thechristiantechnerd

Yesterday, Today, Forever: Jesus NEVER Changes

Posted on November 24, 2025 by thechristiantechnerd

I took a long walk earlier this morning—down by the little trail near the old bridge—and I found myself whispering one scripture over and over, like oxygen for my soul: “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8). It’s funny how a verse I’ve known since childhood can suddenly feel brand new when my heart is tired or overwhelmed.

The world feels so volatile at times—like sand shifting under my feet. People change, circumstances change, plans change, my own emotions change. And sometimes I catch myself wishing life could slow down just long enough for me to breathe deeply. But today, while walking in the crisp morning air, I heard that familiar whisper of the Holy Spirit reminding me: Jesus never changes. No matter how chaotic everything feels, He remains the same steady, loving, faithful Savior.

I let that truth settle in my spirit like warm sunlight.

The Power of His Name Never Changes
I kept thinking about the first part of Hebrews 13:8—“Jesus Christ is the same…”—as if the sentence couldn’t even wait to introduce “yesterday, today, and forever.” The emphasis is on His identity first. Jesus Christ is the same. His very name carries power, and that power has not diluted over time. I think sometimes I forget just how much strength, authority, and gentleness is bound up in the name of Jesus.

When I first got saved, I remember how speaking His name felt like crossing from darkness into light. I was so tangled up in superstition, fear, and some practices I didn’t even fully understand at the time—things I now recognize as occult or spiritually dangerous. But when I gave my life to Jesus, all of those chains broke. It wasn’t because I suddenly became wise or brave—it was because His name carried a power that darkness couldn’t withstand. I didn’t fully understand it then, but looking back now, I see how strong and steady His hand was, even when I was stumbling my way into grace.

YESTERDAY

I love how the Lord doesn’t erase our past; He redeems it. Isaiah 54:4 has always touched me deeply: “You will forget the shame of your youth and remember no more the reproach of your widowhood.” Sometimes I read that verse and feel like God is wiping tears off my face with His own gentle hands.

My “yesterday” held mistakes, insecurities, and so much confusion about who I was. I carried shame that wasn’t even mine to carry. And I carried guilt over things God had already forgiven long before I forgave myself.

But today I’m reminded that Jesus stands in my yesterday, rewriting every chapter with mercy. He turned my fear into confidence, my doubt into trust, and my shame into a testimony of His goodness. Remembering what He did for me isn’t painful anymore—it’s a reminder of His unchanging love. Every time I think about the spiritual darkness I once dabbled in, I feel nothing but gratitude. He delivered me completely, and the power of His name is still as mighty today as it was the day He broke those chains off my life.

TODAY
As I write this, I’m sitting by my small bedroom window, watching the sunset paint gold across the sky. Today had its challenges—little stresses at work, a few anxious thoughts about my future, and some personal prayers that still feel unanswered. But even in those uncertainties, I sense His presence.

Someone once said, “The day of miracles is not past, because the God of miracles is still present.” That feels so true today. Jesus is not a distant memory or a historical figure preserved in ancient text. He is alive. He is with me. He listens to my prayers even when I’m too tired to articulate them well.

And even though my circumstances shift like unpredictable winds, Jesus does not move. He is the same today as He was when He healed the sick, calmed storms, forgave sinners, and called His friends by name. When I whisper “Jesus” in the middle of my anxiety, something changes inside me—not because I suddenly control my life, but because I remember Who is in control.

Sometimes I wish I could see the miracles He’s doing behind the scenes. But I’m learning to trust that just because I don’t see instant changes doesn’t mean He isn’t working. He is faithful today. He is present today. He is powerful today.

TOMORROW (FOREVER)
Thinking about tomorrow used to scare me. Not knowing where I’ll be in five years… not being sure how my future will unfold… wanting so badly to make the right choices and not disappoint God or myself. But today, pondering Hebrews 13:8, I felt this unexpected peace settle in me. If Jesus is the same forever, then my future is not a frightening unknown—it’s a place He already stands in, smiling, guiding, preparing, protecting.

He already knows the chapters I haven’t lived yet. He has already planned blessings I can’t imagine. And He has already forgiven mistakes I haven’t even made yet. What an overwhelming kind of love.

And thinking of children one day—the idea that their future is also secure in Him—makes my heart swell. Even though I’m not a mother yet, the reassurance that Jesus holds their tomorrows is deeply comforting. When the world seems unstable, I can already imagine myself speaking this truth over my future children: “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He will never leave you.” What a gift to pass down.

A Prayer from My Heart

Lord Jesus,
Thank You for being unchanging in a world that changes too quickly for my heart to keep up sometimes. Thank You for being the same Savior who rescued me years ago, the same presence that comforts me today, and the same God who already stands in my future with hope and purpose prepared for me. I praise You for Your name—so full of power, healing, and mercy. Thank You for redeeming my past, guiding me in the present, and securing my forever. When fear tries to control me, remind me of Your constancy. When doubt whispers, let Your truth speak louder. Jesus, I trust You with every yesterday, every today, and every tomorrow. Amen.

Closing Thoughts Tonight

As I end this post, I feel lighter than I did this morning. The world may still change at its dizzying pace, but I don’t feel left behind anymore. I feel held—gently, securely—by the One who has never changed and never will.

Maybe that’s what faith really is: not pretending that nothing changes, but remembering that He doesn’t.

And that is enough for me tonight.
Enough for today.
Enough for forever.

Thank You, Jesus.

How do you thank God for thanksgiving?

Posted on November 23, 2025 by thechristiantechnerd

I feel this deep, almost tender pull to pour out everything in my heart about Thanksgiving—what it means, what it stirs up, and how I can truly thank You in a way that honors the love You’ve shown me, again and again. Maybe part of being 25 and still figuring out life is acknowledging how much I need Your steady presence, especially in the seasons that are supposed to look picture-perfect on the outside but sometimes feel messy on the inside.

