This is day 12 of 30 Days to a Deeper Connection in Your Marriage. In this episode: Praying together.
Thank you for the gift of motherhood. I praise you for bringing so many things about myself into clear focus as I so imperfectly work to disciple my children. I thank you for the ways that You are sanctifying me through motherhood and for the never-ending grace and patience You have for me as Your own child.
Lord, my children are growing up in a world that hates You. They are bombarded every day with ideas that run counter to Your word. Father, please give them clear minds so that they can see what is true. Give them tender hearts so that Your Spirit can mold them into true Christ-followers who don’t waver or falter or live in fear of what this world can do to them. Give them courage to speak truth. Make them leaders who aren’t easily distracted or lured away from the narrow road. Lord, I pray that You would give each of them compassion, humility, kindness, boldness, and an ability to see and appreciate and understand what others can’t. Help them to recognize what matters. I pray that You would give them spiritual eyes to see how You are working and how they can be a part of it.
Lord, I ask that You would save them from the heartache of sexual sin. Protect them from the pornography industry and from sexual abuse and from sexual addiction. Protect their future spouses, too. I pray that they will understand that their worth has nothing to do with their sexual experience or desirability, but that their worth comes from You alone, You who made them and loves them just as they are. Please help them to clearly see the pitfalls of sexual sin and give them the strength to resist temptation.
Father, in a world of meanness and selfishness and self-centered action, please give my children kind spirits and broken hearts for those who are hurting. Help them and their generation to change the way that people communicate on the internet and in real life. Give them a distaste for cruel and biting rhetoric and help them to speak the truth with love and tenderness instead of self-righteous pride.
Most of all, Lord, please give my children an insatiable desire to know You more. Help them to seek You first, and gift them with the rare ability to understand that eternal things are the only things of importance. I want them to be happy, Father, but if their happiness were to lead them away from You, then I would pray more earnestly for their deep reliance on and trust in You. The kind of trust that brings joy and peace, even when happiness is just out of reach.
Lord, I acknowledge my own weaknesses in every single area that I’ve mentioned here, and I pray that You would help us all, as a family, to love You with all of our hearts, souls, minds, and strength. Grant us wisdom, Lord, and help us to stay faithful until the very end. All of these things I ask with a humble heart before Your greatness and goodness and mercy and grace. Amen.
Imagine you are living in a kingdom where the king has ultimate control over your child’s life. He will decide who your child will be, where she will go, who she will associate with. And, because He is a good, kind, wise king, he allows you 24 hour access to his chamber, where you can come to tell him everything that you would like to see happen in your child’s life. You can ask for all kinds of crazy, unlikely, wild, and wonderful things for your child, and the king will listen to your requests.
Wouldn’t you run to his chamber a lot? Wouldn’t you practically be a fixture there, asking him to help your child, to guide her, to grow her, to keep her on the right path?
The truth is that this is the kingdom we live in. Only our king is also our loving Father, who adores our children more than we do. I wonder why we are so slow to come to Him on their behalf?
Why do we fret and worry and pace and cry and moan instead of running to the King’s chamber? Why do we scheme and try to figure out ways that we can fix our kids or ways that we can change their situation? Why do we endlessly wish for good things for our children, forgetting that we have free, unfettered access to the One who told us that if we ask according to his will, we will receive?
There’s a difference between wishing and praying. There’s a difference between crossing your fingers, hoping everything turns out and turning to the God of the Universe, praying that He will move. We can want plenty of good things for our children. We can long to see them rescued by God. We can be desperate to see them change and grow and know Him more. But, when we don’t take the time to earnestly pray about these things, we are wasting the precious privilege of crying out to God on behalf of our children.
Our children will face a lot of uncertainties in this life. They will be unsure of many things. But, when they are old and bent, looking back over a long, sometimes troubled, sometimes glorious life, may they be able to say with all certainty, One thing I always knew: my mama was praying for me.
We have no way of estimating what kind of eternal echoes that prayers for our children can create. How many Christian people have been carried through on the prayers of their dear mothers? Only God knows. Let’s be praying mamas, and one day when we are standing there in front of our King, we’ll feel right at home, having run to His chamber so many times before, and we’ll continue a long and sweet conversation with our good Father.
