Category Archives: homeschooling

if you need a break: a kindling post

Posted on by June 13, 2023

I had a dream once where I was speaking to an adoptive mom. I asked about her story and how she was doing, and she tried a few times to speak but finally she just cried.

And I looked at her and said, “You probably need a break.”

if you need a break: a kindling post

It is a word for so many of us. You’ve been going and going, pushing through pain and discouragement and impossible situations, and you are so weary you don’t even have words for it.

You probably need a break, too.

And you might be like, Duh, of course I need a break. If I knew how to take a break I would do it. But do you know my life? There’s no break, no slowing down. No reprieve, no respite, no money, no vacation time.

I get it. Believe me. The need to take a break can feel like one more burden, one more impossible task that you’re failing at and unable to accomplish.

So, here’s the word: The break we need isn’t ours to achieve or figure out. It’s His to do for us.

I am learning that our role in the break — our breaking — is the surrender of the belief that we can and should be able to do everything. I have ran into the wall so many times, feeling like a failure over things I was never supposed to do or control or be responsible for in the first place.

Other people’s choices. The sale of our books. Our kids’ behavior. How people see me. So many things.

Here’s what He’s telling me over and over:

Obedience is doing what He’s told me to do. Surrender is trusting Him with what only He can do.

And it is a breaking of my pride and sense of accomplishment. It’s a good breaking, though.

So maybe you need that kind of a break. Some respite or a vacation would be a good break, too — but that is also His job, and we can surrender to it.

I’ve told you this before: The yarn does nothing on its own. It has to yield to the hands of a maker.

But I’ve been wrestling and relearning and going deeper with this lately: We abide, but He does the work. We seek the Kingdom, but He does the work. We obey in what He calls us to, but He does the work.

But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.

— Matthew 6:33

It’s all Him — but also, it’s us…but it’s Him!…but it’s also us.

Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.

— John 15:4-5

We connect with Him, and we bear fruit, but only because of the Vine. All glory and honor go to Him, but He lets us not only “seek for glory and honor and immortality” but He also lets us have them when we carry the light yoke and yield to His work in and through us.

“Worthy are you, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created.”

— Revelation 4:11

He will render to each one according to his works: to those who by patience in well-doing seek for glory and honor and immortality, he will give eternal life; but for those who are self-seeking and do not obey the truth, but obey unrighteousness, there will be wrath and fury. There will be tribulation and distress for every human being who does evil, the Jew first and also the Greek, but glory and honor and peace for everyone who does good, the Jew first and also the Greek.

— Romans 2:6-10

It’s us but Him but us, with Him.

All mine are yours, and yours are mine, and I am glorified in them. And I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, keep them in your name, which you have given me, that they may be one, even as we are one.

— John 17:10-11

Jesus, free us from fear and anxiety as we walk in the tension of doing and trusting, seeking and surrendering. Protect us from worries, feelings of not-enough, rejection, trauma, insecurities, compulsions or tics, shame, regret, unforgiveness of ourselves or anyone else. All those things go now, in Jesus’ name, and do not come back.

Help us do the work to keep those things gone. You do the work, but help us maintain it by keeping our “temple” clean and inhospitable to the enemy’s attacks. We choose forgiveness. We renew our mind and read the Word. We examine our thoughts and reject those that don’t line up with truth, instead of letting anything and everything that flies into our mind take root.

We pray for Your peace and freedom tonight in waves, for more encouragement than we thought we could experience in areas we’ve been struggling in. We pray for that peace and encouragement and hope in a way that feels solid, steady, growing, something we can grasp onto and not let go of.

Give us all the holy stubbornness we need to be steadfast in the mission You’ve called us to.

Now may the God of peace who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep, by the blood of the eternal covenant, equip you with everything good that you may do his will, working in us that which is pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.

— Hebrews 13:20-21

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groundwork: when spring seems a long time coming

Posted on by April 28, 2023

It is fully spring: the air is warm, the geese are back, and we put away all the snow gear and broke out the flip flops. Yep, it’s totally spring out there, except…no leaves yet. Not a sprig of new green anywhere. Everything’s still brown, but at least that means the snow has fully, finally receded.

Inside, almost eighty quail eggs are in the incubator in our bathroom, humming along in their little racks, waiting until hatch day in a couple weeks. And in this short, brown space between snow and summer, we’re strategizing fencing and gardening spaces outside: Do we fence the garden, or do we fence the chickens?

groundwork: when spring seems a long time coming -- Shannon Guerra

We had decided on the chickens, giving them a couple of paddock spaces to alternate between so they only destroy half the woods at a time while the other half recovers. But then we had a visitor this morning and now we’re rethinking the garden, because Peter Rabbit is back.

Grrrr. I wonder if we can just fence him…and find him a wife.