Thanksgiving is only a couple days away, and I’ve been thinking about how to thank You, Lord, with a whole heart. Psalm 107:8 keeps replaying in my mind: “Let them give thanks to the Lord for His unfailing love and His wonderful deeds for mankind.” Your unfailing love. Your wonderful deeds. Not just in the past, but today—right here in my uncertainties and joys and anxieties and hopes.

Sometimes, Lord, my heart feels a little bit tangled this time of year. Thanksgiving can bring that mix of sweetness and heaviness—memories of loved ones who aren’t here, old wounds in family dynamics, the quiet ache of wanting things to look a certain way and knowing they won’t. And honestly, sometimes I get disappointed with myself because I know I should be thankful, but all I can feel is tired or overwhelmed or slightly heartsick. It comforts me to know You already see that. You already know. And You don’t shame me for the feelings I’m working through. You just draw me in closer.

So today, Jesus, I want to prepare my heart. I want to carve out that private space to confess where thankfulness has felt out of reach. I want to name the sadness You already know about, the anxieties I keep trying to pretend I don’t have. I want to sit with You and let Your love fill the places where human love sometimes feels thin.

Because I really do want to walk into Thanksgiving this year with gentleness in my spirit, with gratitude that breathes, with a heart so centered on You that it becomes something contagious—something that lets the people around me feel Your grace even if they don’t have the words for it. I want my thankfulness to be real, not forced. I want it to come from remembering who You are.

Lord, You’ve done so much in my life. Your “wonderful deeds” aren’t always loud or dramatic. Sometimes they’re small and quiet and easy to miss until I look back and realize Your fingerprints are everywhere. Thank You for sustaining me this year in ways I barely noticed at the time. Thank You for comforting me in my loneliness, for restoring hope when I thought I’d lost it, for teaching me—slowly but faithfully—how to trust You more.

As I think about Thanksgiving and how to practice gratitude in meaningful ways, I feel myself longing for rhythms that actually turn my heart toward You. Not just traditions because they’re cute or expected, but practices that help me remember You’re near.

One thing I love is the idea of thanking You for the people at the table. Whether it’s the kiddie table or the grown-up one, I think there’s something so beautiful about naming the ways we see Your creativity in each person. Thank You for the way You’ve made each one of my family members unique. Help me speak encouragement that builds up and not words that come from old frustrations. Help me celebrate how You’ve made them, even if the relationships are imperfect.

Maybe this year I’ll ask everyone to share one reason they’re thankful for the person sitting to their left. It’s simple, but it’s also powerful. There’s something holy about speaking out loud the good we see in others. Maybe it helps us see You more clearly, too.

And Lord, I want to bring prayer back into the center of it all. Even when I’m at a table where not everyone believes in You, it still feels right to pray before we eat—to thank You for the food, for the hands that prepared it, for the day itself. Give me the courage to offer to pray if no one else does. Help me do it with gentleness and humility, not pressure or pride. And maybe I’ll ask if others want to share something they’re thankful for so I can lift it up to You as part of the prayer. Because giving thanks is richer when we do it together.

Another thing I want to do is read a Psalm of thanksgiving. Psalm 107 feels perfect. It tells the stories of people crying out to You in their distress—and You answering them every time. “Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever. Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story” (Psalm 107:1–2). Yes, Lord. I want to tell my story too—not because it’s perfect, but because You’ve been faithful through every imperfect part of it. Your love truly endures forever.

Maybe we’ll each share a small story of Your goodness this year. Maybe I’ll go first so others feel safe to follow. And even if the stories are simple, like “God helped me through a hard day,” they still glorify You. You deserve to be thanked for every good gift, big or small.

And Lord, I just want to be honest: sometimes being thankful is hard. Sometimes Thanksgiving presses in on old grief or memories we wish we didn’t carry. Sometimes we walk into a room already anxious or exhausted. Sometimes our hearts feel bruised, and thankfulness feels like something we have to force.

But You remind me that I don’t have to pretend with You. You invite me to bring every hurt, every heavy memory, every expectation that makes my shoulders tense. You say, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). Thank You for that promise.

And maybe part of being grateful is simply remembering that You’re close to the brokenhearted. That You aren’t asking me to muster up fake joy but to come to You honestly so You can fill my heart with real thankfulness—the kind rooted in who You are, not in how perfect the day looks.

So here is my prayer for Thanksgiving, Lord:

Father, soften my heart this Thanksgiving.
Make me aware of Your presence in every moment.
Help me notice Your blessings—the obvious and the hidden.
Heal the places in me that feel fragile.
Quiet the anxieties that rise up when I least expect them.
Let my gratitude be sincere and deep.
Let it reflect Your unfailing love.
Let it overflow to the people around me so they feel Your grace too.
Teach me how to celebrate well, to love well, and to thank You well.
Amen.

I’m grateful, Lord. Truly. And I want this Thanksgiving to be more than a holiday. I want it to be a holy day—a day where my heart leans fully into Your faithfulness.

Thank You for loving me. Thank You for saving me. Thank You for never letting go of me.

With all my heart,
Amen.

Pardoned of our Sins: Believers in Christ are Justified by His Grace

Posted on November 21, 2025 by thechristiantechnerd

Lord, I don’t know whether I’m more comforted or more angry, more relieved or more exhausted. Maybe it’s both. Maybe this is what faith looks like at twenty-five—raw edges, shaky hands, but a stubborn love for You that refuses to break. Maybe that’s what You’ve been trying to show me all along: that justification isn’t about the perfection I keep trying (and failing) to reach. It’s about You reaching down, pulling me into Your grace, even while I’m still messy, still loud, still angry at the world, still trying to believe that I’m really forgiven.

