Author Archives: Shannon


About Shannon

Alaskan homeschooling mama of eight sweet kids. Loves Jesus, writing, coffee, Dickens, and snapping a kitchen towel at my husband when he's not looking.

in january: how fasting declutters our soul

Posted on by January 2, 2026

I heard a book slam shut, and Vin announced, “Now that it’s January, I have no motivation to finish that book.”

“Which book?” I asked, not looking.

“Any book,” he said.

“I hope you’re not referring to the one you’re supposed to be writing.”

And praise God, he wasn’t.

in january: how fasting declutters our soul

We’re only a couple of weeks into the year and I’ve already slammed a book shut, too. It started promising but then sunk into coarse humor, and while snark is probably both my highest spiritual gift and my love language, I have no patience for vulgarity.

(I guess I should point out that I’m not referring to the book I’m writing, either. It’s a fair question, though.)

So out those books went, along with all the other things we’re decluttering in the New Year.

The need to declutter is more dire than ever because Kav is in the destructive crawling-standing-grabbing stage of babyhood and he’s going to start walking any second. But it’s okay; now that Vince and I are in our forties, as parents of eight kids with miiiiles of experience behind us – a whole toolbelt of wisdom, an armory full of tactics and methods to navigate every stage of childhood –we now know exactly what to do:

It’s called “choosing your battles.” Which means, we just started moving things to the library.

And this, too, is wisdom.

First it was a coffee table and then a huge potted plant, but then we added the Christmas tree. And then we squeezed in the card table for Christmas puzzles.

I should point out that the library is only 9×11, and it already contained floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and an upright piano. By the time we were done, it was so stuffed that you couldn’t reach many books without first moving a small piece of furniture or an umbrella plant the size of a mini-fridge.

But now we are moving things out in reverse, both in the library and the rest of the house. It’s a deep breath in, and a long exhale, and the white space is reemerging. Christmas décor, unworthy books, jars of unidentifiable pantry items, unmatched mittens and gloves worn to shreds: all packed, given, or thrown away.

For the last several years, January has been a season of prayer and fasting for our family, and that is a refining, purging, decluttering work in itself.

I will take my stand at my watchpost
    and station myself on the tower,
and look out to see what he will say to me,
    and what I will answer concerning my complaint.

– Habakkuk 2:1

Every year it brings layers of breakthrough, but never in the ways we expect. And the answers usually come in phases – a little clarity here in this season, a little more direction a week or two later (sometimes in an entirely different area), and some serious resolution after a month or two.

And the Lord answered me:

“Write the vision;
    make it plain on tablets,
    so he may run who reads it.”

– Habakkuk 2:2

I’ve been reading about the watchmen in Habakkuk and the weeds in the garden in Matthew – and God is extravagantly efficient, unwilling to let sin continue because He loves people so much, but He’s also equally unwilling to waste such an opportunity to grow them.

In this season He is also cleaning house — washing us clean, because we are His temple. He is revealing, exposing, and taking care of the clutter, clearing the way for margin and white space as He aligns things into the right places. But He’s also addressing grime and dark corners of vulgarity, pulling things into the open so the atmosphere can be one of fresh air and light, as it’s meant to be.

And sometimes during fasting there’s this gnawing pit in the stomach that has nothing to do with food hunger. It’s heart-hunger that wonders if grief – this fasting from the thing we’ve lost, or waiting for the breakthrough we feel desperate for – is accomplishing anything. We wonder if anything is happening while we wait.

For still the vision awaits its appointed time;
    it hastens to the end—it will not lie.
If it seems slow, wait for it;
    it will surely come; it will not delay.

– Habakkuk 2:3

I’ve shared before that when we moved to this house we learned about fasting, non-food-wise: We were fasting from everything that was packed up, and also fasting from our sense of home and having a place to settle into. Keep in mind, we still possessed all those things, but they were packed, so we were choosing not to access them. And as we felt the absence of those things – fasting from them – we prayed for breakthrough, for answers, and for a place to settle in.

Just like we do when fasting from food: We feel the hunger, and it triggers us to pray. This kind of fasting was just a different kind of hunger.

It turned out though, we were already home, and God knew all along, of course.

Praying for breakthrough is a fast of its own when we are fasting from what we are longing for – the answers, the provision, the specific things we are wanting and hoping and praying for. It reveals the things we’ve been distracted with, realigns our priorities, and declutters our soul.

Behold, his soul is puffed up; it is not upright within him,
    but the righteous shall live by his faith.

– Habakkuk 2:4

We still have antique Christmas ornaments hanging in our front windows, and a family of porcelain snowmen congregating above our kitchen cabinets. This weekend they’re finally getting packed away – and with any luck, we’ll even finish that puzzle we started at Christmas.

