True Vigilants

I've been thinking lately about the word vigilant.

It means taking matters into your own hands.

I guess that doesn't really fit.  Because the truth of the matter is, the only way my marriage can not only survive but flourish is by the very grace of God.

That's why I write about prayer so much on Mondays.

And it's why I'm praying for you.  And for your marriages.

This week, I would love to renew my commitment to pray for you.  So go ahead and leave a comment and I will go ahead and pray for you by name (or by some other distingishing detail if you don't feel comfy leaving your name).

Have a truly blessed week.

The Prayer of Vigilance

Hello, my precious Vigilant Wives Club peeps.  If you are new here, WELCOME!  We are soooo glad you're here.  You might want to start here, just so you know what Mondays here at andthensomore is all about.

Can I just say, knowing that Monday is coming changes my outlook for the weekend?  I mean, every Friday since this began, I start looking for some way, ANY way, to serve my husband in some wildly creative manner so that I can come here and write about it and inspire you all in your vigilance as wives.  And, inevitably, every Sunday, I sit down to write my Monday post and come up with such thrilling originality as . . . pumping gas for him and . . . making his lunch.

Well, have no fear.  For today is no exception.

My commitment this week involves what I believe to be the most fundamental activity that any Christ-based marriage can perform.  Unfortunately, however, it is something I have always struggled with when it comes to my husband. 

It is the simple act of praying for him.

Please don't get me wrong.  I do not think that praying is boring.  (Though, I must admit there have been times I've been bored with someone else's prayer --- oops!  Did I really just admit that?)  Nor do I think that praying is easy.  What I do think is that prayer for our husbands is the most effective means of vigilant love there can be.  Because I believe that prayer is God's chosen way of getting things done that He wants to get done.  And when I pray for my husband, I get to participate in God's work in His life.  I get to learn to see my husband the way that Love Himself sees him.  When I come before God Himself, I submit myself to Him and His ways.  I learn to speak His language.  And I learn to love real love.

For whatever reason, God chose to involve us in His work.  And for whatever reason, He chose to use our prayers, our very communication with the I AM Who created life itself, to accomplish His purposes.  I believe that He has purposed marriage primarily for the display of His own glory.  In other words, I believe that God created Christian marriage in order to show Who He is.  Love itself.  Real.  Unconditional.  Love.

So when I pray for my husband, I am submitting myself and my marriage and my role as a wife to the very God Who has the power to make our marriage successful.  The real kind of successful.

That, my friends, is why I am committing today to pray daily for my husband.  Every single day this week.  I think I may use Stormy Omartian's book The Power of a Praying Wife to get me started.


Okay, your turn.  How are you being vigilant this week in your marriage?  I can't wait to hear... Know that I will pray for each of you too.


**If this is your first time linking up, please read this first.**
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As If

My walk/run today involved some hills.  Expectedly.  I mean, I do live in a very hilly area.  And, although I took my usual route, it came time for me to run, and I found myself on an incline.  And as the ensuing panic fell on me, I asked God for His energy.  Because I was still breathing hard trying to recover from the last running interval. 

Maybe I should explain...

See, I'm training to walk and run for 13.1 miles one Sunday in May so I can help raise awareness and money for the children in Southeast Asia who are literally trapped in sex-slavery and other horribly disgusting evils that no person, much less any child, should even know about.  And, while I am in decent physical condition, I. am. not. a. runner.  I am a *wannabe* runner.  It's who I've always been, with the exception of those two very brief stints during whilch I trained myself to run one and a half miles without hyper-ventilating.  So I am training to split the time between running and walking for that crevasse-like expanse between the starting line and the finish 13.1 miles in May.  My goal is to be ready to run every last tenth of that 13.1 miles next October in what will be my third half-marathon.  So for now, I walk/run.  My goal today was to walk three minutes then run for two.  My first time at that interval.

And I was struggling.  Ugh.  Darn hill, anyway.  So, as I walked, I asked God for the strength to run.  As I walked.  And I pleaded for His energy to run to the stop sign at the top of the hill. 