This morning I kept thinking about what it means that believers in Christ are justified—not later, not after we get our act together, not when we finally live holy enough or pray long enough or feel spiritual enough. But now. Right now. In this moment. In this too-bright room with my chipped lavender nail polish and the heaviness of a long week pressing on my shoulders.

Justified. Pardoned. Cleansed. Freed.

God, I’m trying to wrap my mind around that word, because sometimes I feel so condemned. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never outrun the mistakes I made at nineteen, or twenty-two, or yesterday. Sometimes I feel like the enemy stands over me shouting, “Guilty, guilty, guilty!” and I’m ashamed to admit how often I believe him. But then there’s Romans 8:1 whispering through my doubts: “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” No condemnation. None. Not a little less. Not reduced. Not delayed. Zero.

Why does that truth make me want to cry and scream at the same time?

Maybe because I’m tired of walking around like salvation is something I have to keep earning when Jesus already finished the work. Maybe because grace feels too good—too immediate—to be real. Maybe because I don’t understand a love that strong. Maybe because part of me is still angry that sin has consequences I can’t undo… yet You still say I’m justified.

Lord, You know I don’t want cheap grace. I don’t want to throw Your mercy around like it’s disposable. I don’t want to treat Your sacrifice lightly. But I also don’t want to insult Your love by pretending that forgiveness is too far away for someone like me.

I’ve been thinking about the thief on the cross. How dare he receive the same justification as Paul? How dare he—after a lifetime of choices that likely harmed people, scared people, destroyed something sacred in himself—receive salvation in a single breath, a single moment of faith? Part of me wants to shake him. Another part of me wants to hug him. And then the biggest part of me realizes that I am him—undeserving, but nevertheless justified.

Jesus didn’t say, “Come back when you’re cleaned up.”
He didn’t say, “Let Me see your spiritual résumé first.”
He didn’t say, “Try harder and maybe I’ll consider it.”

No. He said, “Today you will be with Me in paradise.” Today. Right then. Right in the middle of the pain, the consequences, the shame, the nearing death. A moment of faith—and You called him justified.

And God… it makes me angry how beautiful that is. Angry in a way that twists inside my chest because I want to be good enough, and yet You insist I don’t have to be. Angry because grace disarms all my self-reliance. Angry because it means I can’t cling to my guilt like a trophy of my own humility.

But grateful. Deeply, painfully grateful.

I think about Paul—your servant, Your chosen instrument, the man who endured beatings, shipwrecks, hunger, imprisonment, betrayal, and sleepless nights. A man who poured out his life until the last drop was ministry. And You say he wasn’t any more justified than that thief.

What kind of God loves like that? What kind of God levels the ground so fully at the foot of the cross that the hardest worker and the last-second believer stand shoulder-to-shoulder, equally loved, equally washed clean?

My God does.

My Jesus does.

So why is it so hard for me to accept that I’m included in that? Why does justification feel like a gift I can describe but not quite hold without dropping? Why do I keep living like I’m still on trial?

Your Word keeps telling me the verdict has already been spoken. Already. Not someday. Not eventually. Now.

“For I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more.” (Hebrews 8:12)

No more. Forgotten. Buried. Gone.

Lord, why am I still remembering what You’ve already erased?

Last night, and today, when I prayed, I felt this almost physical sense of You saying, “You’re accepted. Today. Not after you straighten your emotions or fix your flaws or stop being angry at the church or stop overthinking everything. Today.”

And I felt my chest unclench a little.

I don’t know how to fully believe it yet, but I want to.

There’s this image I keep thinking about—this ladder You’ve lowered down from heaven into the vineyard. The one the old preacher talked about. The one that says Your acceptance is how we enter the vineyard, not the fruit we grow once we’re inside. And it comforts me, but it also stings, because I keep trying to climb the ladder with handfuls of fruit I’ve forced myself to produce, as if You need proof of my sincerity. As if You need me to justify myself, when justification is Your work alone.

Father, teach me to accept being accepted.

Teach me to live like someone who’s truly pardoned. Teach me to stop digging up the graves of sins You already buried.

I want to stand before You the way justified people do—with both humility and confidence. With both repentance and joy. With both surrender and assurance. You didn’t die to give me a halfway salvation. You didn’t resurrect so I could stay chained to the idea that I have to save myself daily.

Lord, free me from this self-condemnation. Free me from the lie that Your grace is fragile or conditional. Free me from believing that every mistake pushes me further from Your heart when You yourself said You remember my sins no more.

I feel so small lately—but maybe that’s okay. Justification means Your love is big enough to cover the places where I fail. It means I get to breathe again. It means the courtroom is empty, the gavel has fallen, and the Judge has declared me righteous because of Jesus, not because of my performance.

So here is my prayer, God—raw, trembling, but honest:

“Lord Jesus, thank You for justifying me by Your blood. Thank You that I stand before You without condemnation. Thank You for pardoning my sins fully, immediately, eternally. Teach my heart to believe what my mind knows is true. Tear down every fear that tells me I must earn what You freely give. Help me walk in the freedom You purchased. Help me trust that Your grace is stronger than my guilt and more present than my failures. I surrender my shame to You. Make me whole.”

Amen.

And yet… there’s still this fire inside me. Anger at sin. Anger at the enemy. Anger at the lies that try to steal what You’ve already promised. Anger at myself for being so easily deceived. But maybe that anger is holy too. Maybe it’s what pushes me toward the cross. Maybe it’s what reminds me of how desperately I need You every hour.

Justification isn’t a feeling. It’s a fact. A declaration. A spiritual reality that doesn’t bend with my emotions. And Lord, I need that constancy. I need a truth that doesn’t crack when I do.

Lord, I choose to trust You.

Today I am accepted.
Today I am forgiven.
Today I am Yours.

And that is enough.

