rude. We are demanding. And we are the opposite of generous. They watch as we come into their stores or to their teller windows harried and grumpy. They deliver our packages or take our customer service complaints. We end up taking out our frustration on them because they are…there. They’re just faces waiting to meet our needs or voices on the other end of the phone call to hear our complaints. It’s not that we’d ever admit to seeing them as sub-human. It’s just that we don’t stop and think of them as individuals with their own joys and hurts and struggles and passions. They’re just there to take care of our immediate needs, and then we move on and they keep on. As a result, we’re not careful with how we handle their hearts.

The thing is, they see us. They hear our conversations and see the news flashes about how we’ve delivered Thanksgiving meals to the poor, packed Christmas shoe boxes, fulfilled Angel Tree wishes, and more. They see how we broadcast our giving. They see the pretties we put on picture-perfect social media. The stories that go up in shining lights because they make us feel good. (Matthew 6 kind of punches me in the gut right here.) But then they feel the brunt of our reality. Our harried lives. Our stresses and strains. Our hurts that twist our actions. All of which we end up taking out on them.

It’s may not be intentional on our part. It’s just…life.

But maybe that’s my point. My heart is aching because of the way we live life. It’s aching because we are so concerned that other people know we’re participating in the socially acceptable modes of alms-giving that it distracts us from the act of giving life to others. Because what better gift could there be?

And yet, in many cases, we’re giving the opposite. We’re giving hopelessness. We’re removing the chance for so many people to see the goodness of God because we’re focused on our heartwarming stories instead of on speaking love into their everyday stories of hurt. They don’t see God’s goodness lavished on them. They just see that they’re not worthy of it. They perceive that God only wants to give when it makes for a good story, and they’ll never be a good enough story.

Ouch.

I’m not saying that we should stop our generosity. When we are able to give gifts this time of year, they do make a difference, as they do when we help meet needs of teachers and students at the beginning of a school year or take action to help alleviate the massive food insecurity that exists right around us.

But I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we would put more energy into daily life-giving than into making sure our community knows what kind of gift-giving we’ve chosen this year. What would happen if we were to bestow kindness upon the store clerk who rings up the gifts we’re purchasing? What would happen if we were able to deliver a Thanksgiving meal without making the recipient feel the shame that comes from needing it in the first place?

What if instead of trying to engage in elaborate, life-changing events, we were to change the way we live our daily lives? Could it be that we wouldn’t need the elaborate because the daily, mundane activities would make the difference? It would be without fanfare. It might not even make for a feel-good story to share. But it could give life. What better gift exists?

Posted in Marriage

Pruning or Chopping?

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

This is another old post that I’m republishing. I’ll say more about it at the end.

I’ve always loved hydrangeas. They fascinate me. I’m typically not a flower gal. I’m not great at keeping plants alive anyway, and as pretty as flowers are, I just don’t have what it takes to maintain them.

Black irises and hydrangeas are the exception. Black irises grew wild in Jordan, and we would go on wild flower hunting trips every spring, coming home with trunks full of irises and poppies. So, although I have not yet managed to get mine to bloom, I’m still determined to successfully grow and tend black irises.

Hydrangeas are another story completely. They fascinate me because of their color. So many little things can affect the appearance of the flower – sometimes with multiple colors growing on a single bush! I’ve always wanted to try to grow hydrangeas, but have just never gotten around to it.

Needless to say, I was quite excited to discover two large hydrangea bushes in the back yard of our new house.

The only problem with the bushes was that they’d been untended for quite some time. For a couple of months, we tried to just trim out dead branches, tackle the weeds and vines, and help the bushes thrive again.

But, ultimately, we had to give up. Over the weekend, we realized that all we could do was cut down the bushes and plan to start from scratch.

It was so sad. But, the more we worked, the more we saw that the problem was too big to tackle any other way. Parasitic vines had wound their roots all around the bushes. So many dead branches protruded from one bush that it was hard to find the source of the live branches. And weeds we couldn’t even begin to see before we chopped began to reveal themselves.

