Category Archives: fighting fear

making the cut: dedicating our life’s fabric to Him

Posted on by July 14, 2025

It’s that time again. Meaning, it’s been a couple years since I last repaired it, and once again our cats have littered our duvet with several tears from their cute little claws.

And because sometimes I go out of my way to make a simple solution more complex, rather than just sewing it with the machine like I did the last time, I thought it would be brilliant to make some gorgeous scrappy patches for it, à la Pinterest.

The method: Determine color scheme. Gather fabric scraps. Waste time perusing the internet for ideas, under the guise of research.

And finally, pick up a piece of grey cotton, and hold the scissors against it.

Angle the scissors this way and that. Try to imagine the finished shape I’m going for.

Hem and haw, uncertain.

Aaaaand I’m stalling, doing nothing…and I realize I’m actually afraid to cut into the fabric.

Why? It’s just a small piece of unused material. It’s not like I’m ruining anything if I make a mistake.

But no, making a cut means a tiny bit of commitment. It means I’m officially starting this project. And it means the possibility of error, of ending up with something I don’t like, of eventually tossing these efforts into the trash bin.

And that’s the real crux of my hesitation.

I’m afraid to make this cut because I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m afraid it will be ugly, that it will be a waste of fabric, time, attention.

Holy Spirit corrects me: It’s not a waste. It’s never a waste. It’s how the process works, and you are learning.

And hey, Love…you’re making it out of scraps, anyway.

He’s right, of course. This is a project pulled together from scraps of material, worked on in scraps of time.

And the first try is ugly. A mess. Wrong stitches, wrong placements.

But this is how we learn: By trying. By making the cut.

Part of the problem was that my cuts were too small, too safe, too conservative. I was trying to not use too much fabric or make the pieces too big.

Why do we do this? The Lord offers freedom and gives us so much creative material to use. But whether it’s perfectionism, procrastination, overthinking, or fear of what others will think, we often hesitate and hold back, entertaining all the wrong what ifs.

But why are we afraid to waste what is already dedicated to burn?

For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.

– Galatians 2:19-20

If we have really laid ourselves down, determined to die to self and let Him be Lord and live through us, why do we keep trying to jump off the altar? Why do we keep trying to determine how hot the fire gets, and to control the burning?

Maybe we use the phrase “making the cut” in the wrong way. We think it means approval, that we’re allowed to stay in the game, that we’re good enough. And that’s the problem right there.

In Jesus, we already have approval. We’re already in the game. He has made us good enough, because it was never about us being able to meet a particular standard.

It’s always been about Jesus being the standard.

So really, making the cut is about our willingness to move forward in that freedom. We invest the talent, the time, the materials, the effort. We risk the unknown outcomes, and lay down our desire to be seen as flawless and infallible, rather than burying ourselves safely where we don’t even accrue interest.

Will we mess up? Yes!

Will Jesus be shocked, dismayed, and disappointed? No.

We make something beautiful by daring to try. We may not start perfectly – we might need to undo, redo, and repent. But we use it all, our whole life, and we don’t hold back to preserve what’s meant to revert to dust anyway.

And then we find that instead of a stifled lifestyle that ties us up in knots of stress and perfectionism and anxiety, focused on self-preservation and lack, we are walking in Kingdom culture. Our lives breathe the Kingdom in vulnerability and discernment as we are willing to risk honesty and transparency with others.

Can I ask…where have you been hesitating? To what material have you been holding the scissors to, afraid to make the cut? And what is the fear you’re fighting? If you can identify it, you can move forward faster.

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you need help untangling this; just reply to this email.

Personally, Vin and I have made several “cuts” in the last few weeks as the Lord has brought clarity and certainty to us about a shift we’ve been sensing. We’ve arranged meetings and asked for advice and counsel. We’ve said things out loud that surprised us. And it’s all been good – don’t panic, I’m not getting ready to drop a scandalous announcement – but it has also pressed us (at least, me) into a new level of bold surrender.

Are you ready for a soft announcement?

We’re moving toward full-time ministry, which means we are also moving into being fully donor-supported. Still writing, still sharing, but with less paywalls and prices. Less business, more availability for the needs God is putting right in front of us…whether they are local or in our inbox.

We are using it all, our whole life, to help people live out Kingdom culture, deep and wide.