One Foot In The World, One Foot In Christ

Posted on November 21, 2025November 26, 2025 by thechristiantechnerd

I don’t even know why my heart feels so heavy right now. Maybe it’s the way the world keeps pulling at me like vines that want to drag me back into places Jesus already called me out of. Or maybe it’s because earlier today at church, I heard something so painfully simple that it felt like a sword sliding straight between my ribs: “Jesus is calling us to choose. No more half-following. No more one foot in and one foot out.”

It stung—God, it stung—because I knew it was for me.

And I’m tired of pretending it wasn’t.

I keep thinking about what Jesus said in Revelation 3:16, that terrifying verse I always skim over even though I know it’s meant for hearts like mine: “So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.” I hate that word—lukewarm. It sounds weak. It sounds flimsy. It sounds like compromise. It sounds like me, honestly. I feel like a woman who can declare her love for Christ with her mouth but still lets the world whisper to her actions.

And I’m angry about it. Angry at myself, angry at my inconsistency, angry at how comfortable compromise feels sometimes. I’m compassionate, yes, but compassion doesn’t erase the fury I feel toward the parts of me that keep settling for less than obedience. I want to choose Jesus with my whole life, not just with the parts that feel easy, or manageable, or convenient.

Tonight I asked myself the question that everyone avoids because it exposes the soul: Which side of the line am I on? And I didn’t like the answer that bubbled up. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t bold. It was something like:

“Some days here, some days there.”

That’s not a line. That’s wobbling.

That’s dancing on both sides and pretending it’s balance.

I read Matthew 6:24 again, the verse that makes the division so painfully clear: “No man can serve two masters.” Jesus didn’t say it as a metaphor. He said it as a fact. Like gravity. Like breath. Like truth. You cannot serve two masters. Period. Not you, not me, not the holiest woman or the most broken sinner. None of us can do it. And yet here I am trying, pretending I’m the exception, pretending Jesus will somehow honor divided loyalty when He never once asked for half of me. He asked for all.

Sometimes I think the world has a version of me that Jesus never created. A version that nods along to conversations that don’t honor Him, just so I won’t “ruin the vibe.” A version that softens truth when it should stand firm. A version that seeks approval from people who barely even know God, while the God who formed my bones watches me choose silence over conviction.

God, forgive me.

I prayed about this earlier, but the prayer felt like it came from a throat full of stones:

“Lord, I don’t want to be divided anymore. Take the parts of me that are still tangled up in the world. Pull me fully onto Your side of the line. Cleanse me. Correct me. Strengthen me. Let me hunger for You more than I long for approval or comfort or convenience. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

But even after praying, I still feel the tug. It’s like two hands are pulling on me—one scarred and holy, the other shiny and temporary. One full of life, one full of lies. And I hate that the lies still have hooks in me sometimes.

Today after service, I sat in my car and just stared at the steering wheel, asking Jesus why it’s so hard to choose Him fully when I know He is life. I know He’s salvation. I know He’s truth. I know He’s the only One who has ever loved me with no conditions. So why the struggle? Why the back-and-forth? Why the flickering loyalty?

And the only answer that felt honest was: because dying to the world feels like dying.

But Jesus already said that in Matthew 16:24, didn’t He? “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.” Deny. Not reduce. Not postpone. Not negotiate. Deny. And maybe that’s the part I keep running from. I want a faith that costs me nothing, feels good all the time, and still pleases God. But that’s not Christianity. That’s comfort with a Jesus sticker slapped on top.

I’m frustrated because I know the truth but still hesitate to obey it fully. I can almost hear Jesus asking me the same question He asked the disciples: “But whom say ye that I am?” And I answer with Peter’s boldness—“You are the Christ, the Son of the living God”—but then I live like He’s optional.

God, that realization makes me angry. It makes me want to scream into a pillow. How can I love Him so much and still drift? How can I feel this deep burning loyalty and still let the world distract me? How can I pray with fire but live with lukewarm actions?

Maybe this is what Paul meant in Romans 7:19 when he said, “For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do.” If even Paul felt this war inside, then maybe I’m not as alone as I think. Still, knowing I’m not alone doesn’t make the battle easier. It just makes it shared.

I want to be bold for Christ. I want to be unwavering. I want to be the woman who doesn’t just talk about faith but embodies it. I want to be the kind of believer who causes demons to tremble—not because I’m powerful, but because I’m fully surrendered. Fully His. Fully committed.

But wanting and doing are two different things.

So tonight, I’m drawing the line for myself. A real one. A solid one. The line Jesus already drew centuries ago but I keep blurring with my own indecision.

I’m choosing His side.

Even if it costs me comfort. Even if it costs me relationships. Even if it costs me the version of myself that tries so hard to be liked by people who don’t even love God.

I’m choosing Jesus.

I wrote out a prayer in my journal, and I want to write it again here because maybe I need to see it twice to finally believe it:

“Lord Jesus, teach me to walk in holiness, not half-heartedness. Teach me to love You more deeply than I love my excuses. Strengthen me to choose You every day, every minute, every moment I’m tempted to drift. Break the chains of double-mindedness. Purify my heart. Make me whole in my devotion. Make me bold in my faith. Keep me on Your side of the line. I surrender. Again. And again. And again. Amen.”

I think the real problem is that I’m afraid of what full surrender looks like. Afraid of who I’ll become. Afraid of losing the pieces of my life that aren’t aligned with Him. But maybe those pieces aren’t worth keeping. Maybe they’re the very things holding me back.

Maybe being fully His is the freedom I’ve been begging for.

Jesus didn’t die for me to live in spiritual limbo. He didn’t carry the cross so I could carry compromise. He didn’t rise from the dead so I could stay stuck in a halfway faith that makes Him nauseous.

No more lukewarm.

No more double life.

No more divided heart.

I choose Jesus. With anger at my past choices, with compassion for my own fragile humanity, with fire in my spirit and trembling in my hands—I choose Him.

