Category Archives: fighting fear

risk it all: trading self-protection mode for bold freedom

Posted on by July 29, 2025

Change is risk, movement is risk. But staying still and not doing anything is also a risk. For some deceptive reason, it just doesn’t feel like it because it’s so passive.

Our family has been in a significant transition for a few months – or more accurately, years – but most of the recent change has actually been in our minds: how we view and communicate what we do. Most of the physical, active changes already happened; it just took us a while to realize it. It was gradual and unintentional, hiding in plain sight.

risk it all: trading self-protection mode for bold freedom || Shannon Guerra at Copperlight Wood

“What would it look like for you to shift toward full time ministry? What would change?” one of our pastors asked, sitting with his wife on the couch across from us.

“Well, this week,” I answered, “it looks like taking Thursday off to help one of our families paint before they move…and not feeling guilty about it because we won’t be at the desk.” That’s the biggie.

We, like you, are pulled in all kinds of directions, and we fight feeling like we should be in all the places at once. Simultaneously, some of us also fight the urge to hide in our blanket fort all day where it’s safe, because the world out there can be doodlywhack.

My child, do not let these escape from your sight: keep sound wisdom and prudence, and they will be life for your soul and adornment for your neck.

Then you will walk on your way securely, and your foot will not stumble.

– Proverbs 3:21-23

Anyway, that was the plan for Thursday, but then we learned another friend in our group was diagnosed with pneumonia. And it’s been nine years, but I remember what it was like to be a nursing mama with pneumonia through almost the entire summer of 2016, with the feeling of “I can’t even” pervading everything.

I was already making a meal for the painting crew and it was no big deal to make a little more, just as it was no big deal to just split up for the first part of the day and reconvene later.

So that was the New Revised Plan: I’d take the girls to drop off goodies, Vin would take the boys straight to our other friends’ house to help prep for painting. Two vehicles, two destinations, and the girls and I would be back to join them by early afternoon.

Buuut…you know where this is going, right?

Of course you do. If everything went according to plan, why would I be telling you this?

The local lighting store tried to warn us on the drive out:

It started fine, though. Our friend who had pneumonia lives on the other side of the valley, so we had a drive ahead of us: through Wasilla, through Palmer, up the highway toward Sutton. It was a beautiful day for it, though.

It did cross my mind that this was quite the expedition to make just to deliver a small meal and a few other supplies. Not cost effective, not time efficient. And we think to ourselves, Will it really matter, anyway? Do these efforts make a difference?

It is such a long way to go, what if something goes wrong? We so often decline to do the right thing because self-protection mode is our default…until we change it.

The wind was against them now, and Piglet’s ears streamed behind him like banners as he fought his way along…to listen, a little nervously, to the roar of the gale among the treetops.

“Supposing a tree fell down, Pooh, when we were underneath it?”

“Supposing it didn’t,” said Pooh after careful thought.

– A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner

Doing nothing is as much of a risk as doing something. And it was so clear when we found out our friend was sick that I was supposed to take her these things. To see her, to pray for her, to tell her what I knew, to deliver right to her home.

As we left our driveway, we prayed like always for a safe drive, no accidents, no injuries, a productive day, all the things.

All the things we thought of, at least.

I didn’t think to pray against car trouble. Or more specifically, to intercede for the car’s gas pedal. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

We arrived without incident. I delivered the package of goodies, prayed for my friend, patted the cute dog on the head, smiled at the kids. Restarted the car, turned around, went down the driveway, flicked on the right blinker. Turned back onto the highway.

Pressed the gas, and…twang, the pedal hit the floor under my foot. The car immediately decelerated, not even having reached 20 miles per hour.

I coasted into the grassy shoulder in front of the next driveway.

Assess the situation: Our car was stuck on the edge of the Glenn highway, fifty minutes from home, and I could not find the &*%$# switch for the hazard lights anywhere.

On the positive side, we hadn’t gotten far, and it was the gas pedal, not the brakes. There was no one right behind who had to swerve to miss us. It was only a two minute walk back to my friend’s house, and there was a paved path right behind our car, so we wouldn’t need to walk in the ditch or too close to the road.

So that was the New Revised Updated Plan: Grab our things, walk back to our friend’s house, call Vince, figure out what to do.

Let me interrupt here for a brief aside: Do you know that everything we do carries risk?

Sitting here and writing to you is a risk, an act of faith. I don’t know if these paragraphs will go anywhere. As I write them, I don’t know if they’ll come together into something coherent, or end up in the purgatory of my notes file. If it does come together, I don’t know who or how many the message will resonate with. I don’t know if people will misunderstand or find offense or leave nasty comments.

