When the Crows Peck: Rise Where Only Grace Can Carry You
A parable of soaring higher when life pecks at your soul—even when it’s close to home
There’s a story I can’t shake: an eagle soaring through the sky when a crow dares to land on its back and peck at its neck. The crow is relentless, distracting, and annoying. But the eagle doesn’t fight back. It doesn’t waste its strength flapping or retaliating. Instead, it spreads its wings and rises higher and higher into the sky.
The air thins as the eagle ascends. The crow can’t handle the altitude. Eventually, gasping for breath, it falls away. The eagle didn’t have to attack; it simply soared to a place the crow could not follow.
But what if the crows in your life aren’t strangers or critics online? What if they’re the ones you love most?
What if the pecking words are coming from your own teens—hurtful things they scream when their pain spills over? What if their anger, sarcasm, or shutdowns peck at your heart until you feel raw?
Guiding wounded hearts is a sacred task, but it presses hard on weary shoulders. And when you carry CPTSD, the weight feels heavier. Your body remembers old abuse, rejection, and neglect—so when your child raises their voice, it doesn’t just feel like today’s conflict. It awakens yesterday’s wounds. The nervous system flares. Your body floods with adrenaline. You may freeze, fawn, or feel like you’re right back in the past.
This is why the pecking feels unbearable. It’s not only about what your teen said; it’s about every echo of the voices that hurt you before. CPTSD turns small moments into tidal waves. And the enemy loves to whisper in those vulnerable places: “You’ll never escape. You’ll never be enough. You’re failing again.”
But beloved, hear this: God sees your heart and theirs. He knows the layers of trauma you carry. He doesn’t shame you for how deeply you feel. He doesn’t ask you to rise on your own. He promises to lift you.
“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength;
they will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.” – Isaiah 40:31
Sometimes rising looks like a whispered prayer when you want to scream. Sometimes it looks like stepping outside for a deep breath instead of engaging in another argument. Sometimes it’s choosing to see your teen’s pain under their words, while still setting safe boundaries.
And when the words turn sharp—verbal abuse, mocking, or cursing—you are not called to absorb every peck. Setting boundaries is not unloving; it is godly wisdom. You can calmly say: “I love you, but I will not stay in this conversation if I am mocked or insulted. I will step away and return when we can talk with respect.”
That is not rejection; that is protection. It models for your children that love and respect can walk hand-in-hand, and it keeps your own heart from being shredded. God never asked you to be a punching bag—He asked you to be a parent anchored in His strength.
And what does His perspective look like?
It looks like seeing the whole story, not just the moment. Where you see slammed doors and hurtful words, He sees scared kids still learning how to handle big feelings. Where you feel like a failure, He sees the love you’ve poured out a thousand unseen ways. Where you feel like a target, He sees a parent standing in the gap for children in pain.
For those with CPTSD, His perspective also means this: your triggers don’t disqualify you. He holds your dysregulated body and your tear-stained prayers as tenderly as He holds your teen’s anger. He knows you are both fighting battles inside that others can’t see. He doesn’t minimize it—He enters it.
From His view, the story isn’t stuck here. He sees healing you can’t yet imagine, reconciliation that will take time, and a future where these hard moments become part of your family’s testimony of His faithfulness.
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.” – Isaiah 55:9
His perspective looks like a Shepherd’s eyes—steady, kind, patient. It’s the gaze of Jesus washing Peter’s feet even while knowing Peter would deny Him. It’s the Father running toward the prodigal before the apology ever left his lips.
When you ask God to lift you into His perspective, you’re asking to see yourself and your kids through that same lens—beloved, held, and not beyond redemption.
When the pecking comes—even from your own home—remember: the crow can’t survive where God is taking you. And neither you nor your teen are beyond His repair. He is patient with both of you. He is teaching you to love from His strength, not your exhaustion. He’s healing, layer by layer.
Let’s Pray:
Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe.
You see me when my heart is bruised from words spoken in my home. You know the sting when my children’s pain spills out as pecking toward me. Father, lift me into Your perspective. Let me see beyond the slammed doors and harsh words into the story You are still writing.
Heal my nervous system, where trauma keeps me on edge. Heal the younger versions of me that rise up when conflict erupts. Quiet the shame that tells me I’m not enough. Cover my teens in Your mercy, Lord—heal the wounds they can’t yet name. Surround our home with Your peace that silences chaos.
Teach me to rise on Your Spirit’s wind, to breathe when the air feels thin, and to remember that You fight for me. Let love be my posture, even when I must set boundaries. Hold my family in Your hands, and write redemption into our story.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Decree & Declare:
I decree: I will rise on God’s wind. My past will not define my present. My trauma does not get the final word. Jesus is healing me, and He is healing my family. Our story is not over.
Consider the attack of the children as a deep seated attack from Satan. HEs behind all attacks, all trials. While God allows them , he is the answer. Trust as you raise your eyes higher and higher to God for thats why he allows them. For you and the children .