Tonight, I step fully onto His side of the line.

And I’m not looking back.

Most Unforgivable Sin: Abortion Is Evil & A One Way Ticket to Hell

Posted on November 20, 2025 by thechristiantechnerd

Abortion is MURDER!

If you’re a follower of Christ, I hope you’ll seek God’s heart on the issue of abortion with complete honesty. I understand that abortion is murder and how it grieves the heart of God.

There is still time for anyone to turn toward God, repent, and allow His truth to reshape their beliefs.

Abortion is the taking of an innocent life, which Scripture makes clear. Life is God’s creation, formed with purpose before birth, and because of that, abortion is obviously cold-blooded murder.

BIBLICAL FACT

God alone is the Author and Finisher of life. He decides when it begins and when it ends. If you see this differently, I encourage you to start praying, because anyone who isn’t against abortion will be spending eternity in hell. That’s a biblical fact!

I’ve been thinking about every precious unborn life that never got the chance to breathe outside the womb, and every woman standing at that painful crossroad. It hits me so hard. And I know it’s God putting this burden on my heart… to pray, to grieve, to stand in the gap. But at the same time, I feel this huge wave of compassion and so many questions. I just want to love people well, the way Jesus would. But I also know that if you kill your child for any reason, you do go straight to hell. Oh my goodness what a riddle we find ourselves in.

I keep going back to Psalm 139:13–14. “For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb…” Every time I read that, I tear up. Life doesn’t start in the womb—it starts in the heart of God long before. Every heartbeat, every tiny fingerprint, every cell… God Himself designs with purpose.

And honestly, that’s the truth I cling to more than anything: life is sacred because God is the One who gives it.

But when you’re in the middle of an unplanned pregnancy—scared, confused, maybe ashamed—what does that truth even look like? I don’t have perfect answers, but I do know that you will end up burning in hell if you have an abortion for any reason whatsoever.

Prayers for the Unborn: A Cry From My Heart to God

Father of Life, thank You for how You knit the unborn together in secret. Let every tiny heartbeat echo before Your throne.

Jesus, my Compassionate Savior, help every expectant mother see her baby as a gift—never a burden, never a mistake. Surround her with people who love her well.

Holy Spirit, give courage to women trembling under fear. Take away every lie that says abortion is the only way out.

God of Healing, heal every woman who carries wounds from abortion—physical, emotional, spiritual. Wrap them in Your mercy.

Prince of Peace, calm the storms inside women who feel torn apart by their circumstances. Let Your Word guide them toward life.

Compassionate Father, raise up believers to support these women so they never have to walk alone.

Lord of Mercy, silence every lie that says a baby will ruin their life. Show them how You bring purpose through what feels impossible.

Everlasting God, pour out supernatural provision over families considering adoption—emotionally, financially, spiritually.

Spirit of Truth, reveal the fears and pressures that push women toward abortion. Give believers boldness to speak truth gently, with so much love.

Redeemer King, for every woman living with regret, remind her that forgiveness is real, and redemption is possible. You make beauty from ashes.

People ask, “Why do Christians hate abortion?” But it’s not hate. It’s love—love for the unborn, love for women, and love for the God who says every life has purpose (Jeremiah 1:5). We can’t stand back while fear and lies push vulnerable people into decisions that break them. Our calling is not to fight with anger, but with prayer, compassion, and sacrifice.

So how do we help women choose life?

We listen—while judging
We show up—explain why abortion is murder
We connect them—to pregnancy centers, adoption resources, moms’ groups.
We pray—with them and for them.
We share truth—Scripture filled with identity and purpose.
We show grace—for women who give their babies up for adoption

I think about my friend Abby a lot. She got pregnant in college—no money, no plan, totally terrified. She felt completely alone. But our small group prayed with her every day… we just showed up. Meals, hugs, tears, presence. She chose life. Her little boy, Levi, is the sweetest reminder that abortion is murder.

It’s easy to feel tiny in this huge battle. The statistics feel like a storm. But God reminded me—storms water seeds. Even one life saved, one mother strengthened, one prayer answered… it matters. It ripples. Faith the size of a mustard seed can grow into something massive and life-giving.

Maybe I can’t be everywhere, but I can be faithful where I am.

Heavenly Father, thank You that both mother and child are precious to You. Use me in this fight for life—through prayer, love, and steady obedience. Teach me how to walk with women who are scared or alone, with the same compassion You’ve shown me. Give me courage when the world says I’m too young, too small, or too naïve. Your Word is stronger than every lie, and You’re not done writing their stories.

Amen.

Let Jesus Inspire and Motivate You Today

Posted on September 26, 2025 by thechristiantechnerd

Are you feeling overwhelmed by the weight of life? Do you sometimes feel lost, burdened, or simply in need of a reminder that you’re not alone? If so, take heart—you are not forgotten, and you are deeply loved. In the middle of the noise, stress, and uncertainty that life often brings, there is still a voice that speaks peace, truth, and purpose into your life. That voice is Jesus Christ.

Right now, wherever you are, take a moment to pause. Just breathe. Let everything else fade into the background, if only for a moment. You don’t need to have everything figured out, and you don’t need to pretend to be strong when you’re not. Jesus meets you exactly where you are—not where you think you should be. He understands your struggles, your pain, your questions, and even your doubts. And still, He calls to you with open arms.

Please Watch this Inspirational Video of Jesus that Will Make You Feel Better!

(CLICK THE IMAGE ABOVE TO GET INSPIRED TODAY!)

The message of Jesus is simple, yet powerful: You are loved beyond measure. You are not alone. You have a purpose. God sees your heart, hears your prayers, and walks with you through every high and low. Even when you feel like giving up, He offers you rest, hope, and new strength.