But instead of taking over my legs and Forest Gumping them into a run, He reminded me that I can't possibly know that He's answered such a prayer unless I let Him show me.  In other words, I had to turn my walk into a run if I wanted His energy to carry me to the top of the hill.  I had to literally step out in faith if I intended to see His answer.  To act as if it were already true.

So I picked up my pace and ran to the stop sign at the top of the hill.  Then I thanked Him for the energy.

I think I ought to live my life like that.  Believing that everything I need for real and true living is already mine  (John 6:35).  Not just believing.  But living as if it were true.  Because.  It is.  I think I ought to live my life like the only thing that really matters is knowing God and following hard after His Son.  Because.  It is.

"The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living. It's our handle on what we can't see."Hebrews 11:1 msg

The Great Prayer Challenge

Five years ago this month, my family and I were preparing to move to Paris, France for a six-month expatriate assignment for my husband's job.  My oldest was three years old.  My youngest was seven months.  And my husband and I were pretending to be grown up enough to know how to live in a foreign country with very little knowledge of the language of the land.  We had A BLAST.  It was a life-changing, monumental turning point for me as a woman and for our family.  So I thought it would be fun to re-visit some of the memories from my private blog-journal that I (sort of) kept while we were there.  Here's one of the entries...

This is the Blue Slide Park (we named each park according to a distinguishing characteristic).  It's the park we frequented most often, as it was only about a five-minute walk from our flat.

Today, we went to the Blue Slide Park. We played in the sandpit because that's our new routine when we go there. Especially since we've actually been remembering the sand toys.  Anyway, I parked my three-year-old in a shady spot in the sand and went to sit on a bench in the sun, with my infant safely shaded in her stroller next to me.  Shortly after we arrived, a little boy and his mom did too.  Having followed the same protocol as I and placing her son in a shady spot in the sandbox, the mom came over to join me on the bench.  I love when people sit close enough to see my baby because in Paris, anytime someone is near her in the stroller, they automatically start talking to her, which gives me a great chance to try to talk with them and practice my French.  Too bad she's a baby and doesn't yet speak.  She could probably teach me some French.


So once the mom took the bait, I asked her my famous opening question, "Quel age a -t-il?"  How old is he?  Twenty-one months.  She followed suit and asked me about my two daughters.  We introduced ourselves.  Her name is Anna.  Excited to have any semblance of an adult conversation, I told her about my baby's double ear infection (which was just diagnosed yesterday after a very challenging French telephone conversation with a doctor's office here in Paris followed by a home visit by the doctor -- so nice).  Come to find out, Jacob her son was on his second round of antibiotics for the same thing.  We sat quietly for a little while, watching our two children play in the sand while I tried to think of another thing to say in French.  I so desperately want to learn the language.  And I so desperately miss my friends at home.  So I asked her if she had any other children.

That's when she told me.  Jacob was a twin.  His brother died at birth (or soon after) because she was only six and a half months along when they were born. Jacob was only about 3kgs when he was born and was in the hospital for a very long time.  (And, although I'm not really sure how 3kgs translates into pounds and ounces, I know it's very small.  Too small.)  She didn't cry, but I could tell it was hard to talk about.  Um, obviously.  Especially when I wasn't very proficient at understanding the words and had to ask several clarifying questions throughout the conversation.  Oh how sorry I was that all I could say was "tres triste" (very sad).  Oh how I wanted to say so much more.  To delve in and share Jesus' compassion and love with her somehow.  But, in my desperate search for more meaningful words, all I could say were two very small ones.  Very. sad.

Later this evening, I was coming home from the grocery store and was approached by a man who asked me for some money.  He appeared to be homeless.  All I could do was give him a Euro and say "you're welcome" in French when he thanked me.  And, again, I was frustrated by the inability to just say the right thing.  Or to tell him about Jesus' love somehow.  Or even to just say "God bless you."  But. I. don't. know. how.