Every single time, I never know.

But the more I do it, the more I know that He moves through it in ways I can and can’t see. So I’m typing away here on this rabbit trail, trusting that it’s either going to be used to grow into an article, or to grow me.

And the same thing is true for whatever you are doing in quiet, steady obedience.

Everything we do is a risk. Everything we don’t do is also a risk. So we might as well be bold and free, and obey the Holy Spirit’s promptings.

Back at my friend’s house, I made and received about 58 phone calls and texts: To and from Vin, my dad, my cousin, AAA, and the towing company.

Do we need someone to come get us? Yes. But also, we need to be here when the car is towed. How long will that take? About two hours. Also, my name isn’t on the account, so can my husband be there when the tow truck driver arrives? No? Well, I should think about getting myself and my daughters an account, so the next time this happens I won’t have to deal with all of this. Right, well, since neither of them drive and I’m a little preoccupied at the moment I’m disinclined to fall for the marketing shtick right now but thanks so much anyway, buhbye.

So now we had a New Revised Updated And Expanded Plan: Wait for the tow truck, ride back with it to Wasilla, get picked up by Vin at the car shop, resume our originally scheduled plan, better late than never.

What did we do the whole time, besides send and receive 58 texts and phone calls? We smiled at the baby. Talked about pneumonia, and how to prevent cracked ribs from violent coughing. Talked about books, and woodstoves, and our families. And Reagan, who has always been afraid of anything on four feet, had some exposure therapy to one of the mellowest dogs ever.

Our self-protection mode keeps us back from so much. Obedience and freedom both require the same thing: Allowing our lives to overlap, rather than staying safe in our own bubble (or blanket fort) where we think bad things can’t happen, where people can’t touch us, and where we can’t accidentally hurt others.

Where we won’t get stranded far from home and have to rely on a friendly tow truck driver to fetch us, entertaining us all the way back with stories of his encounters with grizzlies while we gaze out on the beautiful day through a cracked windshield and wonder what we’ve been missing.

If protecting ourselves is our highest priority, everything else is a threat. Even simple observations might be seen as criticism, making us defensive when people try to talk to us – and they will learn that they can’t talk to us.

Do you remember when Peter denied Jesus three times? Why did he do that?

He was afraid, yeah. He was protecting himself. Three people asked if he knew Jesus, and he said no every time.

Here’s what one of my friends said about it:

I’ve often wondered if the three people were curious about the Gospel and what it was like to be with Jesus. I’ve often wondered if the people questioning Peter were genuinely interested in knowing Jesus. But Peter, in selfish fear, misinterpreted it and feared for himself instead…Peter made himself more important in that moment than he made Jesus.

And the point [Jesus] was making was, you deny me three times, and all they really wanted was a glimpse of what you and I have…

Peter’s response is so human…but we’re called to be more than mere men. How often do we back down in fleshly fear when God is trying to answer our prayers?

Man taught us to be afraid of what others think, but God teaches us to fear Him instead and only. And in doing so, we find freedom from all other fears.

If you sit down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet. Then you will not be afraid of sudden panic or of the storm that strikes the wicked, for the Lord will be your confidence and will keep your foot from being caught.

– Proverbs 3:24-26

Freedom feels irresponsible and reckless, but we are free to dream again, to move deeper and wider, to trust Him in all the plans – new, revised, updated, and otherwise. Because all is risk, but at the same time, if we are obeying, nothing is at risk. Nothing is wasted.

Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it.

– Proverbs 3:27

That night, home late from taping and painting, we put the kids to bed and collapsed on the couch. This text came in:

Thank you again (so much) for coming today and just walking me through the practical stuff of what to do to take care of myself. It might have felt simplistic but it meant so much.

The drive, and the distance, and the delay weren’t wasted; they were a divine appointment.

We tell Him no, we stay in our safe zones – but all they really want is a glimpse of what you and I have. We have to be willing to change and move to show them. If we’re not willing to do that, what do we have that’s worth showing, anyway?

At the end of the week, our pastor asked another question: What would it look like for us, for a community of believers, to really live out the gospel?

It would look more urgent, but less desperate, I said. Less insecure and striving, less self-protection mode, less worry about what others think and how we’re going to make ends meet. More wild and free, confident of His provision and protection, and a lot more fun.

Can we devote ourselves to a cause outside of our own comfort zone? When we rearrange our lifestyle to give Jesus room to move in us, to move us, He does. The world sees and notices, even as we wonder if it was worth the risk.

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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.

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