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.

making history: how our relationships change the world

Posted on by July 7, 2025

Since it’s summertime, showers and baths around here – for the boys, at least – have mostly been replaced with garden hoses, water fights, and the kiddie pool. But we finally put our foot (feet?) down, and told the boys they needed to actually get in a real bathing facility to scrub their hair.

Groans, protests, picketing with signs.

“You know, the water in the hose is really warm,” Vin said. “They really could just wash their hair outside…if I hold the hose for them.”

I made a face, imagining streaks of unrinsed shampoo down their legs.

“They could use baking soda,” I thought out loud. “You know, get their hair wet, sprinkle the baking soda on, let it sit for a few minutes, rinse it out. Easy.” I’ve been doing this for months with great success, but was pretty sure the boys would balk at it.

But no, boys are full of surprises.

“They have agreed to the baking soda and hose procedure,” Vin announced.

“Can’t wait for their reaction when you tell them it’s called the ‘no poo’ method.”

But I never heard the reaction because Vin took care of the boys’ showers. It was one of the last of many big and small tasks we’d been knocking off a list in preparation for a momentous event in our marriage and family:

Vince and I were going away, just the two of us, for the first time in…like, ever.

making history: ow our relationships change the world

For the record, since some of you remember, we did have that one trip in 2017 which was two days of work and ministry banked by red-eye flights.

At the time, someone I considered a close friend squealed in excitement, “I’m so glad you’re finally getting a vacation!” It was eye opening to realize how clueless some of our closest friends still were about our family, mission, and lifestyle at the time, and ironic, too, considering that the purpose of that visit was to communicate such things to a larger audience. (News flash: Media interviews are not vacation-y.) I still don’t understand why 48 hours of flying and appointments for a special needs adoptive couple should be the equivalent of the same kind of rest and reprieve as two weeks on the beach for her or anyone else, but I digress.

So anyway, that doesn’t count.

Also in full disclosure, there were those adoption trips in 2012…which also weren’t romantic vacations…and there was that one time in a galaxy far, far away, back when we only had three kids (was that even us?!) when a dear friend stayed with them, and Vin and I stayed at a cabin for a night. That was sometime before 2009, not sure when.

If you sow to your own flesh, you will reap corruption from the flesh, but if you sow to the Spirit, you will reap eternal life from the Spirit.

So let us not grow weary in doing what is right, for we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up. So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all and especially for those of the family of faith.

– Galatians 6:8-10

So it’s been a while. And if you know us in person you’ve probably heard us joke about our lame dates over the last couple years because most of our outings together have been to meetings, funerals, and the courthouse. But those were huge, freeing steps in and of themselves. It meant we could go somewhere alone together, which was something that rarely happened from 2012 to 2023ish.

Thus, when a couple months ago a friend at church offered us his family B&B for a weekend this summer, we were a little aghast. Really? Without the kids? (He said we could bring them or not, and we chose Not.)

This was definitely an upgrade from our historically lame dates: Two days alooooone at a beautiful lakeside home. No work, no ministry, no kids, no appointments. We weren’t going far, but we weren’t going to be within screaming distance, either.

Astonishing. Miraculous. And honestly, a little unnerving.

I am a happy homebody hermit (maybe we should trademark that) who loves our rooms and walls and acre of land. Garden, books, knitting, cats. What else do I need?

At least, this is what I told myself.

I mean, it’s true, but also…well, we’ll get there.

Over a year ago two of our favorite adults offered to watch the kids for us sometime, so now we had an opportunity to take them up on it. They came to our house, we went through instructions and routines, we hugged, we left. Drove off. Picked up food. Found the place. Unloaded our bags. Left our worries at the door.

Within thirty minutes, someone texted us about poop.

And I thought to myself, This is why we needed this.

A few more necessary texts, plus a phone call with more explicit protocol (because “How To Deal With Pooptastrophes” was not part of our initial orientation), and then we left the worries at the door. I think we actually sort of shoved them out kicking and screaming, and bolted the door behind them.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s the obvious question: How many books did we bring?

Fourteen, my friend. Plus our Bibles, and a notebook each.

Out of those fourteen books, I’m thrilled to tell you that three of them were by Wodehouse because I have finally roped Vin into reading them. Every time I heard him laugh, I felt deep gratification because he loves them as much as I do and I TOLD HIM SO.