That's when it hit me.  All I can do is pray.  Literally. that. is. all. I. can. do.  For Anna.  And for Julia, who I met in the park back in April.  And for the 22-year-old mom from Montenegro who's family had sufferd from her war-torn country and so was forced to live in Paris.  And for the beggar lady who sits outside the Post Office and always tells me something about her child, or children, who died or were hurt or something.  I can't understand her words.  But I can talk to God about her.  He's the only One Who really understands and knows what she needs anyway.  And I can do it not so I can be a "good Christian".  But because I believe God has purposefully put these people in my path so that I can ask Him to help.  And I believe He purposefully put me in a place where I can do nothing and say nothing so that I can trust that praying is enough.  That praying is what He has called me to do.  The only action I can take.

And I will take that fact home with me.  Praying is not just a last resort when there's nothing else I can do to help.  It is the only power I have to get anything of any importance done.  It is the only action I can take that has any real power to help.  Whether I understand words or not.  Whether I know what to say or have an idea how to help or not.


And so I will take the challenge.  And I hope someday I will actually know what to say.  And say it.  And I hope someday when I think I know what to say, I will know how not to say it, if it needs not be said.  Because He is the only One Who can truly help.  Sometimes with my words.  Sometimes with my hands.  But always with my prayers.

Plowing Season

Proverbs 20:4
"A sluggard does not plow in season; so at harvest time he looks but finds nothing."

That hit me hard when I read it last year for the first time. In relation to my kids, I mean. Young as they were, it was definitely plowing season. And I realized that if I didn't change something soon, I was not likely to find much at harvest time. At least not much of what I'd want to find.

It was early Friday evening, February 20, 2009. I know the date because I had been reading a Proverb for each day of the month. And I remember that it was Friday because I was reading it as my daughters' friend came knocking and ended up staying for dinner. You're probably wondering what's so memorable about that. And so the story begins...

See, Fridays had become a sort of unofficial "family movie night." We would lazily eat some not-so-nutritious meal in front of the TV while watching some form of a "family friendly" movie (i.e. some animated treasure such as Barbie and the Diamond Castle or something of the sort). It was a treat. For the whole family, actually. So when the aforementioned friend stayed for longer than the time I'd allotted in my head for said friend to stay, I was, shall we say, less than delighted. Annoyed is actually a more suitable description. That's when God took the Proverbs 20 verse 4 two-by-four and smacked me upside the head.

"A sluggard does not plow in season, so at harvest time he looks but finds nothing."

By now, dinnertime was quickly approaching, and so was my seven-year-old with the dreaded "can my friend stay for dinner?" question. And I realized that I had a choice to make. I could choose the work of plowing the field I'd been given in this season of my life as a mom. Or I could choose to be a slug. Oops, I mean sluggard. Now, you may think that after being smacked in the head by God with a two-by-four, the choice was all but made. Nope! I mean, yes, the friend joined us for dinner. But my spirit of true hospitality was more than lacking. In other words, I did not serve like Jesus wanted me to. I did not prepare the soil that is my children for the seeds of unselfishness, Godly hospitality, and wholehearted servanthood. I did not show them the true love of Jesus. His real life that is exhibited when I love and serve Him wholeheartedly. I might as well have made the friend go home and sent my kids to bed early.

As I (grudgingly) cleaned up after dinner, I started thinking about what exactly I hoped to find at harvest time. And I thought about how badly I want our home to be the one my kids want to hang out at with their friends when they're teenagers. I thought about my longing to see my kids really love Jesus and follow Him because they know that they know that they know that His ways are awesome and are the real and true LIFE.

And I realized that this is the season. It's plowing time, Bria! Time to get off my butt and plow the soil.

So I gave it to God. I mean I seriously talked to Him about it... about all of the opportunities I'd missed up to that point as a mom... about the accompanying guilt... about how difficult it was for me to enjoy my kids... about what a struggle I'd always found motherhood to be. And how I'd always, my entire career as a mom, felt like my life was on hold until my kids got older and more self-sufficient. As if this motherhood thing were a mere matter of survival -- daily surviving until my husband got home from work, weekly surviving until my next "time off" on any given Saturday, yearly surviving until my next weekend away. Instead of seeing those times away as opportunities to be refreshed, I'd always seen them as necessary respites from my job. Instead of seeing this season of my life as the short plowing season that it is, I'd always viewed it as a means to an end. Get through it so we can get to the good stuff. Namely, the nicely behaved, well-adjusted teenagers that they would one day be. Just get through it. Then I can enjoy it.