I remember going to some kind of retreat in high school where I was asked to make a list of qualities that I wanted in my future husband. Years later I ran across that list and laughed at the mythical creature that I envisioned God was crafting for me. Strong, but sensitive. Commanding, yet gentle. With unending patience. Funny, but serious when I want him to be. A man of total integrity, grit, personality, warmth, someone who is always fun and who never gets angry or frustrated, whose first reaction in any situation is prayer, whose second reaction in any situation is putting his arms around me, who wants 10 kids, who has a disposition that will make me understand what it must have been like to hang out with Jesus Himself.
So many times I prayed that God would take some man out there and turn him into a perfect Christian who intuitively knew how to meet every single need I could ever have, like God is a sort of Fairy Godfather who is out to mold the ultimate man for me. I would present my list of demands to Him on a regular basis, with complete confidence that the mythical man I was praying for was the man I deserved.
Never did I have the thought that I might need to spend less time praying that God was crafting a perfect man for my future and more time praying that God would make me into a godly woman.
There is always something missing from the lists that you see on social media. The posts, with titles like, “To My Future Husband” or “What I Want in a Husband” are completely devoid of any admission that maybe, just maybe, we women aren’t the perfect marriage material either. We never stop to think that our future husband may be out there praying for some mythical creature to become his wife, and we don’t meet the criteria.
Women who are waiting, who are longing for marriage and companionship and who have visions of what it will be like, pray for your future husband. Do. Pray that God will protect his heart and mind. Pray that when he faces hardships he will turn to Christ and know Him more. Pray that God will be glorified in his life. But, don’t pray for perfection. Even in your prayers you are establishing expectations that aren’t real life. Pray for your future husband knowing that wherever he is, he is most definitely flawed, most definitely plagued by sin.
But, don’t forget to pray for yourself. Pray that God will grow you and stretch you and make you into a woman of great faith. One who is prepared to be yoked to another sinner saved by God’s grace, pulling your weight, being an instrument of sanctification in your marriage. Pray that God would give you spiritual eyes and that He would give you patience, a kind spirit, and a forgiving heart. Pray for God’s transforming work in your life, knowing that you, too, are far from perfect.
Some women pray for a lifetime for that mythical man only to find that they have been called to singleness. So, even as you pray for your future husband, pray as Jesus instructed: not my will, but yours be done. Pray that Christ will be sufficient, that you will have a special and deep and abiding relationship with the God of the Universe, and that He will show you all of the ways that He can use you in your singleness to further His kingdom and bring Him glory.
Years after I wrote that list as a starry-eyed high schooler, God did send me a man. He wasn’t perfect. He didn’t meet all of my criteria. He came with some baggage and some spiritual confusion and some bad habits. And so did I. And, despite all of my prayers that God would make Chad into a unicorn among men, I quickly realized in year one of marriage that I should have spent much more time praying that God would turn me into a different woman. There is no such thing as perfection in a future partner. Pray that God will give you a love for each other so deep and so real that no scheme of hell can tear you apart. And if He does send you that man someday, know that neither of you will love perfectly or behave brilliantly. Marriage should be a picture of grace. One of the most gracious things you can do for a future mate is put away your list of Fairy Godfather-sponsored perfection and pray sincere prayers that God would change both of you to be more like Jesus.
Baseball season is upon us once again. My older two have abandoned the sport in favor of other pursuits, but little Emerald is beyond excited that this is the first sport that she is old enough to play. She has her brand new pink baseball glove and a heart full of enthusiasm, even though before last week she had never in her life picked up a baseball bat.
Tonight I sat in the stands, watching her practice. She has a way of sort flitting from base to base, feet barely touching the ground. She looks like a little baseball fairy out there, floating around the diamond with no sense of urgency at all. They practiced their batting. She has done pretty well hitting it off the tee, but tonight her coach got her all set up to swat at some real-live pitched baseballs. He gently lobbed them over the plate while Emerald swung wildly, with no sense of where her bat was going or what her arms were actually accomplishing. Over and over again she swung her bat, and over and over again she missed the ball. Her coach never stopped smiling. He never stopped encouraging her. And, he kept pitching the ball. Try again! he called out, sure that this would be the pitch that would make contact with her tiny pink bat. He kept trying. She kept trying. But, she never did hit that ball.
When she got in the car after practice, she told me she was good out there tonight. In true mama fashion, I agreed: You did great! She smiled at me from the backseat, her cheeks pink, her hair disheveled by the stout west Texas wind. Yeah, I wasn’t just good. I was GREAT!