But there are other spring things, too. The boys and I planted a bunch of sunflowers and veggies in starter trays, and I’m inquiring about blue, green, and dark brown fertilized eggs so we can hatch those once the quail are done (because, #chickengoals). So yes, it is brown outside but we know other colors are coming, and we’re doing what we can to help them emerge.

Isn’t this what we do? I don’t see progress yet so give me something to do to hurry it along. Waiting is the worst. W-U-R-S-T, worst. We’re waiting for healing or income or favor or direction, and the watched pot is not boiling, the leaves are not unfurling. This season is too long, taking forever, and we have things we want to get to.

Speaking of wanting to see progress in seemingly fruitless endeavors, I’m cleaning off the counter – Legos, Sunday school artwork, the toaster, a bunch of pens and colored pencils. Some headphones. I go round and round this island finding more things that don’t belong here, putting some of them in their right places but most of them in a pile for the boys to put away because it’s all their stuff. SO MANY LEGOS. And books, and magazines, and miscellaneous treasures.

I wipe down the counter. I sit on the couch and finish my coffee. I turn back around to admire the clean kitchen island, and behold, from out of nowhere, a Lego speeder has landed on it.

How did that get there? I have no idea. Why did I bother cleaning in the first place?

What is the point? Are we making any progress, or getting anywhere?

It’s odd because we spend all summer and fall preparing for winter – storing supplies, gathering the harvest, making sure we have the essentials for a storm – but then we spend all winter dreaming of spring, and spring has to be prepared for, too. It’s this circle of learning and growing and failing and achieving, and then starting over again.

But we’re not starting all over, back at the beginning, because each time the cycle restarts, our soil is richer. We remember the things we tried last year, and how they fared (or flopped) and those considerations get added in like so much compost.

And that’s good to keep in mind because this afternoon I’m reading to the kids and this is our…(hold on, doing the math…) nineteenth year of homeschool (WHAT) and I’ve been scouring our library again for good books for 3rd and 4th grade. The books aren’t hard to find; we have a houseful of them. The problem is that I have been teaching 3rd and 4th grade to one kiddo for about that many years straight and it doesn’t feel like we’re getting anywhere. We have a similar problem with another kid who’s in her fourth year of second grade math. How many easy readers of great quality can you find, and assign over and over and over, until we’re ready for the next level? How many different second grade workbooks can we go through before the concepts finally stick enough to move on to the next grade? The answer is as long as a piece of string.

I have these two little boys though, and there’s freshness here because all the favorite old stories their siblings have read to tatters over the last nineteen years are new to them: Little House, the McGuffey readers, Paddington Bear. Finn sits next to me reading aloud as I stitch granny squares, and we go round and round and round as he strings the words together.

I have been through this book five times already and I know these stories. For almost two decades they’ve been the same words, but the kids reading them are different and I am different, too, sitting here listening to them. I just keep stitching these squares, and they are also the same thing over and over, just variations in color. The stack of squares is slowly accumulating.

We blame kids for constantly asking “Are we there yet?” but really, this is one of the mantras of adulthood. Are we making any progress when it feels like everything is still brown and bare? Are we doing this right?

Later it’s Reagan’s turn, and I wait for her to read her verse aloud. Her pauses take forever between words because she approaches each one as though it’s brand new, never been seen before, practically in a different language. And it might as well be, even though she’s been through this book twice now. There’s nothing else I can do while she’s plodding through it, because if I turn my attention away, she’s even slower.

Seconds between words. Loooong strings of seconds in this long, long verse that she’s not even halfway through. I hear the boys upstairs playing in their room, and wonder what they’re doing.

Pray for her while you wait, God says. You’re an intercessor, remember? This is what you do.

I have been praying for her for eleven years. I have prayed in circles, round and round, a lot of the same things but with slight variation. I know we’re getting somewhere, I’m just not sure where it is. It reminds me of the citrus trees in my office that I’ve been told may never bear fruit – they’re taller and taller every year, but still, no buds or blooming. I grabbed the shears yesterday and pruned them anyway, believing for the impossible and working toward it. And one of these days, maybe I’ll have lemons or limes to show you.

But sometimes the timing and progress of things starts to mess with our identity, tweaking our attention in the wrong directions. When that happens, our perspective gets out of whack as we think the slowness means things it doesn’t: I’m a bad gardener, I don’t know what I’m doing, I can’t win for losing.

We think we know who we are, but we don’t understand what God is doing with us or why He’s allowing certain events or what the delay is all about.

I am a mom. A special needs mom, a homeschooling mom, a mom of many. When the kids are doing well, I think I’m doing well. When the tomatoes and lettuce are growing, I think I’m a pretty good gardener. But when the spinach bolts or the rabbit cleans out the broccoli or a kid makes lousy choices, I’m back to looking at bare earth, and chewed branches, and I wonder when fruit is coming. I wonder if I am being the me I’m supposed to be.