We also discovered that it wasn’t just two bushes. Four bushes – two large and two small – were actually planted there. The small ones were so overwhelmed by the larger ones and the weeds that they could hardly grow – and definitely could not grow straight!

Yes, the destruction was necessary.

I’ve heard that hydrangea bushes will regrow after a couple of years. Maybe these will survive. Maybe they won’t. But they’d gotten to the point that they could no longer be maintained as they were.

Are we careful to keep our marriages from reaching that point?

We tend the growth, but do we make sure to actively work against the harmful things? Do we trim out dead branches of anger, bitterness, frustration, and dissatisfaction? Do we actively combat the weeds of distraction, disillusionment, and temptation? Or do we just try to nourish the good and ignore everything else?

Marriages, like plants, must be tended. And they cannot be tended in a tunnel-visioned manner. We have to actively combat the negative as strongly as we nourish the beautiful. We can’t ignore it. We can’t hide it. We have to deal with it.

Neglect eventually catches up to us. And when it does, the work needed to overcome the neglect can often leave us chopping our marriages down to the roots. As we chop, we discover just what damage we’ve done to those around us, like our children, forcing them to grow oddly because of the strain our neglect has put on them.

And the more we have to chop, the more uncertain our future becomes. Will our marriages regrow? Or will they die?

Let’s not neglect the issues that pop up in our relationships, issues that will force drastic measures later. Let’s instead tend our marriages now, pruning and weeding to keep them growing healthy and strong.

What tending do you need to do this week?

I wrote this post years ago, just a few months after we moved into our second purchased home. I’m happy to say that the hydrangeas in question not only survived, they exploded with growth the very next spring! The same hope exists for marriages, sometimes even those that seem to have endured too much neglect to ever truly recover. While marriages are obviously much more complex (and abusive neglect changes the discussion completely), I have seen this miracle happen with them as well. It is a beautiful sight.

Posted in Thoughts from Life

Rain

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

As I look out the window this morning, I see bright sunshine. I do enjoy sunshine. I need it after a long stretch of clouds and gloom. But, right now we have a bit too much of it. We’ve gone long stretches with all sunshine and no rain, and there is no rain in the forecast. In fact, they are saying we may go the whole month without a drop.

If I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that I’m grieving the lack of rain.

You see, I love rain. Not necessarily the dark and gloom, especially if it’s just cloudy with no rain falling. On those days, I’d rather have sunshine. But as long as it’s dripping and wet, the gloom doesn’t bother me. I’ll turn on those extra lights while I wait for the sun, but the truth is that it will take me long time to get tired of the rain. And I’m almost always sad to see it go, even when we’ve had too much and I know we don’t need more.

My love for rain probably comes from spending many of my growing up years in a desert climate. As the last of the winter rains dwindled away and the spring sun came out, the hills around us would erupt in a beautiful array of colors as poppies, irises (especially the dark purple, almost black Gilead iris that only grows in those hills), and other wildflowers overtook the landscape. But, they never lasted long. Within a couple of weeks, the flowers were dead and any grass that had sprouted up was already starting to turn brown.

As much as I loved wildflower season, I also knew what it meant. We’d have at least eight, and possibly as many as ten, months of complete dryness. Not a single drop of rain. Not even a hint of a cloud. The sky would go from brilliant blue to dusty brown. As summer progressed and the land completely dried out, massive dust storms would roll over us as thick as winter fog.

When the rains finally returned sometime between October and December, the first shower would often look more like mud than rain as it washed the dust out of the air. We didn’t care, though. We’d be out in it, dancing and laughing as we welcomed each drop. Those first rains meant cleansing. They meant that we could breathe. They meant a few months of relief from the heat. They meant blue skies and green hills, at least for a couple of weeks before cold set in and chased the grass away again.