Copperlight Wood: In January - how fasting declutters our soul

We are fasting, and the words go in, and the words go on paper, and the words are spoken, and He, the Word, is teaching us the awe-full power of words because He is the Word Himself – and He will always have the first word, and the last word, on our situations.

comfort & joy: finding our identity in the Word who became flesh

Posted on by December 11, 2024

Last week I finished reading the New Testament again, and turned back to Matthew. And I might as well confess to you that my first thought was, Oh, goody. Seventeen verses of genealogy. Go ahead and judge me.

comfort and joy: finding our identity in the Word who became flesh

I happened to be sipping bone broth at the time, which is almost as much fun as reading Abraham was the father of Isaac…and Isaac the father of Jacob, and a few dozen more generations. But I needed to do it; I’ve dealt with postpartum eczema after our last four or five babies, and my right hand in particular is fairly gruesome. My handwriting is worse than normal, I have a hard time opening things (or turning doorknobs), and some days even typing hurts. It keeps me up at night. But bone broth helps, so…drinks it, we does.

…And Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father of Jesse…

– Matthew 1:5

The verses also go in and do their own form of healing and restructuring. Like the bone broth, they are nutrient-dense regardless of appeal, going inside and bringing healing in increments. The broth boosts immune systems and digestive systems, and you could sorta say the same thing for reading the Bible, as it builds our spiritual protection and helps us process daily life in the healthiest of ways.

Whether we understand it all or not, whether we know we need healing or not, it goes in and it changes us.

…And Jesse the father of David the king.

And David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah…

– Matthew 1:6, ESV

It takes no time at all to read seventeen verses of genealogy – less time than it takes to drink the mug of bone broth, sigh – and then suddenly I’m right in the middle of the season and confronted with the birth of Jesus, though I didn’t plan it that way at all.

Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit.

– Matthew 1:18, ESV

Now friends, if you’ve never read the Christmas story – the real one, not the cartoon special, the Hallmark movie, or the VeggieTale – it’s well worth the four minutes of your life it will take to do so. In Matthew it’s from here to here, just eight verses. Luke’s account is more detailed, from here to here, roughly 75 verses.

In those same four minutes, you could mindlessly scroll social media for all the cat memes, store ads, and political spin you can stomach…or you could tuck the original account of the birth of Jesus into your soul and let it do its work. Give it four minutes. The internet will still be there when you’re done, and you’ll begin to see it and everything else with new strength and perspective.

You might not notice the change at first. But like that bone broth, the Word will go in and make you more like the person you were made to be.

And Mary said,

“My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.
    For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for he who is mighty has done great things for me,
    and holy is his name.
And his mercy is for those who fear him
    from generation to generation.

– Luke 1:46-50, ESV

When we don’t know someone, our mind and thoughts exaggerate them into caricatures. They are all this, or all that; the little we know isn’t enough for a full picture so we fill in the blanks with assumptions. They become the cartoon version of the real thing. Without abiding and being in the Word, we’re in danger of doing the same thing with God, mistaking Him for all sharp lines, zigzags, and exaggerated curves.

But we do the same thing to ourselves, too. Sometimes we take on our pain, or our circumstances, or some other imbalance as our identity, though we were never meant to.

I’ve been talking (and writing) a lot lately on how we act out of our identity:
When we know who we are, we act like it – and this
is why we need to know who (and Who) we’re dealing with. Because when we don’t, we act out in sharp lines, zigzags, and exaggerated curves. And we were never meant to have such inflammation, imbalance, and pain.

Research has shown that once a person believes in a particular aspect of their identity, they are more likely to act in alignment with that belief….

After all, when your behavior and your identity are fully aligned, you are no longer pursuing behavior change. You are simply acting like the type of person you already believe yourself to be.

– James Clear, Atomic Habits (p. 34-35)

When we understand who God is, and who He made us to be, we will act like it. The only way to be comfortable in our own skin is to get to know the One who designed it.

He knows our hearts better than we do. And that means that He knows how we are better than we give ourselves credit for, and also the ways we are worse than we realize.

He knows the things we don’t take credit for, but should.

He also knows the things we don’t take responsibility for, but should.

There are areas in our lives where we are doing better than we think we are – but there are other areas we’re blind to that need correction and alignment. Our minds are constantly renewed through abiding with Him.

God rest you merry, gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay;
Remember, Christ, our Saviour
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan’s power
When we were gone astray…
O tidings of comfort and joy.

It’s one of the oldest carols, dating back to at least the 16th century. There’s no known author to credit. And even though we sing it all season long, the title really doesn’t make any sense – unless we understand what the word “rest” means in context.

In the 16th century, this usage of rest meant to keep, cause to continue, to remain. Or, as we say, abide.