Next week, when we meet back at the slightly overgrown early spring t-ball field, her coach will hand her that little pink bat, and he will pitch the ball to her again and again and again. She may or may not hit it in the next practice. Or the next one. But, one of these days, she will put her bat to a ball, a testament to the patience and encouragement of her sweet coach.
Our churches are kind of like little t-ball players sometimes. Churches need time to figure out the best way to carry out their mission in their field. Our churches need our patience.
The local church is never going to be perfect. It’s never going to handle every person and every situation in exactly the best way. It’s always going to have people here and there who are in the wrong positions, who make poor decisions, who leave bad impressions. Churches will always struggle to be everything to everybody, although they try. No church anywhere will ever achieve perfect Christ-likeness, ever. Because every, single church is filled with people who struggle every day against their own sins, their own selfish tendencies, their own desires for glory.
We have to be patient with each other.
Chances are, if you aren’t attending a local church because you had a bad experience there, you’re eliminating the entire church from your life over one thing that one person said. Or how someone looked at you. You may be holding a grudge against all local churches because of one comment that one guy made when you were a teenager. You may be convinced that people are looking down on you, even though there is no evidence of that whatsoever. You have to remember that God created the church for His glory and for your good. Are you really going to stand before Him one day and tell him that you just couldn’t serve Him in the local church because so-and-so made a rude comment about your hair? Or because someone once passed you by in the hallway without shaking your hand? Excuses like that are going to seem so ridiculous in the light of His presence.
And then, others of you are active members of churches, but you are impatient to see things done your way. You are frustrated with the leadership. You feel like your pastor is dropping the ball. You feel like Sunday school is outdated, or you hate the concept of home groups.You place so much value on your pet issues that you ignore all of the good that your church is doing. You get so upset with your pastor or with the music choices or because the service runs ten minutes longer than you think it should. You get worked up over carpet colors and money issues, and you want control.
Or you are a pastor. You are concerned about the slow spiritual growth of the congregation. You can see how things could be better, and you want them to change as soon as possible. You are so tired of being held back by old ways or being pushed into new ways. You feel like you are constantly dealing with silly issues instead of the real work that you feel called to.
To all of you, I say it again: have patience with your church.
Let’s imagine for a moment that Emerald’s coach had no patience. Imagine that she gets up to bat with her sparkly tennis shoes and her hot pink batting helmet. Imagine that the smiling coach throws the first pitch. Emerald misses, of course. The coach maintains his smile. Try again! he encourages her. But, again she misses the ball. After a few pitches, the coach starts to get red in the face. He turns to another player on the field and makes a comment about how bad Emerald is at baseball. Then he gets on Facebook and posts a status update about how he hates pitching the ball to her. He marches up to the plate and tells Emerald that if she doesn’t figure out how to hit the ball pretty soon, he’s walking off of the field, and he’s never coming back.
Do you think any of those things will make Emerald hit the ball on the next pitch? Of course not, because she still isn’t sure how to do what she needs to do.
If we want our churches to do better, to be better, to accomplish more of what God has called them to do, we are going to have to hang in there with our churches. We’re going to have to keep pitching the ball. Keep encouraging. Keep praying. Keep serving. We have to have the kind of patience that a sweet granddad t-ball coach has: I’ll pitch this ball as many times as it takes, for as many weeks (or months or years) as it takes for you to figure out what you’re doing here on this field. We are all just trying to figure out the best way to do church. And, if we keep going and we keep begging God to work and bless our churches with His presence, one of these days we will see our churches start to hit the ball regularly. And sometimes, we may even hit a homerun or two.
Just read some of Paul’s writings to the churches of New Testament times, and you’ll see that local churches have ALWAYS had issues. Our modern churches are no different. But, we are never going to be able to fulfill our individual roles as members of this Body if we are too impatient. Too easily angered. Too quick to criticize. Too offend-able. In fact, if we talk about our church and complain about our pastor more than we pray for them, then we are a big part of the problem.
Go to church. Serve God. Love people. And, make a conscious effort to keep pitching that ball with a smile, knowing that your prayers and work and sacrifice and love will make a difference to the Kingdom of God. In the words of an old song that my kids like to sing in the bathtub: Remember that God is patient, too. And, think of all the times that others had to wait for you.
It’s worth it. Take a deep breath, and gift a little patience to your church.