We sat out in the sun, turning pages, drinking coffee out of unfamiliar (but beautiful) mugs and sitting in unfamiliar (but super comfortable) chairs, while tiny bits of friendly cotton floated through the air.

I should tell you that when our friend offered this, I was so touched by his generosity and thoughtfulness, but I didn’t have any wild expectations. I thought, Wow, what a gift. A couple days away is definitely something we should take advantage of.

I was not thinking, I bet this place will be stunningly beautiful and change the way I look at rest and hospitality forevermore.

But it did. It added light and color to other dreams we’ve had and held onto.

A reset occurred as we sat on unfamiliar furniture and ate out of unfamiliar dishes. The shape of this mug is different from any of ours at home, let’s try it. This couch is like ours, but so much deeper and roomier. At home, most of our drinking glasses are recycled jars. But at the B&B, not so much.

I felt a shift in my heart and perspective just in being in different rooms and having the space to let my own thoughts broaden out. Any new experience can bring a leveling up, of sorts, especially when our own routines have been so steady for so long. And I love our routines. (Most of them, at least…not the pooptastrophe protocol, of course.) But a breath of newness is good, too.

Less than 48 hours later we packed up, and in some ways it felt like weeks had passed but in others it was like only minutes had gone by. The weather that morning was bland – not dramatic rain and thunder like the first night, not sunny and breezy like the full day in between – but pale, reserved, grey, stiff upper lip, nice-to-meet-you-but-we-shouldn’t-get-so-attached-now-that-you’re-leaving, and so on.

The end of all things is near; therefore be serious and discipline yourselves for the sake of your prayers. Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins. Be hospitable to one another without complaining. Like good stewards of the manifold grace of God, serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received. Whoever speaks must do so as one speaking the very words of God; whoever serves must do so with the strength that God supplies, so that God may be glorified in all things through Jesus Christ. To him belong the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen.

– 1 Peter 4:7-11

What else do we need? Perspective, and space. Those of us who tend toward stillness need to move around a little to go wide, and those who tend toward restlessness need the margin to be still, and go deep.

And we need friends who see things differently, who see us differently than we see ourselves, who validate things that we pooh-pooh, who recognize needs (and wants!) that we would put off or deny ourselves.

Try this. Look at this. Sit here. Look out there. You’ve gone deep for so long in the same place; it’s time to move a little wider.

How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before our God because of you? Night and day we pray most earnestly that we may see you face to face and restore whatever is lacking in your faith.

Now may our God and Father himself and our Lord Jesus direct our way to you. And may the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all, just as we abound in love for you. And may he so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints.

– 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

When you have room to breathe, you suddenly realize how long you’ve been holding your breath, and how much you’ve craved a little more oxygen.

Since those two days — about ten days ago as I type this — I’ve forgotten about my phone more times than I can tell you. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and forget where I put it the night before. That, too, was oxygen I’ve needed.

Why did our friend give us this gift? Because we’ve been praying for him. And because he, too, knows how to minister.

Now there are varieties of gifts but the same Spirit, and there are varieties of services but the same Lord, and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone.

To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.

To one is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom and to another the utterance of knowledge according to the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit, to another the working of powerful deeds, to another prophecy, to another the discernment of spirits, to another various kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues. All these are activated by one and the same Spirit, who allots to each one individually just as the Spirit chooses.

– 1 Corinthians 12:4-11

The Sunday after we got back, we combined congregations with another local church. The sermon was about how we live in community and care for each other, and it was given by the other church’s pastor, who is also our daughter’s boss. He didn’t recognize us but I’ve known his wife for years because before we adopted, in that galaxy far, far away, we were involved in our local pregnancy center, and she’s the director of it.

“You are my favorite writer,” she said as we hugged, confirming her as one of my favorite readers, too.

They sat to the left of us in the same row. In the row in front of us was another friend I met in those pregnancy center days; it’s been seventeen years. And right behind us, the friend we’ve known for less than a year who blessed us with the B&B. Hands up, worshiping together.

It is he whom we proclaim, warning everyone and teaching everyone in all wisdom, so that we may present everyone mature in Christ. For this I toil and strive with all the energy that he powerfully inspires within me…. I want their hearts to be encouraged and united in love, so that they may have all the riches of assured understanding and have the knowledge of God’s mystery, that is, Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.

– Colossians 1:28-29, 2:2-3

We see and serve each other, and this is how we make history. We change the world by caring for each other, in whatever way God has gifted us.