Only -- it's not like that. This is not survival I'm called to. It's motherhood. It's life. REALIFE. And when Jesus said in John 10:10 that He came to give "more and better life than (I've) ever dreamed of," there was no exception for moms of young children. He meant that I could have this more and better life right now. If I did it His way. And, on Friday, February 20, 2009, His way meant inviting a young friend to join our family for dinner and loving him like Jesus does.

And, everyday, His way includes making the most of every opportunity to teach and show my kids what Jesus' love is really like. By enjoying them. And loving them. And making right choices in my own life. By choosing to serve Jesus wholeheartedly, willingly doing the things He asks me to do.

Especially when He hits me upside the head with a two-by-four!

p.s. Check out the Saturday Evening Blog Post for some other really great blog posts from January. Enjoy.

Early Christmas Spirit

I started Christmas shopping the other day. Unusual for me, actually. I usually do this all year long. Shopping clearance sales. Finding the occasional great deal, then trying to figure out who I might know that can't live without it so I can buy it. It's really quite difficult for me to walk away from a great bargain. Like that $20 kids game I got for $8. Or the adorable newborn baby Christmas dress for $3.60. You get the idea. And then I stockpile the gifts. My closet has proven to be the most effective holding room. So, usually by this time of the year, I have bags upon boxes full of great finds spilling out.

But this year it's different. I somehow can't get myself to spend that much money. Not that $3.60 or $8 is a lot. I just can't seem to justify searching for that justification to buy something just because it's a great bargain. I've started to realize that the thrill of the hunt is just not worth it. Unless it's the hunt for somthing that's truly needed.

While cleaning out my daughter's bedroom last weekend, I realized, yet again, that my kids have WAY TOO many toys. In years past, I've come to this same realization and then gone on to purchase the aforementioned bargain clearance toy items anyway. But somehow this year my words have caught up with my actions. And I just can't do it. If they don't need it, I just can't seem to get myself to buy it.

Deep inside, I'm longing for that truly meaningful Christmas gift to give. A gift given not because I'm expected to or even because it's something my kids say they want. But something that truly shows my love for them. Something that will actually enhance their lives. Maybe even point them to Jesus more clearly.

Maybe it's because of Faa, the 28-year-old Thai woman my family now has the privelege of knowing. Faa's life has not only changed the lives of the five children she's adopted into her home in Thailand, but has also changed my life and those of my children. Having come from an abusive home into an orphanage where she was introduced to her Heavenly Father and the freedom and love of Jesus, her life's mission has become providing children with a home, despite her lack of finances. She told me a few weeks ago that, at home in Thailand, the one meal a day that she eats is the one that her job allows her. She does this so that she can use every penny of those she earns to provide food for her kids. So they can eat. She said that while she's been here in the States the food is so abundant, she just doesn't feel right throwing anything on her plate away, even when it's much too much for her to eat. Oh, if only we could take all of that food and beam it up to Thailand so they could eat even the scraps.

In light of all of that, I just can't seem to get into the spending spirit yet. Strangely, though, I feel even more in the Christmas Spirit than I've ever felt so early in November. So i'm praying that God shows me what He wants me to give. And I'm asking Him to show my kids and my husband.

And I'm ready for it.

p.s. GROW Thailand (www.facebook.com/GrowThailand?ref) is a brand new ministry to support Faa and her calling to rescue these children stuck in the sex and slave trade in Thailand.
Also, Asia's Hope (www.asiashope.org) is an amazing ministry of much the same type.