We could hear the woman wailing before we saw her. Chad and I were wandering around the store, browsing while Emerald was in dance class down the street. We had had an easy, leisurely morning, enjoying Chad’s day off. Emerald had looked adorable in her little dance leotard, with unreasonably long braids hanging down her back, skipping into her class just a few moments earlier. The older kids had smiled in spite of themselves on a Monday morning before they left for school. And, Chad and I were happily chatting about whatever came to mind while we roamed the aisles of the grocery store.
Then we heard the unmistakable sound of human anguish.
We walked over a few aisles and saw her sitting there, surrounded by a small crowd. Her weathered hands covered her face, and beneath her fingers, twisted with age, she cried out. A tall man came toward us, pushing his cart. He could see that we were concerned. I think she just got a phone call, he said. Someone has died. She’s okay. He smiled at us wearily and continued with his shopping. Still she moaned there on the bench, rocking back and forth like a mama trying to soothe an inconsolable child.
Chad walked over and sat down beside her. She was shaking her head in disbelief. She sobbed, He can’t be dead! He can’t be dead! Her grief poured out. Her eighteen year old grandson had been found dead in his home. Oh, I can’t believe it! she groaned, and Chad patted her arm. I’m a pastor, he said, Would you mind if I pray with you?
She begged him to pray. And, right there in the grocery store, a broken old woman, a pastor and his wife, some store employees, and a couple more strangers circled up and cried out to the God of all Life in this moment of unspeakable pain. The grieving woman nodded in agreement while Chad spoke, yet every few seconds she would stop and cover her face, shaking her head no, willing her own tired mind to realize that this was really happening. She had outlived her precious grandson.
The prayer ended, and the store employees ushered her to a back office where she could wait for her daughter to come and take her home. She never did stop sobbing. But, when Chad said amen, she looked up at him and said through her tears, I know God will get me through it somehow.
Chad and I picked up the few little items that we had been carrying in our arms when we heard her cries, and we walked away, back to a good day. Back to a reality that is all cute kids and funny stories and dance leotards. But, I couldn’t get the wounded grandmother off my mind. I kept wondering how many times in her long life that God has already proven that He will get her through this. Somehow.
In the next few days, she will comfort her grieving son. She will cook for her family. She will think of things that no one else has thought of yet. Things that need to be done. She will care for her frail husband. She will stand beside her grandson’s casket, and she will mourn. Deeply. With a pain that is only known by those who have wailed next to the gaping grave of a child.
I will be playing Chutes and Ladders with Emerald. Picking up the kids from school. I’ll be looking for new crockpot recipes and waiting with anticipation for Chad to come home from work. God willing. But, there is a certain privilege that God grants us sometimes: the privilege of being there during someone’s worst moment. Of witnessing what it looks like when Christian people face trials of all kinds—the very worst kinds—and choose to trust God through it all. It’s an honor and a wonder to be present when someone’s faith is forced to grow and stretch beyond what we think it’s capable of. Yet, today we saw it, on a cold metal bench in the back of the grocery store, in the trembling voice of a terribly distraught white-haired grandmother: I know God will get me through it. I doubt that her mind really believed that in the moment. The brain inside her head, that little white head that kept shaking no in disbelief, couldn’t know for sure that she is going to survive this. But, her soul knows it well. Because the Holy Spirit was already whispering this truth to her in ways that only He can. And, she chose to believe it, soul-deep. God will get me through it.
I doubt she will ever know how much it meant to this naive little pastor’s wife today, watching an old woman’s faith grow. And, I doubt she will ever see how being there caused my faith to grow, too. One more leaf sprouted on a still small and tender tree. I thank God for the privilege of being there. And, for the ways that He never fails to show me how good it is to know Him, on our best days and on our worst.
I have always been one of those drivers who won’t stop for gas.
I’m not sure where that trait came from. My mom is certainly a gasser-upper. If the needle goes below a half a tank, she starts looking for someplace to pull in and fuel up. Meanwhile, I’m cruising around town with a little digital gauge blinking in red: 0 MILES TIL EMPTY!, and I think, Aww, I’ve still got a little more time.
I think it’s partly because I’m thrifty. I just hate spending money on something as un-fun as gasoline. It seems so much less interesting than, say, a pair of shoes.
It’s also partly because I hate being cold. So, if there’s a wind blowing, if it’s wintry or even just kind of fall-y or sometimes if it’s one of those summer days where the shade is particularly shady, then I will put off stopping just to avoid the inevitable chill that I’ll have to endure. I’m a bit of a wimp when it comes to cold. Or cool. Or hot with too much shade.