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 4:11-13

As a result, we’re even more focused on wholeness and healing, and we’re asking for monthly partnerships to help us do the work of expanding Kingdom culture, so we can still do other exciting things like pay the mortgage and buy groceries.

Many of you already support us through monthly or yearly subscriptions, and we’re so grateful for you. If you’d like to increase that giving or become a monthly supporter, you can mail donations to our address below, or donate through Buy Me A Coffee or Zelle (our email there is contact@vinceguerra.com). We’re still fleshing this out and will have more info to share soon….thanks so much for helping us make this cut.

To anticipate one question: We are not (and won’t be) a non-profit, and we will continue saying whatever God leads us to, whether the government or other entities like it or not.

As for the duvet, I’m just handstitching it. Forget Pinterest. :)

Praying for you,

Shannon
P.O. Box 298086
Wasilla, AK 99629

P.S. This was a fabulous little message about overthinking.

P.P.S. Grit is going to be available in paperback next month! You can pre-order it here and they’ll ship on August 19th.

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.

undo, redo: the answer is repentance

Posted on by April 23, 2025

My old crossword puzzle book is a magnificent doorstopper with over 200 puzzles in it. I’ve taken it up again, and whether they want to or not, my family inevitably gets roped into helping me with it.

“What’s fish-eating bird that starts with E, only four letters?”

“Kingfisher!” our youngest hollers.

“Four letters, starts with E,” I repeat.

“Eagle!” says a kid who shall remain nameless.

“Four letters…”

“Emu!”

“Four! Letters!”

“Oh…how do you spell emu?”

Headdesk, headdesk. Are they even listening?

Sort of. They are doing what I do, what you do, what we all do: Taking the little bit we know and running with it, rather than attending to the full picture.

undo, redo: the answer is repentance | Shannon Guerra at Copperlight Wood

I do this when I think I have the right answer to a crossword clue based on only one letter. Dateless, four letters, starts with S? SOLO, easy. It works perfectly with the S but not so much for the other letters, and after a while I peek in the back (don’t tell) and realize the correct answer is supposed to be STAG.

Duh, of course. Erase, erase, erase, brush the rubbings away, write the correct answer, try again.

Next clue! Crescent-shaped – six letters, the second one is a U.

If you, like me, thought it should be CURVED…you, like me, would also be wrong. Sigh.

None of the other letters worked with their corresponding clues, so I stole another peek in the back (that answers section really is quite handy), and found the correct answer is LUNATE. (What?! So fancy.)

I think the lesson here (other than that I need to expand my vocabulary) is that when I am faced with a problem, my first response isn’t necessarily the right one. Sometimes it is good – sometimes I remember to pray, to trust, to worship. But other times, my first response is to rifle through the cabinet and eat a handful of chocolate chips.

The real answer, of course, is about abiding and proximity. I know that one. Knowing and doing aren’t always the same thing, though, which is why we’re also talking a lot lately about going back, undoing, and redoing – or maybe what we really mean is repentance.

Let’s go back a little farther than that, though. Repentance comes later, after something has gone amiss.

We usually talk about sins in a big, broad, generic way, but the Bible often specifies between ways of, shall we say, blowing it. Like so, real brief:

  • Sins: These are basic mistakes. Whoops, I tried but I messed up, I’m sorry. You probably know that it literally means “miss the mark,” which means we aimed and intended to do the right thing, but got it wrong. SOLO looked like the right answer, but it was actually STAG. Drat.
  • Iniquities: This goes back to the root word avon, meaning “distortion or bent.” It’s more like a learned misbehavior, often (but not always) generational. They can be defense mechanisms, wrong beliefs we grew up with, or bad habits and coping skills (see also chocolate chips). It is a perversion or distortion of what is otherwise right. CURVED seemed like the obvious answer, and I’ve never even used the word LUNATE in a sentence until now.
  • Transgressions: This is outright wrongdoing and rebellion – and ironically, it’s what we usually mean when we use the word “sin.” This is when we know the right thing but refuse to do it, or we know something is wrong but we do it anyway. The intention itself is willful disobedience. Who cares what the clues and corresponding letters are? I’m going to write GFYXRT in the boxes because I want to, so there.