So what’s going on when things still feel the same, like we’re thrown right back to the beginning?

The Lord is saying, Stop looking at the branches and the dirt, Love. Look at Me. Eyes on Me.

I am the vine, you are the branches; the one who remains in Me, and I in him bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.

– John 15:5

So many times I have looked in the wrong direction and put my identity and value in outcomes and output, rather than remembering that I am a vessel the Spirit flows through. When I look toward where I expect fruit to be, I kink the flow. But when I look at Him, I am a conduit He surges through, irrigating infinite gardens yet unseen.

A wise friend explained it this way:

“…my heart needs to expand and firm up to carry more of God’s goodness to others…[but] He’s just pouring water through the channel and every day my heart is subtly increasing in capacity to care in ways I never imagined.”

– Katie

When we’re abiding and surrendered, here’s what the slowness really means: While we are waiting and preparing, He is preparing us. We are becoming more able, more equipped, more filled.

But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.

— 1 Peter 1:9

Our reach is deeper and wider. We’re not just stitching in rounds, but in fractals. He is doing the work in us for expansion.

We do not make blankets, we make stitches…but the stitches make blankets, when you stick it out long enough. We look ahead to harvests, and different colors of eggs, and hutches full of quail. All these things, still unseen.

Now faith is the certainty of things hoped for, a proof of things not seen….And without faith it is impossible to please Him, for the one who comes to God must believe that He exists, and that He proves to be One who rewards those who seek Him.

– Hebrews 11:1, 6

We prepare for warmth in winter by making granny squares in spring. And in all of our preparing, He is preparing us.

We know what’s coming. The testimony of every year declares itself when spring unfurls, leaves bursting out everywhere, and we see how He’s shown up and brought victory.

Are we there yet? No, maybe not. But He hasn’t left us going around in circles on a flat plane. We are going in spirals, upward.

first things, part two: how the Word fills the pantry of our soul

Posted on by February 22, 2023

We were in the middle of a windstorm that was supposed to continue all day, gusts up to 75 miles an hour. At our house on a hill they sometimes feel higher, and during that storm it wasn’t safe to walk across the yard.

I listened to the noise and could occasionally hear movement outside that was not wind, but things carried by the wind, like branches hitting the house. Snow coming loose and flying everywhere. Maybe trees falling.

first things, part two: how the Word fills the pantry of our soul

We were safe inside. We did the things we knew to do: secured everything outside, filled containers with water, charged all the things. And we’re always stocked up on the essentials. I learned years ago that I get a little edgy when we’re out of potatoes, and Vin is the same way with tortillas. Irish and Mexican, y’all.

Emotionally, in a storm, it’s our thoughts that get lifted up and blown everywhere. They fly through filled with debris and we feel the assault of worry and accusation and anger and fear. We know Jesus, we are filled with the Holy Spirit, we have charged ourselves with prayer and the Word, but the wind is blowing up against us and we can barely hear what’s true in the midst of the noise.

What do we do? We can go into our inner room.

One of our boys was reading about tornadoes this week and he was astounded at how sometimes the only thing left of a house after the storm passes is an inner closet or bathroom. Everything outside was gone, but those inner walls had been sheltered and stronger than the rest.

In these stormy seasons, we can build walls of scripture and promises around us, around our families and communities. We insulate with decrees and declarations that agree with God, barring the enemy from admittance. We intercede for those who the Holy Spirit brings to mind, and fill the cracks and crevices in their walls. We can keep the wind out, bar the lies and confusion from coming in. And also…we can command the wind to cease. If He did it, we can, too.

And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.

— Mark 4:39

“Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father.

— John 14:12

We know the Word, and we memorize the Word, and it fills the pantry of our soul. Each verse is tucked in like a jar on the shelf – light and color shining through, storing up abundance for the days to come.

My son, if you receive my words and treasure up my commandments with you,

making your ear attentive to wisdom and inclining your heart to understanding;

yes, if you call out for insight and raise your voice for understanding,

if you seek it like silver and search for it as for hidden treasures,

then you will understand the fear of the Lord and find the knowledge of God.

– Proverbs 2:1-5

This pantry is different though because when you consume it, it grows instead of getting depleted. Each verse is saved, not borrowed, never needs returning, and never runs out or goes empty. It expands the storehouse within.

Several years ago I was filling the pantry of my soul with my own copywork – because Mommy does school around here, too – and wrote passages of scripture in a notebook Iree had made for me. I stopped when it became too painful; I had postpartum eczema on my hand for years and it changed a lot of routines and things, including my handwriting. But it’s better now and I dug out the old notebook. No more excuses, I want the right walls to be stronger. I want the pantry of my soul to be filled.

