Category Archives: grief

trying too hard: the difference between giving up & surrender

Posted on by September 17, 2025

It’s fall, so if you come to our house in the next few weeks, I’m warning you, there will be quail in the main bathroom again. But they don’t stare or gawk, and you can pretty much do your business in peace.

Our last hatch of the year was at the end of August and for the first time, we had to help a few of the quail out of their shells. And if you know about hatching chicks of any kind, you know you’re not supposed to do that.

trying too hard: the difference between giving up & surrender | Shannon Guerra at Copperlight Wood

Three of them were stuck, though. They had done most of the work themselves already, but the incubator’s humidity was off and it had been too long; they were going to die anyway. Their shells were just too dry and wouldn’t crack the rest of the way open…so I helped. One at a time, I took their warm eggs from the incubator and held them in my hand. With fear and trembling, I slid the tine of a fork into the widened crack, widened it a little more, and popped them back in the incubator.

They made it, but two out of the three really struggled – and we did, too. Their toes would not straighten out, so we painstakingly splinted them with bandaids. They had splayed legs (common even in otherwise healthy chicks) so we popped them in small jars for teacup therapy. We tried every trick we knew, and learned a few more from the internet.

By day two, one of the chicks was better but it was clear that the other one’s leg had stiffened wrong and it was still walking on curled toes. It seemed happy enough for the time being, even though it struggled to get around like the other chicks who were zipping all over the place.

How do you put something out of its misery when it doesn’t seem miserable yet? Do you wait for the misery to come, or do you keep praying for a miracle? There are much bigger livestock to apply this too, and I’m grateful we only deal with poultry.

The other chick seemed fine until day three, when it somehow got caught under the food dish and twisted itself all up. It could only spin in circles, could not get right side up again, and was obviously miserable. We couldn’t wait long after prayer for a miracle, so off that one went, too.

And here’s what I kept wrestling with that seemed to vocalize so many other struggles: Do we keep praying and trying, or do we give up?

At what point do we know we’ve really given it all we’ve got?

And, are we really giving up at that point, or are we surrendering?

Which brings me to one of our annual meetings for Reagan, our adoptive daughter. She is nineteen, with many special needs, and she can be finished with school, or she can have up to two more years. It gives us some structure for her life, so we’ve taken it a year at a time, and decided to keep going for now.

But that means we also have to decide what to do about math.

Math has always been so hard. Not just in the normal sense because math is hard for some kids, but haaard because she doesn’t have any comprehension of so many concepts. Money, spatial relations, telling time, they all mean nothing to her. Even simple addition and subtraction is a fight, and whatever aspect we don’t do all the time, she forgets.

So the spiral method of learning – when you cycle through various concepts and eventually revisit them to review before moving on – has never really worked for her. By the time the same concept comes around, she has to learn it all over again. And often, she doesn’t want to. So it’s a battle, and after 13 years it feels like one that’s very much not worth fighting anymore.

She has struggled, and we have, too. We’ve tried all the tricks. We keep explaining, we keep praying for a miracle.

And aside from math, she’s happy. She doesn’t care what grade she’s in or that her siblings can zip all over the place around her.

Like I said a minute ago: Do we keep trying, or do we give up? At what point do we know we’ve really given it all we’ve got?

But also: After 13 years, is it really giving up? Or is it surrendering, so we can move on to other things? Because the line between those feels super blurry.

Sitting across from our contact teacher, I finally ask, “Does she have to do math? I mean, it’s been thirteen years. She’s been in first grade workbooks for the last eight or nine of them, and cannot get through them. Can we just be done?”

Exasperation and tears. It feels so much like failure. All this time, and we could not get her farther than this.

But on the other side of the desk, our teacher nods.

“Yeah, you can be done.” More tears. Because as much as it feels like failure and finality, it also feels like relief.

What is the difference between surrender and giving up? I’m still sorting this out, but I think a big part of it has to do with control. I don’t mean controlling others, or even self control, but how much control we actually have over an outcome. Because sometimes (often) we take an unhealthy amount of responsibility onto ourselves for those outcomes.

We influence, yes, but we don’t cause other people (and certain situations) to change. We pray, we love, we act…but people make their own choices, they decide their own character. And when we’re working harder than they are for a better outcome, that’s a good time to surrender it.

Many sincere, dedicated believers struggle with tremendous confusion about when it is biblically appropriate to set limits.

– Cloud and Townsend, Boundaries

We invest affection, love, time, prayer, creativity, and effort into these situations. And when it all comes to nothing – or at least, seems like nothing, in the long run – it all feels wasted.

For the ignored friend, the parent of the prodigal, or the spouse who is neglected, abandoned, or abused – at what point do we quit trying so hard, quit striving for the change that someone else can only choose for themselves? We never stop praying, but when do we stop reaching out, trying so hard, waiting for the other person to mature and grow?

Powerful people do not try to control other people. They know it doesn’t work, and that it’s not their job. Their job is to control themselves….A powerful person’s choice to love will stand, no matter what the other person does or says.

– Danny Silk, Keep Your Love On

We can’t just wait for them to change. Sometimes we use waiting as an excuse to not make changes of our own, but we have to be responsible for the changes we should make, and responsive to the things the Lord is telling us to do.

With fear and trembling, sometimes we hold these situations like dry, not-quite-hatched eggs, and we carefully try to help them open. And sometimes it works. But also, sometimes it doesn’t. After we have obeyed, the outcome isn’t up to us.

Hear me, friend: God does not hold us hostage for miracles. He does not need us to strive for them.

And on the other end of things, He does not depend on our steadfast maintenance of the status quo to buy Him time, either.