You’re probably thinking that I drive around with no gasoline because I’ve never run out before. Not so. I remember the first time I was stranded on the side of the road. I was with a group of friends from high school, and the boy who was driving us around in his mother’s minivan failed to get gas before we started for home from a neighboring town. Before we knew it, we were out in the middle of nowhere, stuck in the black of a late Texas night. I don’t even remember how we got his dad there with a can of gasoline. But, I do know that every horror story I’d ever heard about high school kids and broken down cars came back to me while we waited for someone to rescue us. You would think that alone would’ve curbed my urge to coast around on fumes.
But, fast forward 20 years, and there I was in the pick up line at my daughter’s school. The line was long. I sat in my van, inching forward every few minutes while I watched my gas gauge go from 8 MILES TIL EMPTY to 2 MILES TIL EMPTY. Right about the time it hit 0 MILES TO EMPTY, I was still a good 100 yards from the front of the line. I started sweating profusely. I could just picture myself, with my crusty minivan in a sea of shiny SUVs, sitting in the line with my hazards on, holding up the entire school pickup process after my car finally sputtered to a dead stop.
So, I pulled out of the line, parked my van, and called Chad to come and bring me some gas.
It was one of the more humbling moments of my life. If you’ve never had to make an I’ve-done-something-so-stupid-you’re-never-going-to-let-me-live-it-down phone call to your husband, count yourself blessed. It’s rough.
Thankfully, he showed up. He put the gas in my car. And, he only laughed about it for a few weeks. Months. Okay, so he’s still laughing about it. Especially the part where I had to wave to all the teachers, the principal, and lots and lots of parents while Chad poured the fuel into my tank. It’s pretty hard to hide the truth of why you’ve been nonchalantly hanging in the parking lot for so long once the gas can shows up.
The truth is that this talent for denying my empty tank shows up in my Christianity, too. I am so good at faking it like I’ve been putting God’s word into my heart every day. I can convince myself that I have open communication with Him when I haven’t sat down to pray in quite some time. But, eventually, it becomes obvious that I haven’t stopped for fuel. When I find myself saying things that I have to call and apologize for later. When I realize that I’m being motivated by a desire for my own glory and not God’s. When I start feeling superior. When I can’t control my tongue or my thoughts or my attitude.
Before I know it, I’m stranded. And, all of the effort I’m putting into looking the part is just a waste of time and energy.
I can’t live the Christian life without the very words of God in my heart and His praise on my lips. Otherwise it’s all just posturing and posing, like standing next to a race car with the keys in your hand, knowing eventually everyone will realize that the car doesn’t run.
You’re wondering if I’ve been reformed since my school pickup incident. Sadly, no. I still drive the car until it’s about to give up the ghost. I suppose the next time I’m sitting in the middle of a black Texas night on the side of the road, I’ll wonder why I do this. Until then, may the miles be ever in my favor.
Our bedtime routine is pretty basic. Bath time, vitamins, teeth brushing, reading (if it’s not too late), and prayers. I pray with all three of the kids in Adelade and Sawyer’s room, and then Emerald and I leave to begin her own special brand of bed time routine. I put her in bed, and then she recounts her entire day and thinks of a million questions to ask, and as I inch closer and closer to her door she continues saying, “But, Mama, I need to tell you something…”
In the past few weeks, she has started asking me to pray in her room, too. She also dictates what I should pray about. At first she was having me say five or six separate prayers for various things, but in the interest of cutting down on the length of this ritual, I have now condensed her prayer time down to one (or two prayers). She has all kinds of different ideas to pray about. Tonight she wanted to pray for Elsa from Frozen. She often wants me to pray for Adelade and Sawyer or for her grandparents. But, one thing she is consistent about every night is asking me to pray for our hands. She has never explained what she means by that, but I pray about our hands every night and she seems satisfied with my interpretation of her request.
I don’t think I have ever prayed for my hands before.
Have you ever thought about all of the things that your hands do in a day? How many good and precious things we can do with these gifts, and how many harsh and sinful things we can do? Have you ever considered how often your hands are idle? Or whether they are working too often on the wrong things?
Neither had I. But, now I have. And, I have thought of so many different ways to pray for our hands and the things that we do with them.
In Emerald’s tiny little bedroom, leaning over her bed, holding those soft, sweet little fingers of hers, I have breathed prayers for us. For our hands. I have prayed that we would serve God and serve others. That we would be hard workers. That we would use our hands to bless people. That hurting souls would find comfort in our touch. Understanding. The love of the Savior. I have prayed that our hands would be useful to God. That we would be known as people with a soft touch and a firm hold on truth.