…put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.

— Ephesians 4:22-24

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.

— Romans 12:2

Sometimes it’s hard because so much of what we are accomplishing is invisible. It’s like we’re creating oxygen, and, well, oxygen is nice – you can’t live without it, of course – but we don’t think about breathing unless something goes wrong with the process of doing it. We don’t want to make oxygen; we want to make something with color and substance to it. So it helps for me to see these verses in my mind as I write them and read them and push through in memorizing them. I don’t like the process and repetition of memorizing, but as I do it I see in my mind jars filling with goodness in all sorts of colors.

For the Lord gives wisdom;

from his mouth come knowledge and understanding;

he stores up sound wisdom for the upright;

he is a shield to those who walk in integrity,

guarding the paths of justice

and watching over the way of his saints.

– Proverbs 2:6-8

I’ve tried a few different things lately – sticky notes on the bathroom mirror, recording short sections of scripture repeated several times in voice memos to listen to. I’m learning to ignore the enemy’s attack of boredom or annoyance with the repetition. Sometimes I share it online and encourage you guys to push play. We get the Word in, and get the junk out.

We push through and know that it is changing us. It is storing up mercy. We are filling the pantry of our soul. The Word is milk to those who are babes in Christ but meat to those who are grown, and we all need to eat.

Oh, how abundant is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you and worked for those who take refuge in you, in the sight of the children of mankind!

– Psalm 31:19

I know it’s hard; there are boring sections about the census in Numbers 26 and descriptions of temples in Ezekiel and all those laws in Leviticus. But as I’m reading, the Lord reminds me that washing my face is boring, brushing my teeth is boring, writing the date at the top of a new entry in my journal is boring. But they’re necessary things. We don’t spend all day brushing our teeth, and we don’t fill the entire page by writing the date over and over. But those things have a purpose, in their own time and place. We read the Word and linger where He tells us.

Routines are good because they help us stay on track, but there will always be some days when routines go out the window. Sometimes on major holidays I barely read my Bible. I’ll start to, but get interrupted a few times, then the time gets away from me and food has to be cooked or we’re running out the door.

But I can run back to it. I can run back to the Lord and turn my attention to Him without shame or hesitation because He’s been here with me all along — He knows how the day has gone and He watched over us as it unfolded. Not finishing my planned reading doesn’t put me on the bad list for the day.

Do you need to hear that right now? Because it seems like someone does.

So, here: God is not watching for our perfection and performance. He is watching over our hearts.

On those days when there’s no quiet place to hear the words in my head as I try to read them, I could’ve yelled at my kids so I could read the Bible without interruption. And honestly, I have. Been there, done that, gotten the dummy award for it. It’s about as spiritual as my kids arguing about who’s turn it is to pray over the meal.

Sometimes we miss the forest for the trees. We try to read the Word without paying attention to what it already told us. We try to smile for the camera to make a happy memory when everyone is frustrated or angry and no one wants to record that particular moment.

We want something to look at in the future — a cute photo, a finished task — but all along, God is saying to us, Hey, Love. Look at Me.

So we do, and the other stuff falls into its rightful proportion.

The to-do list becomes less, He becomes more. And we become more right along with Him, because that is how He grows us.

He who walks righteously and speaks uprightly,

who despises the gain of oppressions,

who shakes his hands, lest they hold a bribe,

who stops his ears from hearing of bloodshed

and shuts his eyes from looking on evil,

he will dwell on the heights;

his place of defense will be the fortresses of rocks;

his bread will be given him; his water will be sure.

– Isaiah 33:15-16

The shelter becomes stronger and the storm gets quieter. The Word is living and active: when we speak it we are releasing living things, unleashing life in areas where death has tried to intrude. We speak the Word and hold the darkness at bay; we make way for those who need shelter so they can get to the door in time. The Word widens our tent pegs, expands the walls, and makes room for everyone running up the path.

Then you will understand righteousness and justice and equity, every good path;

for wisdom will come into your heart, and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul;

discretion will watch over you, understanding will guard you,

delivering you from the way of evil, from men of perverted speech,

who forsake the paths of uprightness to walk in the ways of darkness,

who rejoice in doing evil and delight in the perverseness of evil,

men whose paths are crooked, and who are devious in their ways.

– Proverbs 2:9-15

I don’t understand how Jesus makes all these wrong things right; I only know that He brings righteousness out of them. His word says so and it is the verse I will never forget: It is the signpost over our door, and the lantern we hold out to others. We obey, we water, we plant, we prune, and He fills the pantry of our soul because those who are faithful in little will be faithful in much, and He has a storehouse to feed multitudes.