Circumstances are one thing, but relationships are even stickier. What do we do when someone we love repeatedly shows how little they care, or they seem to thrive in creating chaos, or they indulge their immaturity by hurting you in passive aggressive ways? It’s hard to just move on and go about the daily tasks of life, to put on the mask and pretend things are fine, because that’s what this other person is doing and you know how wrong it is.

Some relationships we just have to let go of. Many friendships are for certain seasons and then they fade away. But certain relationships – like family members, or people you have some kind of ongoing work, ministry, or community partnership with – don’t just fade away. Somehow in these situations, we have to figure out how to love steadfastly, in the way that covers the multitude of sins, because of their proximity.

This kind of love brings us to endurance. We can’t change the other person, and we often can’t change our circumstances or proximity. So we do have to stick it out, and that can feel a lot like failure, giving up, and lowering our standards. This is so far beneath what I wanted this situation to look like. Ugh.

So we pull out all the tricks we know for this, too. We pray. We forgive. We set boundaries. And sometimes we wonder why we have to settle for so much less than what God surely intended for this situation.

It is hard to forgive and even want to keep trying when they use that proximity to make a show of how much more they care for others than you, and they make sure you see it. It is hard to overlook, to keep showing grace, to keep your cool inside your own boundaries. And boundaries, for the record, are limits placed out of love and protection. They are not a cloak for rudeness couched in a desire to avoid responsibility.

As we surrender the outcomes that are out of our control, are we really settling for less? Or is God training us for more?

Because His character hasn’t changed. His will for us and the other person has not changed.

Are we really lowering our standards? Or are we moving on so we can fight other battles – the ones we have a hand in winning?

One of the battles we continue to fight with (and for) Reagan is communication. She is verbal but most people can’t understand her because she slurs, blends words, skips words, and generally speaks in that toddler-like manner that only parents and siblings can decode.

So here’s where we stand our ground: Even when I understand what she’s saying, if it’s not clear, I usually have her repeat it correctly.

“Slow down and say each word so I can understand you,” I often tell her. There will come a day when she needs someone else to understand her, and if we let her get away with garble, she will regress further.

I sat next to her during worship at one of our community-wide gatherings a couple weeks ago, and prayed for the millionth time for healing in her. And because it has been a million times (but who’s counting) I also prayed for healing in my own heart over the hope deferred, the things I cannot change, the things I don’t know how to change, the loss of what seems like things should have been.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.

– Proverbs 13:12

I have wondered how sick my heart is, how skewed my perspective is from living so close for so long and not seeing certain answers. I have fought the battle of faith against futility, seen the shimmer of horizon through closed eyes in prayer, and knew it wasn’t a vision, but tears.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.

Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near.

– Philippians 4:4-5

The fight is not about what I can change in her, but in what I am letting God change in me.

It is not about lowering my standards or expectations, but about seeing rightly the battles that I can and need to be fighting.

It is about seeing how other desires are fulfilled, and focusing on the tree of life.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.

And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

– Philippians 4:6-8

The leaves are falling outside and the season is going fast, racing toward the long winter. And we grieve over the loss of time, the speed of time, the lost opportunity of what could and should have been. In the storm and shadow of these deep struggles, our efforts can feel like such dim lights in such darkness. Our small influence, our private lives, our humble gifts, what can they do amid the raking waves in the present, violent tumult?

In that moment during worship as I looked down and watched my tears hit the hardwood floor, I knew with certainty that next to me Reagan was just giddy over the volume of the music. Delighted in the moment, flapping her hands, utterly apathetic about how I was even at that moment fighting for her.

Jesus, receive the reward of your suffering. We sang it that night, and we live it every day as we give it all we’ve got, and then surrender.

for the one who is tired & heartsick & wondering if things will get better

Posted on by August 28, 2025

Or, Grit…chapter 2.

Don’t stop praying for that thing you’re tempted to give up on.

The Lord doesn’t put good desires in your heart to tease you, but to show you where you’re going. Intercede for someone else while you wait, and use this time to bring life elsewhere, too.

Whoever brings blessing will be enriched, and one who waters will himself be watered.

— Proverbs 11:25

He’s not impatient or annoyed by you constantly asking Him if you’re doing it right. He’s not shaking His head and tsk-ing, wishing you’d get your act together and stop bugging Him. He’s a good, good Father. He loves your heart that continues to press forward in obedience and surrender, especially when you don’t know what it’s exactly supposed to look like or how things will turn out.

You can trust Him to tell you what you need to know when you ask. And you can trust Him to give you what you need when you ask, too.

For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion?

If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

— Luke 11:10-13

The Lord is still shining on your situation. It might seem like it’s taking too long and you’ve almost given up hoping and praying and watering and expecting, but your answer is on the cusp of blooming. Do not cut it down too early. Don’t give up on tending it. He is putting things in order, and answers, solutions, and breakthrough might start unfolding faster than you can believe.

Maybe you thought you would be further by now. You’ve been in bud for so long, just waiting and waiting, almost to the point you’ve wondered if you’re running out of time. What if there’s not enough summer left? What if winter comes too soon? And why does it even matter, if by all rights you should’ve been in full bloom eons ago, and here you still are, waiting?

Are you just bad at blooming? No.

Are you destined to stay folded up and hidden? No.

Is it God’s will for you to be unhappy, because He loves you very much and has a miserable plan for your life? No.

You are not too late. You’re not bad at this. God has joy ahead that would make you laugh at your concerns if you could see it right now.

It feels dark, frustrating, and unrewarding out there some days. You work and work and work and wait, and hope a little, and look…but nope, it’s not there yet, so you start all over again, still not seeing the fruit of your labors.

But something’s happening underneath. It really is. We’ll see it soon. Hang in there.

But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.

— 1 Corinthians 15:57-58

This is chapter 2 of Grit: Kindling to Relight the Wounded and Weary.

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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