Do we get it wrong sometimes? Absolutely, yes, sometimes our efforts go amiss. We say the wrong thing, we misunderstand each other. But we continue trying as we abide and obey, offering the gifts we carry.

I, therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace: there is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.

But each of us was given grace according to the measure of Christ’s gift….He himself granted that some are apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.

– Ephesians 4:1-7, 11-13

A community has history, but our relationships build and bond in making history. It’s not only about time lapsing through years, but in investing in each other, which just takes moments of attention. And as we attend to each other, we protect each other from dying of exposure, or from stifling in too much crowding and chaos.

I was thinking of you…you guys said one of your favorite things was reading on the couch on the weekends…my family has this place, I would love to give you a weekend away…

What happens when we love those we live with, and care for those we worship with? We bring oxygen, and allow space, and give perspective. We change lives, our own and others.

It is a big world and a small world, and the Lord has hemmed us in to worship and make history together.

Thanks so much for helping us broadcast content about wholeness,
deep and wide.
Sign up for a free or paid subscription to get posts like these,
straight to your inbox.

I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love.

I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

– Ephesians 3:16-19

save the day: how grief brings priorities into focus

Posted on by June 19, 2025

Tuesday began earlier than normal with a shattering crash somewhere just outside our room, followed by the sound of a guilty cat jumping to the floor.

Throw back the covers, stumble to the scene, find glass and feathers everywhere. The boys had saved a handful of chicken feathers last fall and put them in a cup, and there they had remained for eight months until Dash decided that this precise moment – when we were in a dead sleep an hour before we normally get up – was the ideal opportunity to test gravity.

So there it went.

save the day: how grief brings priorities into focus ||Shannon Guerra

Thirty minutes later the mess was cleaned up and we were down by one glass and an hour of sleep, but on the upside we were half an hour ahead of schedule.

Commence chores, breakfast, and coffee on the couch with Dash, who was unrepentant and shameless about starting the morning with a bang. She slept in Vin’s lap with a clear conscience, if she even has one. And like every morning, we plotted out the day, the week, and the tasks ahead.

It’s the middle of June and none of our hens have gone broody yet, which is a matter of serious prayer because no new chicks means precious few eggs this fall and winter. But Molly, our best mama, was in a nesting box yesterday afternoon and last night, so we’re hoping she’ll rally to the cause again and save the day.

“Finn, go check and see if Molls in still in the box.” Those Orpingtons are the best: friendly, fluffy, calm, gorgeous. He and Kav both run out there, and a minute later, Kav runs back.

“Mom, you need to go to the coop. Finn needs you.”

The coffee is suddenly cold in my mouth, and I realize Molly might not have been staying in the box because she was broody. Mug down, shoes on, out the door, across the yard.

She was stiff and gone, but Finn didn’t understand…and then he did. A second later Kav did too, and both boys were crying, clutching our beautiful gold hen, tears falling on her feathers.

Deep breath. Eyes squeezed tight, arms around the boys. What a day; we haven’t even finished breakfast yet.

It feels like the agenda has changed. But really, it’s just become clearer because suddenly the important things are set in bold and the peripherals have faded to the distance.

What is important today? Hugs and eye contact. Finding gratitude and remembering joy. Nurturing hearts with conversations out of nowhere, because feelings and revelations and memories don’t have conveniently scheduled slots. Prayer, tea, and rest, and time to stare out the window. We need that stillness to feel our breath go in, and breath go out, and to notice the light stick of our eyelids that have settled for blinking when they really needed to cry.

And I say, “It is my grief
that the right hand of the Most High has changed.”

I will call to mind the deeds of the Lord;
I will remember your wonders of old.
I will meditate on all your work
and muse on your mighty deeds.

– Psalm 77:10-12

We go gently. Grief, whether it’s labeled mourning, injustice, overwhelm, PMS, regret, setback, or attack, requires tenderness and caution. No sudden moves; we need to pray, abide, and recalibrate so we don’t make a knee-jerk move that operates out of the spirit of stupid.

We can push through like it doesn’t matter, but life works better when we give ourselves (and others) permission to go slow and take the time we need to figure out what the next right thing is. We also need to give permission for grief to happen at all, because it’s so easy for us to discount it. It’s just a chicken. It’s just eggs. It’s just…fill in the blank.

All the tasks and chores and relationships clamor for attention and the emotions are not helping, because everything looks more daunting and hopeless than it really is.