And to this day, I welcome rain with relish.

That’s not what everyone feels when they look out the window and see rain. Some people see the gloom and desperately need the sun, even knowing that the rain is necessary. Some people are hounded with memories, not of dancing in the welcome rain, but of the destruction that so often comes with the rain. Havoc wreaked by storm lines or hurricanes, as we’ve seen horrific evidence of lately. Crops destroyed by too much rain or by hard rain at hard times. Dangerous flash floods from a sudden rainburst.

Or, perhaps the memories are less general and more personal. Ruined plans. Getting in trouble because of not having an outlet to release energy when trapped indoors by the weather.

The thing that brings me such joy can also bring incredible pain. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived with the consequences. And I so very much understand that those experiences cause some people to dread even the thought of rain, no matter how much it’s needed.

Joy and grief are like that. They intermingle but they also fight for top billing in our hearts. Sometimes the joy wins, while other times the grief is overwhelming. And in the process, we feel our own feelings and wonder how someone else can possibly feel differently. How can someone else hate rain so much when it’s so life-giving? How can someone else long for rain when the sun shining from a cloudless sky is so nourishing?

More confusing of all is when all of those feelings clash in our own hearts. When we desperately need the cleansing rain but just as desperately need the light of the sun. When our circumstances are washing out the dirt and yuck in our hearts but what we achingly hunger for is to just be clean and light and happy again.

We live in a fallen world that needs both clouds and sun, rain and dry. Neither is perfect, but both are good. Scripture tells us that nature itself groans as it waits for the perfection to be restored. For it all to be good without any mix of bad. But we’re not there yet. So, we have to learn what it means to live with it all.

We have to learn to embrace what we love while ministering to those who ache in those same moments. We have to learn to both laugh and cry with one another without sacrificing our own joy and tears.

There’s no easy answer to it. Today as I stare out at the sunshine, I admit that my soul is feeling parched along with the dry ground. But, even while I pray for an unexpected soaking rain, both for the ground and for my soul, I’m rejoicing over the light shining on both. That intermingling of joy and grief. That knowledge that God is growing me with His light, even when I feel parched. The truth that, when the rains come and there are others who feel like they are drowning, I can empathize with and pray for them even as they can for my parched soul today.

And one day, we’ll rejoice in the perfection, all receiving nourishing together. That’s the day I long for.

Posted in Marriage

Just Because

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

Once upon a time, I wrote a post about marriage every Monday. I found this one today and thought I’d honor that old Marriage Monday tradition this week.

My husband is the king of “just because” moments – those little moments when there’s no real reason to celebrate, give a gift, or do something out of the ordinary. He just acts out of love.

I’m not so great at those moments. I tend to be more of a planner and need a reason or an occasion to motivate me to action. That’s an area I want to grow, though. I want to be more about the “just because” actions.

So, why are those moments so important? Because they show that we’re thinking of each other. They are tangible proof that our relationship goes beyond just the normal facts of married life. Our marriage is not just about going through the daily routine, parenting our kids, and putting up with each other. It’s about being a picture of Christ’s relationship with us.

And, let me tell you, my friends. There are many things the Lord does in our lives “just because.”

Just because they help us bring glory to Him.
Just because they fill us with joy.
Just because they teach us to know Him better.
Just because they bounce through our lives to impact others, drawing them into the kingdom.

Yes, marriage is a picture of all of that.

Suddenly, those little “just because” moments become far more important, don’t they? Those moments in which we are wide open in our love for our spouses. Those moments in which we display that love before the world. Those moments that are not about bragging but are about being true and real and honest.

I love seeing husbands and wives sitting close together, holding hands in public, or fully engaged in delightful conversation. I love seeing them drawn together like a magnet. There’s little more beautiful than the sight of a husband’s face lighting up when he sees his wife or a wife’s expression when she’s about to explode with pride for her husband.