In just one minute of quiet reflection, you can reconnect with the truth that matters most—that God is near. He is not a distant figure or an abstract idea. He is a personal, living Savior who cares deeply about your story. His words are timeless, relevant, and full of life. And the good news is, He’s still speaking. Right now, in this very moment, He’s speaking to you.

Take encouragement from His own words in Matthew 11:28:
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
This is not just a verse—it’s an invitation. It’s a promise of peace for the anxious, strength for the weary, and love for the brokenhearted.

If today’s message has touched your heart, don’t keep it to yourself. There are others just like you who need a reminder of God’s love and truth. Share this message. Let someone else know they’re not alone.

Remember: No matter what you’re facing, Jesus is near. He hasn’t forgotten you. He hasn’t given up on you. Let His voice guide you, inspire you, and give you strength today.

You are seen. You are loved. And you are never alone.

I Don’t Know Who Needs This—But Here Are 10 Prayers That Helped Me

Posted on September 23, 2025 by thechristiantechnerd

(PLEASE SHARE A PRAYER WITH ME IN MY COMMENTS IF POSSIBLE 🙏)

The past two weeks have been heavy, sad, and honestly, very tough for me.

A kind of emotional weight that’s hard to explain, but easy to feel.

Everything looks normal on the outside, but inside? I feel off. Sad. Tired in a way that rest doesn’t quite fix. Spiritually dry, mentally cluttered, and emotionally worn down.

Time has felt slow. People feel distant. And my thoughts? Loud.
Like I can’t turn them down, and I can’t pray them away either.

I’ve been trying so hard not to let my emotions lead my faith.

But the truth? I feel a little disconnected from God right now.
Not because He’s moved. He hasn’t. He never does.
It’s me. I’m tired—emotionally, mentally, spiritually. Just tired.

It’s not burnout from one big thing. It’s the accumulation of a hundred little things. Disappointments. Delays. Distant friendships. Sleepless nights. It feels like I’m showing up everywhere half-full, but pretending to be overflowing. And I’m not proud of it, but lately, I’ve been running on autopilot spiritually.

Still—I know this: when the world gets heavy, prayer becomes oxygen. Even when I don’t have fancy words. Even when all I can do is sit with God and cry. Even when it feels like I’m praying to a ceiling, I know my words still reach Heaven.

Over this past weekend I decided to stop overthinking and just write ten short prayers. That’s it. No filters. No performing. Just my honest heart in the presence of a faithful God.

And as I wrote them… I exhaled for the first time in days.

I don’t know if these prayers are for anyone else—but I know they helped me. They reminded me that I’m not invisible. That God sees me even when I feel unseen. And maybe… they’ll help carry me into next week with a little more hope.

1. When I Feel Overwhelmed

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” – Psalm 46:1

God, I’m juggling too much. I feel like I’m failing in all the areas that matter. Work. Friendships. Faith. I need You to be my calm in the chaos. Help me breathe, slow down, and remember You never asked me to carry this alone. Amen.

2. When Loneliness Creeps In

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.” – Psalm 34:18

Jesus, today feels extra lonely. Everyone else seems busy, and I don’t want to be “too much” for anyone. But You… You see me. Sit with me. Let me feel Your nearness tonight. Amen.

3. When I’m Just Exhausted

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” – Matthew 11:28

Lord, I’m tired—deep in my bones kind of tired. I don’t need just sleep. I need rest. True, soul-deep rest. Please give it. Please hold me. Amen.

4. When Anxiety Takes Over

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” – 1 Peter 5:7

Father, my mind won’t stop racing. I feel like I’m spiraling. Please speak peace over me. Quiet the fear. Be my anchor. Remind me who I belong to. Amen.

5. When I Feel Far From God

“Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you.” – James 4:8

Jesus, I’ve felt distant. Distracted. Disconnected. Not because You moved—but because I did. I miss You. Please draw me back. Amen.

6. When I’m Tired of Waiting

“Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage.” – Psalm 27:14

God, the waiting is hard. Everyone else seems to be moving forward while I’m stuck. Help me trust that Your timing is still perfect. Strengthen my heart in the pause. Amen.

7. When Guilt Won’t Let Go

“There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” – Romans 8:1

Lord, I’ve messed up again. I feel ashamed. But I know You already saw it—and You still love me. Remind me that grace isn’t earned. It’s already mine in You. Amen.

8. When I Want to Choose Gratitude Over Bitterness

“Give thanks in all circumstances.” – 1 Thessalonians 5:18

Jesus, bitterness has crept in. Help me refocus. Open my eyes to what’s good, even now. Thank You for the breath in my lungs, the roof over my head, and the grace that covers me daily. Amen.

9. When I Need Strength to Keep Going

“He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.” – Isaiah 40:29

Father, I want to quit. But I know You’re not done with me. Renew my strength. Fill me again. Remind me I don’t walk alone. Amen.

10. When I Need Hope for Tomorrow

“For I know the plans I have for you…” – Jeremiah 29:11

Lord, thank You for being near this weekend. Even when it didn’t feel like much, You were here. As I walk into a new week, help me go with hope, not fear. Amen.

That’s all I had in me over the weekend. But somehow, it felt like enough.

And that’s what grace looks like sometimes—just enough to get through today. One honest moment with God. One breath of faith when everything else feels heavy.

I’m starting to believe that these low moments can still be sacred. Maybe not the kind of sacred that makes it into a worship song, but the kind that heaven notices. The kind where nothing about me feels put together, but God shows up anyway.

Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’m going to church—whether I feel it or not. Because obedience is still obedience, even when it’s quiet. Sometimes faith isn’t loud—it’s just faithful.

And maybe that’s what healing actually looks like.

The Purpose in God’s Patience

Posted on September 23, 2025November 26, 2025 by thechristiantechnerd

I’m starting to realize that God’s patience is not just something I need to learn about — it’s something I desperately need to receive. Not mentally acknowledge, not highlight in my Bible, not recite in small group — but truly receive.