No Molly. No broody hen yet. We’re already not getting enough eggs for the number of hens we have…this is where the worst case scenarios start to play through our minds. Gravity starts spiraling our thoughts downward, and we must check the fall with truth.

But you do see! Indeed, you note trouble and grief,
that you may take it into your hands;
the helpless commit themselves to you;
you have been the helper of the orphan.

– Psalm 10:14

So we shrink the to do list. The most important things go to the top, and even those have to be broken down into smaller, simpler, stupid-easy steps. Write the post. But start with journaling. And don’t make it anything complex, just write what you see out the window.

Out the window, I hear the high pitched, repetitive thud of the shovel. Vin and the boys are in the woods down the hill, finding a place for Molly. I can hear one of the boys crying again, and I hate this part of raising animals. Every time this happens, I reconsider our life choices and think about just focusing on gardening, because no one ever mourns for zucchinis.

The evening is easier because everyone has something to do: the vacuum is going, dinner is cooking, and the younger boys are distracted with a game. Vin is downstairs butchering an injured quail and an older chicken who, unlike Molly, had not earned her retirement through personality, brooding chicks, or even bothering to lay eggs for the last few months and thus has long been destined for freezer camp, except that the boys had been protesting on her behalf. But now, Molly’s death eclipsed the grief over that hen and made the loss negligible. So there she went.

Hard things still need to be done, but grief puts them in perspective and sometimes, oddly, makes them easier. A shaking can bring unity and focus, and motivate us to take care of what we’ve been neglecting. Suddenly we can’t gloss over them in our everyday distractions. In that way, grief is a little like a fast – it brings perspective and growth we never would’ve bothered with in our regularly scheduled programming.

So here we uphold our culture and remember the most important things because we hold hearts gently when we recognize why our own heart is hurting. And those hearts are what is most important.

It doesn’t work that way if pain is a competition or we feel unseen and unrecognized. If self pity is in the way, our myopic focus blurs everything else.

But when we realize we’re in this together, we can be tender with the fragility of others because our hearts are hurting in alignment. We’re on the same side, and we recognize each other’s vulnerability in light of our own. And then we all come through stronger, freer, braver, more tightly woven.

It takes time, though. There is still so much to be done. I’m tempted to run back to the to do list, to check off the items, to brush past the people and rush through the things. Do we have that time?

Yes, we have to remind ourselves: This grief is taking us through things we’ve put off, waking us up earlier than we wanted to, and repositioning our perspective to see more the way He does. In that light, we’re ahead of schedule.

We save the day by slowing down, and really seeing what’s around us.

The next morning is better. No smashing excitement, no sudden loss; just everyday life of dishes and laundry and oatmeal. Three’s a crowd in our kitchen so you can imagine what kind of collisions ensue when five of us are pouring cream into coffee, reaching for the cinnamon and raisins, and running back to grab spoons. The family who crams into the same ten square feet together stays together, right? Isn’t that what the needlepoint samplers tell us?

We look each other in the eye, bump into each other, attend to needs, and clean up shattered messes. We have all the time in the world for this. It’s how we live smarter, not harder, and save the day.

Thanks so much for reading, sharing, and promoting Kingdom culture with us. To support this work and get posts like this straight to your inbox, subscribe here.

honest work: thoughts on ChatGPT & other bougie conveniences

Posted on by May 28, 2025

It may be the drunken-like boldness that comes after several days of sickness, but I have emerged with sudden lucidity about ChatGPT.

I’ve been wrestling because I recognize one side of it as convenience and progress. But to be totally honest, I’ve also avoided it as a disgruntled snob, sort of like how professional cooks shun pre-made, canned spaghetti sauce.

honest work: thoughts on ChatGPT & other bougie conveniences | Shannon Guerra at Copperlight Wood

Convenience and progress are important. We have a tankless water heater and our family takes full advantage of the fact that not only do we not have to pump, haul, and heat every drop of water we need, we also enjoy unlimited hot water straight from the tap. It’s so magical.

And yet, there are many who have struggled to just have enough water to survive. In comparison to their fight to have just enough to live on, if they could see our ease they might think we didn’t earn or deserve what they’ve had to work so hard for.

It’s understandable. Times and places and cultures are different, though.

And also, while there may be some skill needed in gathering and hauling water, it’s not an ability that a person works for decades to achieve. It’s something they do because they have to, to survive.