Those are “just because” moments that shine.

Creating a marriage that reflects Christ, thus fulfilling marriage’s true purpose, is not an easy task. But, it can start with something as simple as being intentional about “just because” moments.

How can you be intentional this week?

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 Thoughts from Life

Ready?

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And about a month earlier than we expected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted in Thoughts from Life, Thoughts from Prayer

Never to Return

Posted on by Ann B. Hibbard

I occasionally jot down writing ideas, or post starters, to come back to later. Sometimes I come back to them and have no clue what my notes mean, so they end up being ignored or discarded. Other times, the memory of what I was thinking comes flooding back with even greater clarity than when I first had the thoughts. The writing flows in a way it never would have had I written about it back then.

Still other times, though, the post starters feel almost prophetic. It’s in those times that I truly see how the Holy Spirit works in our hearts and minds to not only grow us but to prepare us for challenges that lie ahead.

I recently revisited one such post starter for about the third time. It’s over seven years old, but the implications are profoundly appropriate for right now. Here’s part of what I wrote:

Sometimes, normal will never return. It’s a new normal.

Restoration never involves going back. It involves going forward and realizing that the only constant is Christ Himself. Not normalcy.

I’d jotted down these thoughts as we watched two different dear friends process through losing their spouses. The circumstances and ages of the friends were very different, but the reality was the same: their lives could never go back to what they had previously considered to be normal. It wasn’t possible.

The realization led me to recognize my own struggle with some changes our family had made a couple of years before. We’d made such changes many times before, but this particular time, it was harder to figure out how to make the adjustment. There were just too many differences. We had tried for so long to settle back into normalcy. But, it always failed. Only when we realized that we needed to start from scratch were we able to make some sense of the changes. And in the experience of processing through all of this, we learned what it meant to be able to rediscover routine and normalcy again, even when everything had changed.

Who knew that a global pandemic would require us to fall back on that skill again years later? That was actually the second time I revisited this thought and fleshed it out a bit more. But I still wasn’t ready to put it out there. Everything felt very raw, and I struggled with how I was processing any of it.

And now, as I revisit this thought yet again, my family is in another stage of transition. Long, drawn-out transition that prevents settling into a “new normal.” (I grew to greatly dislike that phrase during Covid, and it’s not much happier now.) Through it all, I’m realizing that we haven’t really hit a “normal” for our family in a long, long time. That forces me back to the last part of my original thought, the one about our only constant being Christ Himself, not normalcy.

That’s hitting me hard.

What if I were to redirect my thoughts and focus on something other than normalcy? What if I were to focus instead on restoration? On truly letting Christ be my constant instead of always seeking after normal?

We often think of restoration as returning something to its former glory, but that’s never the case. We can’t accomplish that because there will always be a newness. Even if the restored treasure looks the same, the materials are always new. They are always bound to the time in which they were restored, no matter what style they may represent. It’s never a return. It’s always a newness.

That’s where we are right now. We’ll never return to “normal.” But, we can move into beautiful restoration. We can move into a newness of life. Of course, that’s only possible when we embrace the Author of life Himself. After all, He is the only constant. The only thing that ever remains the same, no matter the changes. The only One who can never be restored because He can never be damaged. Never changed. Never warped. He is. Continuously and always. He restores us, constantly remaking us into the image He intended from the very beginning. Were we to cling to our sense of normal, we would miss the restoration. We would never succeed in becoming what we were intended to be because our normal is warped. Incomplete. Corrupted. He is bringing us into the incorruptible, but that means that we must go through the refining.

Thinking of this, I realize I don’t want my old normal back. I don’t want to settle for a new normal, either. Instead, I want restoration. It’s a process that will continue until I see my God and Savior face to face, and that’s okay. That means that this “new normal” is temporary as the restoration continues.

May I walk faithfully through it, trusting His work all the way and never hungering to return.

Because what lies ahead is so much better.