Spiritual Faint of Heart

I'm a little confused. I have this new challenge in my prayer life. It started the day of Corey's funeral. Spiritual numbness, maybe. Then, two days ago, Hanna woke up at 4am throwing up. By Sunday morning at 5am, I was pleading with God to please make it stop for her. So pitiful was she. And by 6am, I was claiming His own character as the basis for it, begging Him to show my children how faithful He is to answer prayer. How loving and caring He is to not want any of His children to suffer. I was sure He would listen and make her suffering stop. But 15 minutes later, while again holding the "barf bowl" I found myself to be wrong. So now, as I pray that God would spare Grace (everyone in our family, actually, but especially Grace) from this horrible stomach flu, I waiver in my faith. He said we should ask, believing that we have what we ask for. But how do I do that if He doesn't even answer the prayer that protects His reputation? For His Name's sake. I don't understand! But I know that even in that, God is sovereign. And I so badly want to believe that EVERYthing He does is good. So I guess I'll pray that He helps me in my belief.

Number Two

(note: if you haven't read the post "To Pray Or Not To Pray", you might want to read that one before you read this one)

So -- my youngest will be four in about three weeks. And we've been working on potty-training for about, oh, say seven or eight months. Not diligently or vigilantly, mind you. Subtly. And sometimes frustratedly (is that even a word?). But last week, after we had seriously run out of diapers (with the exception of one), we decided to try again. Only this time, we added prayer. My husband said, "you know, we've never really prayed about it." So we both decided that was a good idea.

And God got my almost-four-year-old to keep her panties clean and dry in oh, say about one day. (With the exception, of course, of the one time she forgot to pull down her panties while she sat on the potty and peed. Isn't she hilarious?!)

So, to sum up my week last week, from Monday to Sunday -- God saved my grandma's life and taught my little girl to pee and poop in the potty all in the same week!

Wow!

To Pray or Not To Pray

I dont' t know why, but I am so amazed at God's willingness to answer prayer.

Since I was a young child, I have believed that He does actually want us to ask Him for things. My whole life long, I have been learning what that means, searching for His desires, reconciling the words that He spoke with the reality of seemingly unanswered prayers. I mean, He said that He will give us the desires of our heart. And that whatever we ask for in His name He would gladly give. "Ask and it will be given to you ... For everyone who ask receives..." (Matthew 7:7-8)

So I have prayed for lots and lots and lots of different things. When I was about six or seven years old, I remember praying that our firefighter friend, Jimmy, would get to go and help fight the forest fires in California, because that's what he really wanted (though his wife was not so thankful for my prayers, I think). And praying that I wouldn't have any bad dreams or spiders crawling on me while I slept. When we lived in Paris, I remember realizing that prayer was just about the only effective thing I could do to help the homeless man and the beggar woman that I saw frequently, since I wasn't fluent enough to explain anything to them.

And so, when I grew closer to my grandma last summer after moving close enough to see her more frequently, I started praying for her joy. And, as I spent more time with her and realized that she was really struggling with all the changes she had experienced in moving across the country, I started praying that God would show her why He still has her here and that He would give her a true sense of purpose.

Well, yesterday, she almost died from carbon monoxide poisoning. And as we waited for news of her condition, expecting the worse but seriously hoping for the better, I didn't even know if I should ask for the best. I didn't have a clue what to pray. I wondered if He had heard my prayers for her over the last months. I tried to figure out how her dying would be an answer to that prayer for her renewed sense of purpose. I asked friends to pray for her. I begged God for what He knew to be best. And I seriously did not expect her healing.

BUT GOD HEALED HER!!! I expected the worst. But He performed a miracle. He even made her brain scan clear. NO negative effects after 17 hours of carbon monoxide poisoning! I am still in wonder! I didn't know what to ask yesterday. But He answered my prayers from months ago. He saved her life. Clearly. Unabashedly. He absolutely wants her here still. No doubt.

This week, we have seen God work in amazing ways. Two clear answers to prayer. Two more reasons to keep praying and trusting that in fact God's got it taken care of. I'll tell you about the second one next time . . .

THANK YOU, LORD GOD!!!