Category Archives: special needs

so close: how we cooperate with breakthrough

Posted on by August 10, 2023

I haven’t published a book in two years, but the one I’ve been working on for eleven years is about to release in a month or so. So this of course is not the best time for my computer to give me the blank stare of death.

But as I type this, it’s done that twice in a span 24 hours.

Did I have all my files backed up recently?

Oh, friends…I think we both already know the answer to that.

so close: how we cooperate with breakthrough

Fortunately Vince is a computer whiz (not by natural gifting or inclination, but because over the last five years I can’t tell you how many times technology has fritzed out on us) and he was able to restore the whole shebang the first time, which gave me the opportunity to frantically back up all my files. And since I have approximately the same number of files on my computer as my book has words (65,000, but who’s counting), that process took all evening and kept going through most of the night.

So when it crapped out again the next day, he was able to redo it all quickly and the only loss was all of my saved passwords and several hours of desk time. And even that wasn’t a total waste; in lieu of curling up in the fetal position in a corner of my bedroom and hyperventilating, I spent those hours trying not to throw up and instead busied myself with finding all the books I need to cite in my endnotes.

There have been quite a few days this month that have been not the best ones for sitting at the desk trying to write coherently, anyway. Those were days of Big Thoughts about Hard Situations, filled with distraction while I did tiny tasks: messages, emails, copying and pasting documents, busywork. And finally the short work shifts were over, and to my relief, it was time to switch with Vince and go to the kitchen or the yard. The manual tasks of washing eggs, taking care of chickens, and making shepherd’s pie are a much better use of time on these high pressure, overwhelming days.

Earlier this month we had a first-thing-in-the-morning visit to Urgent Care because little boys should not fight over opening the curtain in the morning (strike one) or stand in their windowsill (strike two) and they should definitely not shove each other while standing in said windowsill (strike three). So Kav broke his arm again – same arm, different spot, both bones but not nearly as bad as last time, praise God and pass the ibuprofen – and he is in another cast until early August.

I have been telling people that, in our defense, in 22 years of parenting we have had eight children and no broken bones until this kid. We almost had a perfect record. So close.

Or another example: One day Reagan finally did her math assignment for the first time in two weeks. She knows odds and evens, has sorted them out for years, and even if she forgets (because this is the brain on FAS), the guidelines are written at the top of her page: Even numbers end in 0, 2, 4, 6, and 8. Odd numbers end in 1, 3, 5, 7, and 9.

For two weeks she either ignored the guidelines or blatantly refused to do it, and instead of following the instructions to mark all even numbers with X’s, she randomly marked some or all of them every single day. She knew it was wrong; she knew she was disobeying.

Ironically, she also wants to move onto the next math level. She talks about starting her next book almost every day, and she knows she can’t get to it if she won’t finish the page she’s on, so close to the end of her current book.

And then one morning she finally did it: Perfect Xs on all the even numbers, and only the even numbers. Hallelujah. The next section was easy: Just add simple two-digit numbers. She knows this and usually flies through it. Just in case though, I checked to make sure she knew what to do. Then she went back to the table.

Two minutes later she brought me her book. She had not added anything. Instead, she went back to the odds and evens she had finally finished, crossed out all the odd numbers in addition to the evens she had finally done correctly, effectively undoing her work and thumbing her nose at me. In spite of what she says every day, the clear message was, No, I do not want to do school, I do not want to move on.

So when we are so close to victory and hit a delay, sometimes it’s attack, and sometimes it’s sabotage – we’re afraid of the change that we’ve been begging for, because we don’t really know what to expect from it.

And other times it’s neither. We’re just waiting, and it’s not always easy to tell the difference. We don’t want to fight against God’s timing and rebuke what we think is an attack if it’s really God causing a delay for our good. So we wrestle in this unknowing, and ask Him to take us back to the beginning.

This is where I was a couple weeks ago. I was praying and had no idea what to do about a situation, and I told the Lord that I needed Him to take me back to the very beginning. In desperation, I felt like I didn’t know how to pray, intercede, declare, bind, or assault the enemy; I had tried everything but nothing seemed to be working.

So I asked Him again, through tears and gritted teeth:

“God, show me how to pray. Show me how to declare. I need You to show me exactly what to do now because I don’t know what’s working. I feel like I’m aiming blindly and sometimes something sticks and sometimes it doesn’t, and I don’t know what makes the difference. So show me what to do – show me what works, and show me how to do it. I keep hitting all the buttons, and I don’t know what’s working, what’s not working, what’s canceling the others out. I just keep slamming all the freaking buttons. Show me the right one to push, and I will do it.”

When I was done venting and seething, the Holy Spirit quietly said, Everything works.

I sat there stunned, wondering if I’d heard correctly. What?! What do You mean, everything works?

He answered, You want to know how severe the onslaught has been against you? It’s because everything you’ve been doing in obedience and faith works – and that’s how much opposition you’ve been dealing with, because everything you’ve been doing has been working.

You’ve just been encountering that much attack because that’s how terrified the enemy is of your victory.

And suddenly I was eager to intercede, to fight, to get back in the battle. The enemy had me convinced it wasn’t working and I fell for it. I hadn’t been pushing as hard, which made his job that much easier. But since that revelation, there’s been momentum in prayer and intercession and declaration and in coming against the enemy and binding his attacks because I know it all works.

Trusting even when it appears you have been forsaken; praying when it seems your words are simply entering a vast expanse where no one hears and no voice answers; believing that God’s love is complete and that He is aware of your circumstances, even when your world seems to grind on as if setting its own direction and not caring for life or moving one inch in response to your petitions; desiring only what God’s hands have planned for you; waiting patiently while seemingly starving to death, with your only fear being that your faith might fail – “this is the victory that has overcome the world;” this is genuine faith indeed.

– George MacDonald

Superimposed over all this in what can only be explained by divine coordination, are various out-of-nowhere confirmations and encouragements from friends, readers, and strangers: a text with a timely word, dinner ordered for us from out of state, and messages from people telling us what they see in our family, work, and ministry that we don’t see ourselves because it’s all just too close to see clearly.

Which brings me to what might be the central scripture verse for this new book:

After the reading from the Law and the Prophets, the rulers of the synagogue sent a message to them, saying, “Brothers, if you have any word of encouragement for the people, say it.”

– Acts 13:15

So there is definite shifting, winds changing. Pressure and attack colliding with trust and abiding. Hard work colliding with rest. Surrender in one direction and rebuke and binding in the other. In spite of the attacks when we are this close, we have momentum: With every Yes, His kingdom’s coming. Because it all works.

P.S. If you haven’t heard yet, the new book is called Risk the Ocean: An Adoptive Mom’s Memoir of Sinking and Sanctification. It releases September 19th and you can preorder it here. xo

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

Want the printable version of this post? Here you go:

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Looking for more posts like this? Kindling is a series of prophetic devotionals and encouragement to relight your fire in the places it’s gone out. They’re all right here. Or subscribe to get everything right to your inbox.

groundwork: when spring seems a long time coming

Posted on by April 13, 2026

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.