And honestly, I think that’s where the disconnect is for most of us — myself included.

We know God is patient. We say He’s patient. We quote scriptures like:

“The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you…”
— 2 Peter 3:9 (ESV)

But the question I’ve been wrestling with lately is:
How infiltrated am I by that patience?

Have I let it change me? Form me?
Can people feel God’s patience through me?

This morning, while I was driving and thinking through all the things I had to do, I got irritated over a five-minute delay. Five minutes. And then the Holy Spirit just dropped this quiet conviction in my spirit:

“You receive My mercy but reject My pace.”

That hit me hard.

I love being forgiven quickly, but I don’t love having to forgive slowly. I love that God is long-suffering with me, but I expect other people to mature overnight. And I hate to admit this, but even when I ask God for patience, I expect an instant download, not a process.

I’m reminded of the servant in Matthew 18:23-35 — the one forgiven a massive debt by his king but then turned around and refused mercy to someone who owed him very little. That story always hits a nerve. Especially the end:

“Then the angry king sent the man to prison until he had paid every penny.”
— Matthew 18:34 (NLT)

And Jesus wasn’t just talking about money. He was warning us about what unforgiveness and impatience do to the soul. They don’t just strain relationships. They imprison us.

And here’s what I’ve been reflecting on:
Impatience may not land us in a literal jail cell, but it absolutely locks our souls up.

It steals our peace.
It ruins our perspective.
It makes our relationships tense and transactional.
It makes us bitter with God and demanding of others.

The wild part? God doesn’t just demand patience from us — He actually offers it to us. It’s part of the fruit of the Spirit:

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control…”
— Galatians 5:22–23 (ESV)

It’s something He produces in us — when we stay connected to Him.

And I think that’s the shift I’m starting to embrace:
Instead of striving for patience, I want to abide in Christ and let patience grow out of the intimacy.

But growth takes time.
Fruit takes time.
Patience takes… well… patience.

Have I asked God to grow patience in me? Yes.
Have I grown frustrated when it didn’t happen fast enough? Absolutely.

But I’m learning that asking God for patience means He’s going to give me opportunities to practice it, not just the feeling of it. He’ll place me in moments where I have to choose it. And not once or twice, but daily. Repeatedly.

The deeper truth is that the world we live in is constantly forming us to be impatient. Fast food. Same-day delivery. Quick replies. Instant results. We’re conditioned to expect immediacy.

But God moves at a different pace.
He works in seasons, not seconds.
He transforms in silence, not speed.

And if I want to become more like Him — more loving, more rooted, more whole — then I have to trust His pace as much as I trust His plans.

That’s hard for me. I like control. I like efficiency. I like clarity. But patience asks me to sit in the unknown and remain kind. It asks me to endure discomfort without becoming bitter. It calls me to wait without losing hope.

And maybe most importantly… patience reminds me that God hasn’t given up on people, so neither should I.

Whether it’s that friend who keeps making poor choices, or the family member I’m tempted to give up on, or even me — the parts of myself I wish would hurry up and grow already — I’m learning to offer the same patience I’ve received.

Because God has been so, so patient with me.

Father,
I thank You for Your patience — not just in principle, but in the lived-out way You’ve walked with me through every season of my mess, my doubt, my delay, my rebellion, and my apathy.

You have never rushed me.
You have never given up on me.
You’ve waited with grace, over and over again.

Teach me to do the same — with others and with myself.
Let Your Spirit cultivate real, lasting patience in me.
Not shallow tolerance, but true, Christlike forbearance — the kind that is rooted in love, not ego.

Help me surrender my timeline.
Help me stop measuring growth by speed.
Help me trust Your pace even when I don’t understand it.

Let Your patience shape my perspective, steady my emotions, and soften my expectations.

I don’t want to just learn about Your patience.
I want to be formed by it.
I want to be infiltrated by it.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Reflection to Self

The next time I feel that quick sting of impatience rise up — whether it’s with people, my job, my future, or even with God — I want to pause and ask:

“Have I forgotten how patient He’s been with me?”

Because if I truly received His patience, I’d be slower to speak, slower to judge, and quicker to love.

And that’s who I want to be — not just a woman who knows about God’s patience, but one who lives it.

Sacred Echo: Listening to Heaven’s Heartbeat

Posted on September 23, 2025 by thechristiantechnerd

I went to bed last night asking God to show me more of His heart. I know I say I want to know Him more, but how often do I really press in for His sake, not just for what He can do for me?

This morning, while journaling, I wrote:

“God, I want to know You—not just know about You. I want to understand what breaks Your heart and what makes You smile.”

It hit me hard: I say I love Him, but how often do I actually seek to understand Him, not just myself through Him?

Most people walk around so desperate to be seen, known, and loved. I get it. I’ve been there. I still have those days. But then I remember—this ache to be known is actually something we inherited from God Himself.

Genesis 1:27 reminds me, “So God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.”

If I bear His image, then it makes sense that the ache in me to be known is actually a glimpse into how God longs to be known.
I’m created with that desire because He has it first.

Sometimes I look around at Christians and ponder… how are we so satisfied with just Sunday morning services, small groups, and bumper-sticker theology?

We memorize verses like Isaiah 55:9—“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts”—and then use that as an excuse to not even try to know God’s heart.

But that’s lazy. And let’s be honest, it’s prideful. Because we want a god that fits in a sermon series or a devotional plan. But the real God? He’s infinite. And if we don’t dig deeper, we’ll stay infants in our faith, knowing about Him but never knowing Him.

I’ve been praying over Jeremiah 29:13 lately.
“You will seek Me and find Me, when you seek Me with all your heart.”

It doesn’t say, “when you scroll Christian TikTok for an hour” or “when you listen to worship music passively.” It says, “with all your heart.”