I still don’t know what Emerald means when she asks me to pray for our hands. But, I keep praying for them, every night. I can’t help but wonder, in the way that mothers do, if the Holy Spirit isn’t whispering some things into my baby girl’s heart that her mama really needs to hear. I’ll probably never know.
But, this I do: I’ll keep praying. And, I’ll keep holding Emerald’s hand and listening to her heart. And, occasionally, I may even pray for Elsa.
Today I met my mom in the city for a little shopping and eating. When we’re together I tend to talk non-stop, and poor little Emerald sat in the backseat, just waiting to get a word in edgewise.
I was going on about something and was tuning Emerald’s voice out (which I think is a natural defense mechanism that mothers possess) when suddenly I heard her say, “I’m just talking to myself.”
I had to burst out laughing at her matter-of-fact acceptance that no one was listening to a word she was saying.
But, later it occurred to me that sometimes this is my attitude when I pray. I pray as if I’m talking to myself. I approach the God of the Universe as if nobody is listening to a word I’m saying. As if He is too busy with more important stuff, or too disinterested in the small details of my life.
Nothing could be further from the truth. He not only hears me, He listens to me. He knows every thought in my head and every spot in my heart, every yes and no, every regret, every temptation, and every triumph. Yet, He listens. And, He loves the sound of my voice.
Yours, too. He sees you, and He hears you. When you pray to your Creator, you are never, ever talking to yourself. And, He will never, ever be too busy to listen.
Update: Thank you so much, friends, for praying for Maury and Karen. I would ask that you please continue to keep the torch burning for Maury, as Karen went to be with the Lord on October 4. She will be missed.
Maury and Karen McCown started life together much like Chad and I did. They fell in love at our little Baptist college, got married, and have had all kinds of different adventures and experiences along the path that God laid out for them.
Maury and Karen aren’t the types who just talk about ways to show Christ’s love. In 2008 they founded The Threaded Leaf Project, a non-profit organization that really helps Cambodian women, older students, and children, providing opportunities for education and independence to those who would have little hope for such things otherwise. Maury and Karen are intimately involved with their ministry, and currently live six months in the US and six months in Cambodia. They’re passionate about seeing their women and students succeed, and they show them great respect and kindness in the process.
One month ago, they were right in the middle of a half-year stint in Cambodia, and they seemed thrilled to be back with their Cambodian “family.” On July 29 they were in a moped accident in which Karen sustained a head injury. She hasn’t regained consciousness.
Maury was also injured, and they have been in a hospital in Thailand ever since, waiting for Karen to wake up. It has been a daily roller coaster of good news, bad news, and no news at all. Recently Maury described some of his feelings:
“I’ve had a few good sobs today here in my room. The kind when all you can do is shake your head back and forth in disbelief like you’re living in some kind of alternate reality or ridiculously realistic nightmare. You start to feel the walls closing in. Everyone and everything is just a little too close or too noisy. I just wanted everyone and everything but me and Karen to vanish for a little while. Let us have each other in silence, in absence of anything. No interruptions. Nothing but us, together and alone.
I wanted to walk into the middle of the room and yell at the top of my lungs for everyone to just BE QUIET for FIVE MINUTES.
But that’s not going to happen.
So I tell her goodnight and come to my room and have another good sob behind my closed and locked bathroom door. Irritated. Confused. Exhausted. Defeated. Tired.”
Maury trusts God’s sovereignty and His purposes. He believes that God hears his prayers, and later in the same post, he went on to talk about what a good day it ended up being because he knows that God is still fully in control.
But, you can imagine what this must be like for him, watching his precious wife lie there, while he feels powerless to do anything. We all feel powerless.
But, God is not powerless, nor is He oblivious to Maury and Karen’s situation. Because I know that many of my readers believe in that power, I am asking you to pray for Maury and Karen.
Would you join me in asking God to heal Karen’s body, to wake her from this sleep and help her to recover so she can continue in the work that she is so passionate about?
You can keep up with the latest in their story and learn about specific prayer needs by following the Pray for Karen & Maury Facebook page here.
Thank you for your prayers. Maury’s new rallying cry is “keep the torch burning” for Karen. Together we can constantly keep her name lifted up, praying that God will work miracles in her life. To Him be the glory for all things.