So on one hand, we’re talking about convenience and progress, and I am all for convenience, and mostly even for progress, depending on how you define it. I’m grateful to have a clean, modern mattress rather than a straw-filled pallet. I love flushing toilets and electricity. And don’t get me started on the marvelous bliss known as espresso.

But on the other hand, there’s another kind of convenience that robs us, sort of like taking cold medicine when you really just need to let a fever and other symptoms do their work to heal your body. When you don’t do that, you become dependent on artificial medicine that just hides those symptoms, and your body forgets how to heal the way it was designed to. Eventually all sorts of bad things eventually result…like people dependent on a medical system that profits from illness rather than educates on healing, and eventually encourages people to do things like wear masks while swimming because their IQ has dropped to the level of a toaster.

This is not progress.

In that vein, we could also broach the issue of calculators, which were rarely allowed in class when I was in school but now are pretty much used by all of us for everything from budgeting to figuring out how much change we should be getting back from the barista.

Have we collectively been dumbed down, made lazier? Yes, for sure.

So that’s a thing. And it progressed with the advent of computers and smartphones and pretty much every advance in technology, really.

I use a laptop with the conveniences of Copy, Cut, Paste, Undo, Delete, and even CAPSLOCK for when I’m feeling particularly punchy. Dickens, Austen, and the Brontes didn’t have those. (Well, they had literal scissors and paste, and I’ve heard some of them used it, but that’s much more complicated than hitting a few keys.) Tolstoy, Mitchell, Dostoevsky, Scott, and all those guys inserted and crossed out and rearranged and rewrote by hand.

By! hand!

In junior high and high school, all of my papers (including the dreaded 5-paragraph essays) were written by hand. Even my earliest college papers were pre-computer. Draft after draft after draft, I’d finally put it all together as a final copy in the neatest version of my messy scrawl.

I cannot imagine putting together Pride and Prejudice, Little Dorrit, or (gasp, hand me the smelling salts) the 1100 pages of Gone With the Wind that way. Not only did these writers create such incredible stories, but they had the discipline, tenacity, and mental clarity to pull such projects together without the help of highlight, click, and drag.

Meanwhile, I get distracted if the cats start meowing for food while I’m trying to put a complex sentence together. I will never be the writers these guys were; my world and ability and culture is different. I use tools they didn’t have, and benefit from them…but I have also traded ability for the convenience of using them.

But here’s what seems to be the crux of the difference: I will never pretend to be those writers, either. I do not present my work as someone who has put the effort into organizing and writing everything by hand.

Did tailors and seamstresses feel this way when the sewing machine was invented? There were mixed reactions. It shifted (and in some ways destroyed) the careers and artisanship of those who had mastered the craft by hand, and yet many of them were grateful for the ease the machine brought in making production that much simpler.

What about photography? Even though people like my husband went to school to learn the nuances of it, I can now easily take a beautiful photo with my phone because the technology does all the work. But I’m not fooling anyone about poring over images in a dark room – everyone knows that all I did was aim and click.

We enjoy these conveniences and we do not lie to the public about how we achieved the works derived from them. So in that sense, ChatGPT and its cronies are perfectly legit as tools to help lay people. For example, if you need help creating a legal document, or checking grammar for an email, or you need a few lines of code for your website, no shame, I get it.

So that’s one side.

On the other side, though, there’s so much more.

With many conveniences, tasks are simplified. For example, in using calculators, we relinquish our ability to solve a simple problem. But with AI doing our creating for us, we relinquish our abilities to express, communicate, and innovate.

We were made in the image of the Creator, so we were made to create. He spoke and things happened; and life and death are in the power of our words, too. We have no business abdicating our expression to AI, casting off our reflection of God and the partnership we have with Him in creating.

It’s not just writing, but art, film, and all sorts of media are being replaced by this cheap coin-slot alternative. Do we really want our humanity replaced, made obsolete?

Dear Kingdom-minded professional content creators: The breath of God within you is worth something.

It cost Him something for us to be able to express what He put within us. Are we so indifferent to the price He paid that we’re willing to trade our expression and reflection of Him – our honest work – to present an inflated offering?

There’s a story about this in the Bible, and it’s a formidable warning to those who would offer up a dishonest sacrifice.

It’s the time of the early Church, and the cool kids (well, Barnabas, at least) have started a trend of selling large assets so the proceeds could be used toward expansion of the Kingdom. So far, so good.

But a man named Ananias, with the consent of his wife Sapphira, sold a piece of property; with his wife’s knowledge, he kept back some of the proceeds and brought only a part and laid it at the apostles’ feet.