ALL. Not a part. Not when it’s convenient.
That one verse alone has been wrecking me.

So today I turned off my phone. Sat with my Bible. Prayed in honesty. Not performance. Not pretty words. Just raw. Just real. Just me.

I told God, “I want to know Your heart. I want to know what makes You weep and what makes You rejoice. I want to love what You love and hate what You hate—even when it costs me popularity, even when it separates me from shallow Christianity.”

And He met me. Not in thunder or lightning. Just in quiet. In peace.

I read about Jesus weeping at Lazarus’ tomb—not because He was powerless, but because He feels deeply. He didn’t rush past the pain. He sat in it. That’s the heart of God.

I read about the woman at the well. About Peter’s restoration. About God’s justice in the prophets. About His mercy in the Psalms.

And slowly, I started to feel like I wasn’t just reading about God—I was sitting with Him. Like a friend. Like someone worth knowing deeply.

If we want to know God’s heart, we have to move past religion and step into relationship.

Yes, God is holy. Yes, His thoughts are higher. But He’s also Emmanuel. God with us. He stepped down to make Himself knowable. Jesus came not just to save us, but to show us what the Father is like.

John 14:9—“Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father.”

So if I want to know the heart of God, I need to look at Jesus. His compassion. His fire. His correction. His mercy. His truth.

And if I’m not willing to carry all of that—not just the feel-good parts—then do I really want to know Him? Or do I just want a version of Him that fits my comfort?

Tonight, I’m ending with a prayer:

Father, reveal Your heart to me. Not the filtered version. Not the Instagram caption version. I want the real You. The One who weeps over sin, who rejoices in truth, who loves with fire in His eyes and scars in His hands. Teach me to walk with You, not ahead or behind, but right beside You. I don’t just want Your blessings. I want Your heart. I want to be a woman who makes Heaven smile. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Inhale Peace, Exhale Fear: A Prayer For Calmness

Posted on September 11, 2025 by thechristiantechnerd

God,

Something horrible happened today. I don’t even know how to write about it without screaming, crying, or just breaking completely. But I made a vow—to You, Lord—that I would process pain through prayer, not panic. So here I am, raw and real.

You already know what happened, of course. You’re sovereign, all-knowing, omnipresent. But I still feel the need to tell You. It’s like talking helps me breathe when I’m drowning. And today… I am drowning.

The news hit me like a brick wall. Shocking, senseless, and so gut-wrenchingly unfair. It’s the kind of thing that plants anger deep in the chest. The kind of anger that burns. The kind that could so easily lead to sin if I don’t run to You first. That’s why I’m writing—so I don’t go off on the world, but rather, run straight into Your arms.

Lord, the weight of this injustice tempts me to lash out, to clap back, to defend what’s right with the sharpest tongue I have. But what would that fix? You said, “The anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God” (James 1:20). I repeat that verse over and over to myself like a heartbeat. You said vengeance is Yours, not mine (Romans 12:19). And I trust You.

The Serenity Prayer

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.”

But God, it’s so hard to stay calm. This world doesn’t value truth. It praises cruelty. It celebrates what is evil and mocks what is holy. That’s why I feel like a stranger here, like a foreigner in a land that doesn’t understand my values—Your values.

I’m not pretending to be okay. I’m not sweeping it under the rug. I’m not “letting it go” just to avoid conflict. I’m confronting it in prayer because I refuse to let the enemy manipulate my emotions. I’m putting my emotions on the altar.

I am not fragile. I’m not weak. I am a daughter of the Most High God. I carry the Spirit of peace within me—“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7). I will not let fear, anger, or rage hijack this moment.

So instead of lashing out, I inhale Your peace, Lord.

I inhale the stillness of Your presence.
I inhale the quiet strength of the Holy Spirit.
I inhale the promise that You are near to the brokenhearted and save the crushed in spirit .(Psalm 34:18)

And I exhale this fear. I exhale the urge to retaliate. I exhale the chaos in my mind and the storm in my chest.

God, I feel like Peter, stepping out on water in the middle of a storm, eyes on You, until the wind and waves make me start sinking. But I know what to do. I cry out: “Lord, save me!” And You always do.

Let me be clear: calmness isn’t passivity. I’m not “calm” because I’m afraid to speak up. I’m calm because You have equipped me with discernment. And when the time is right, I’ll speak—but not from a place of rage. From a place of authority rooted in You.

So here’s my prayer, Father:

A Prayer for Calmness

Heavenly Father,

You are the God of peace, the Prince of calm in the midst of the wildest storms. Today, my soul is shaken, and my emotions rage like a hurricane, but I run to You for shelter.

Still my thoughts, Lord. Quiet my heart. Let Your Holy Spirit fall fresh on me, washing away the heat of my anger and replacing it with clarity, boldness, and peace. I don’t want to numb the pain—I want to transform it through Your presence. Help me to be angry and not sin (Ephesians 4:26). Give me the words to say when silence is no longer holy, and the wisdom to hold my tongue when silence speaks louder than rage.

Help me to stand for righteousness without becoming self-righteous. Let my calmness confuse the enemy. Let my peace be a weapon against the chaos. Let me respond with grace, not because I’m weak, but because I am strong in You.

I believe that even on a day like today—especially on a day like today—You are still working. And something good, something glorious, will rise from these ashes.

In Jesus’ mighty name,
Amen.

This pain isn’t pretty. It’s not poetic. It’s jagged and real. But I still believe—with every fiber of my being—that God will make it beautiful. He always does. Romans 8:28 isn’t just a coffee mug verse. It’s the lifeline I’m clinging to: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.”

So tonight, I won’t fall asleep bitter. I won’t let this horror pull me out of alignment with You, Lord. I will weep. I will pray. I will breathe.

And I will wake up tomorrow, calm and courageous.

Because I inhale peace. And I exhale fear.

Amen