Wasn’t that fun? So now we know there are several ways to get the wrong answer in life…and that explains a lot.

But here’s some good news:

He does not deal with us according to our sins
nor repay us according to our iniquities.

For as the heavens are high above the earth,
so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far he removes our transgressions from us.

– Psalm 103:10

You’ll notice, of course, there’s a stipulation here: This is about those who fear Him. Not just anyone. It’s for those who look to Him in obedience and abiding, for those who trust and surrender, for those who repent and go back to undo and redo. Without abiding and surrender, we miss who God really is and we fall for Churchianity that is generally either harsher or fluffier than a genuine relationship with Jesus.

Because He deals with us differently depending on whether or not we find our answers in Him:

I dealt with them according to their uncleanness and their transgressions and hid my face from them.

– Ezekiel 39:24

But then there’s this interesting contrast:

Once God has spoken;
twice have I heard this:
that power belongs to God,
and steadfast love belongs to you, O Lord.
For you repay to all
according to their work.

– Psalm 62:11-12

Okay, to sum up: He removes the sins, iniquities, and transgressions of those who fear Him — and this requires our repentance and surrender. But He deals with (unrepentant) transgressors according to what they’ve done. And He repays all according to their work.

Huh. How do we reconcile all that together?

To the Hebrew!

Maaseh: Work, deed, act, labor, product, accomplishment. Meaning: an action, a transaction, activity, a product, property.

Did you notice the word “transaction?” I think this is our clue. Something is given in exchange for something else. We repent, we get forgiveness…and so much more.

Could it be that at least part of the work He pays us according to is repentance? Because this is the turning that keeps our eyes on Him. This is the surrender that admits we don’t know what we’re doing and we need His answers. This is the humility that confesses we get it wrong on our own.

Repentance – undoing, and redoing – is hard work. It requires attending to things we’d rather not deal with.

When I started this afghan a few years ago, I didn’t know what I was doing. There was no pattern in mind, just a basic seed stitch and stripes to keep my hands busy. But as I went, I loved what it became more and more. And as I loved it more, I liked the beginning less. It didn’t fit the rest of the pattern, I didn’t like the sequence of colors, I hated looking at it. In iniquity this blanket was conceived…and when we know better, we do better.

But do you have any idea how much work it is to un-knit 250 stitches to create a new edge? So much work. Tedious, annoying, repetitive, and you can’t read a book while doing it because your eyes have to be on it the whole time lest you drop a stitch and revive the phrase “swears like a knitter.”

It had to be done, though.

After deciding which row should be the new edge and where the old stuff should be removed, I wove another cable needle into the new “first” row, and un-knit all those stitches, pulling the old yarn through each individual stitch in increasingly long lengths, casting it across the couch over and over and over, and pulling it through the old loops and stitches all over again. You can’t just rip it out knitting; you have undo it a stitch at a time or else the loose (“live”) stitches will run like a gigantic hole in pantyhose.

It takes about four times as long as the original process, and yes, it is as miserable as it seems. It took me two weeks to undo it all.

But now the new edge matches the rest of the pattern…and I’m happy with it, now that I know what I’m doing. I don’t mind looking at it anymore – in fact, I love it.

If we are avoiding looking at something, it might mean we need to attend to it all the more and do some repenting. That area we’d rather not deal with is probably the one that most needs undoing and redoing…or at the very least, a little more maintenance.

Untangling, realigning, reordering. Life is messy and repentance is a lifestyle, not a checked off event.

But the redoing comes with great rewards, because since He repays us according to our repentance, we can ask for bold things:

My mouth is filled with your praise
and with your glory all day long.
Do not cast me off in the time of old age;
do not forsake me when my strength is spent.

O God, from my youth you have taught me,
and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds.
So even to old age and gray hairs,
O God, do not forsake me,
until I proclaim your might
to all the generations to come.

– Psalm 71:8-9, 17-18

And here we start to see some of the reward of stewarding our days, attending rightly, learning better and doing better. We realize what we missed, and we pick up on what we were oblivious to before.

We draw better boundaries, we go from glory to glory. Whatever happened in the past, we’ve moved forward from. And when we’ve done that, we have stewarded our days with glory, filling them with praise.

P.S. That fish eating bird, four letters, starts with an E? ERNE. Who knew? (Not me.)