– Acts 5:1-2

He wanted credit for giving the whole thing when he knew he hadn’t given it all.

“Ananias,” Peter asked, “why has Satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit and to keep back part of the proceeds of the land? While it remained unsold, did it not remain your own? And after it was sold, were not the proceeds at your disposal? How is it that you have contrived this deed in your heart? You did not lie to us but to God!”

Now when Ananias heard these words, he fell down and died. And great fear seized all who heard of it. The young men came and wrapped up his body, then carried him out and buried him.

– Acts 5:3-6

Contrast this with King David, who said, “I will not offer burnt offerings to the Lord my God that cost me nothing.”

When used by professionals on the sly, ChatGPT and other AI tools are bougie conveniences: Big hat, no cattle, declaring to the world that something was created when it was merely…faked.

In a precious few places I’ve seen Christian content creators preface their work with, “I used ChatGPT to help me with this,” and I appreciate their honesty. But if the writer/artist doesn’t do that and they use these tools to do the work for them, they are saying, Look, I did this, even though they didn’t.

Maybe they wrote part of it, or started with the initial ideas, or even plugged in a draft for the program to polish. But none of that is equal to putting in hours upon hours of work – not to mention years of study and practice – to put forth a piece that is cohesive, creative, and well done. In that sense, it is much like athletes cheating by taking performance-enhancing drugs to get an advantage over their competitors who are doing honest work.

So ChatGPT is not just a new convenience, like a word processor. ChatGPT is also a hired hand, a ghostwriter who does the work while the name on the cover takes the credit. Additionally, it makes even genuine writers suspect, because if ChatGPT and other forms of AI creation become the assumed latest modern conveniences that everyone uses (even when we don’t), gone are the days when any of us gets credit for truly creating our own work.

As someone who has spent decades on this craft – and it is a craft, a skill that is developed with much practice and earned to some degree – the sudden rush of anyone and everyone cranking out books, posts, or even slews of social media promotions just by plugging in a prompt into a program feels like theft to me.

Oh, you told ChatGPT what to do, and it just…did it? That’s how you wrote your posts, and finished your book? That’s cute. Here are my shelves of books on writing that I’ve studied, and here’s my fourth laptop – I’ve slogged away on it until the characters are blurred on seven keys, and the left Shift button is cracked.

I know it sounds like a measure of superiority and bitterness, for sure. But I don’t think I’m a better person than someone who uses AI to write their posts. I just know I’m a better writer, because I’ve done the work.

Many of us have paid a price to achieve this. And some are taking credit for paying that price when they have not in fact done so.

After an interval of about three hours [Ananias’] wife came in, not knowing what had happened. Peter said to her, “Tell me whether you and your husband sold the land for such and such a price.” And she said, “Yes, that was the price.”

Then Peter said to her, “How is it that you have agreed together to put the Spirit of the Lord to the test? Look, the feet of those who have buried your husband are at the door, and they will carry you out.”

– Acts 5:8-9

The sacrifice itself was good on its own. It became cheap and sinful when it was passed off as being more than what it really cost the giver.

If the intent is to use it as a tool, we can be honest about that. If someone needs the help, there’s no shame in taking advantage of it. We use electric drills, laptops, crock pots. I use a thesaurus, concordance, various Bible tools, and about 32 other tabs on two browsers. Tools are meant to be used.

The problem comes when the end result is faked, and offered as something it is not. If I sew something on a machine, I’m not going to represent it as something I stitched by hand. If I buy pastries from a bakery and bring them to potluck, I don’t take credit for making anything more than a purchase.

So it’s the misrepresentation that is meant to deceive and take credit that is the issue here. When we take credit for something we did not do, we cheapen the work of those who actually do create authentically.

So then, putting away falsehood, let each of you speak the truth with your neighbor, for we are members of one another….And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with which you were marked with a seal for the day of redemption.

– Ephesians 4:25, 30

We still have amazing photographers and seamstresses and tailors, even though technology has changed. But will we still have amazing writers and artists if anyone can fake it, everyone is suspect, and eventually people won’t even notice the difference?

I hope so. We work solo Deo gloria, not solo AI gloria. We’ve been given so much to say, and we will not trade the breath of God in our work to gain applause for a cheapened sacrifice.

Want more posts like this? Subscribe here — they’re all written by me, with the help of Bingley who is terrible at typing but super fond of the Caps Lock button.