And, because punctuation matters (high five to my nerdy friends), note that the comma is after the word “merry” and not before it. Literally, the message is along the lines of “God keep you merry, friends” or “God abides with you for joy, friends.”

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. 

– John 1:14, ESV

The true story brings down our inflammation and offenses, brings balance to systems and habits that are off kilter. It renews us at a cellular level, giving us strength to reject the things He knows will harm us and the maturity to make healthier choices, for our own comfort and joy.

He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David,and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.

– Luke 1:32-33, ESV

The Word goes in and changes us. It – more accurately, He – makes us more like the way we are supposed to be:

Whole. Free. Comfortable in our own skin. Because our joy is at stake.

what we know: tools for adoptive and foster families

Posted on by December 23, 2024

How hard is it to read the word “graph” when you know all the sounds? On a good day, not hard at all. But on a rough day when you’re operating from fear and control, impossible.

“What do the letters ‘ph’ say together?” I ask. He knows this.

what we know: tools for adoptive and foster families

Not only does he know this, but I just coached his sister through reading the word “sphere” two minutes earlier, so he just had a refresher course in the “ph” sound. And that might be the very reason he’s choosing this hill to die on – it makes it all the more obvious that he does know, but You Can’t Make Me Tell You.

“Ape,” he says.

We both know it’s wrong. He does a quick extra chore to regroup while I work with someone else.

I ask again. “Ape,” he says, knowing it’s still wrong, it will always be wrong, never in a million years will “ph” ever say “ape,” but if I asked him what his name is right now, he’s just as likely to answer “Hippo.” Or, you know, “Ape.”

Another chore. Wash some windows. Specifically, “Wash the two windows behind you,” I tell him.

He starts doing a third window, though. So I say, “Go ahead and finish that one. You can do three.”

He stops half way through the last one.

“I’m done,” he says. We both know it’s not true.

“How many windows did I tell you to do?”

“Three.” Okay, kind of. I’ll give him that.

“How many did you wash?”

“Four.”

“Really? How’s that?”

He counts the panes, two on each window – one, two, three, four.

“So how many did you wash?”

“Three.”

Because two plus two is three. Because what he’s really saying is, Ef you. You can’t make me.

And I can’t. We both know that’s true. But what he doesn’t understand yet, is I don’t want to make him.

I want him to do it himself. For himself. Because he is loved, and he is valuable, and his days are valuable. I know it’s true. Some days, I think he might finally believe it’s true, also. But not today.

Not all days are like this. It used to be, for years, that every day was like this and worse (so much worse), but now he goes in phases – good days and bad days, great weeks and terrible weeks.

But it’s Christmas time, and right now he’s having some really hard days, because festivities and gatherings and events, oh my. The turmoil this brings up for kids with a background of trauma can be immense, sometimes catastrophic.

But it’s nothing like it used to be.

It used to be, we had to avoid almost everything that involved people because people didn’t know how much their well-intentioned interactions with our kids cost our family.

It was easier to just avoid them. We could at least avoid those triggers…but isolation also cost our family.  

Eventually we learned how to communicate what our kids’ needs were to the people around us – family, friends, our church, our school, our medical professionals. And that quickly helped us discover who “our people” were – they were the ones who respected the boundaries our kids needed. The ones who didn’t, weren’t.  

If this sounds familiar to you, I have some quick resources for you to help the holiday season be more fun than a root canal without anesthesia. Been there, hated that. Some days, as you can tell, we’re still there. But it’s nothing like it used to be.

This post explains the Why Behind the Weird Limits to our people. It helps family, friends, teachers, and other professionals understand exactly why it is such a no no to overstep attachment boundaries with kiddos who have a background of trauma. It’s chapter 2 from Upside Down: Understanding and Supporting Attachment in Adoptive and Foster Families.

Or there’s this: The Upside Down Cheat Sheet is a quick, one-sheet reference. Don’t be afraid to click on it; it’s a free download, no signup required, with a few basic principles to remember. Print it out and give it away as much as you want. If you charge people for it (good luck with that), I will find you…and I’ll ask you to share your savvy marketing skills with me.

And, need the whole book? It’s just 100 (ish) pages – a quick, easy read, and it’s funny. Because I’m funny. At least, my friends think so. You can buy it in stores everywhere or get it directly from us and take advantage of our discounted prices for buying multiple copies. It’s also now available in audio here. Everyone needs this information and we want to make it easy for you to have it, because adoptive and foster families need real support and understanding from their people. If our community can learn, yours can, too.

So that is a look into our fishbowl, seven years into this. At least the windows are clean.

May your gatherings be filled with joy, and your home be filled with peace and as little aftermath as possible. What you’re doing is hard, but you’re doing a good job. And that’s the truth.