Author: thechristiantechnerd

22 year old college student! 100% Christian,! Will ALWAYS be a woman of FAITH. And my friends call me the "The Christian Tech Nerd" because I was hired by a very successful tech company in Silicon Valley, and I turned them down to be close to my family!

One Foot In The World, One Foot In Christ

Posted on 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 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 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 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 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 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 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

“I am Jesus…now get up and go… “

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Recently something shifted in my spirit. It was quiet—no thunder, no lightning—but it was undeniably God. He interrupted my comfort, my silence, my prayer… with five words that feel like fire under my skin:

“I am Jesus… now get up and go.” (Acts 9:5 AMP)

I don’t even know where to begin, Lord. You’ve been pressing that verse on my heart all week. It’s been waking me up at 3AM. I’ve read it before, studied it, even quoted it. But this time it wasn’t just a story about Saul on the road to Damascus. This time, it was personal. Like… it was me lying there, blind, wrecked by Your holiness, trembling in the dust.

God, You called Saul by name. You stopped him mid-mission and gave him a brand new one. And You didn’t even explain everything right away. You just told him to “get up and go into the city”—and he obeyed, even though he couldn’t see.

Why does obedience feel so risky sometimes?
Why is comfort so seductive when calling is so clear?

I sat in my room tonight with worship music playing, tears falling down my face, Bible in my lap… feeling You. Feeling You so close I didn’t want to move. That mountain top moment—you were there, like You were with Peter, James, and John when You transfigured before them.

But like them, I have to come back down.

The mountaintop is beautiful, Jesus. I love the clarity, the closeness, the holy hush of it all. But the valley is where the work is. And You didn’t save me so I could sit. You saved me so I could serve. You called me not just to be comforted but to carry something—Your truth, Your gospel, Your name.

God, I’m scared sometimes. I won’t lie.

There are days I feel like Saul—wrecked, confused, unqualified. I’ve messed up. I’ve doubted. I’ve let my fear speak louder than my faith. I’ve avoided people You sent me to love. I’ve chosen silence over truth. I’ve sat in the rocking chair of comfort when You were saying, “Get up and go.”

But tonight You shook me.

You reminded me: You don’t call the qualified, You qualify the called.
And I am called.

Just like You told Saul, You’re telling me:

“I am Jesus…”
That’s it. That’s the authority. That’s the reason. That’s all I need to hear.
Not explanations. Not blueprints.
Just You.

You don’t owe me clarity. You’ve already given me the cross. That should be enough.

God, I don’t want to just talk about You—I want to walk with You. I want to move when You say move, even if I’m trembling. Even if I’m blind to what’s next.

I want to obey You without delay.

I’m done waiting for the “right moment.”
You are the moment.

I’m done acting like faith is a feeling.
Faith is movement. Faith is steps. Faith is getting up and going when You say so.

Jesus…
My Jesus.
I kneel in this quiet moment knowing You’re calling me higher and deeper. I know this fire in my chest isn’t hype, it’s Holy Spirit conviction. Don’t let me sit here any longer, playing it safe, praying for signs, waiting for ease. Let me trust You like Saul did. Let me get up blind but bold, broken but obedient.

Forgive me for loving comfort more than calling.
Forgive me for hoarding the mountaintop when You’ve called me to the mission field.

Fill me with courage, God.
Let me be a woman of action, not just emotion.
Let me carry Your name, even when it costs me mine.

Give me eyes to see the hurting, hands to heal, and a voice that doesn’t shrink back from the truth.
Let me not just be changed by You—let me be used by You.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Scriptures I’m Holding On To Tonight:

Acts 9:5 (AMP) – And Saul said, “Who are You, Lord?” And He answered, “I am Jesus whom you are persecuting.
Matthew 17:1-9 – The transfiguration – “It is good for us to be here…”
Isaiah 6:8 – “Here I am. Send me!”
Luke 9:23 – “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”
2 Timothy 1:7 – “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.”

I know tomorrow I’ll have to step back into hard places, hard conversations, and hard obedience. But tonight I’ve been reminded: He is Jesus. That’s enough.

So I will get up and go.

Not perfectly. Not always confidently.
But always with Him.

Obedience: The True Mark of Christian Discipleship

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Today, I’m writing this with trembling hands and a heavy heart—not out of fear, but with the kind of spiritual weight that comes when God stirs something deep in your soul. I feel like the Holy Spirit won’t let me move forward until I sit with this truth: obedience is not occasional. It’s a lifestyle. A commitment.

I don’t want to sugarcoat anything. I’m not here to play Christian dress-up or quote Scripture when it feels convenient. I’m here to live it, breathe it, suffer for it if I have to. And lately, God has been confronting me about what I really mean when I say, “Jesus is Lord of my life.”

Because if I truly believe that, how dare I reserve the right to say “yes, but not right now” or “yes, but not in front of them” or “yes, as long as it doesn’t cost me comfort, reputation, or connection.” Who am I kidding?

Luke 6:46 says: “Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say?”

That verse pierced through me today like a sword. It’s Jesus asking a question most of us dodge with spiritual fluff. We love the idea of Him being our Savior—our Provider, our Comforter, our Deliverer. But our Lord? That’s where we hesitate.

And the truth is, Lordship means ownership.

If He owns me—my body, my choices, my time, my future—then obedience is not optional. It’s expected. Not from a place of fear or pressure, but love and honor.

I think of Hebrews 13:5, where God says, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”
That’s not a cute quote for a coffee mug. That’s a promise to carry with us when obedience leaves us standing alone. When saying “yes” to God means losing relationships. When obedience costs us popularity, stability, or dreams we once held dear.

And He will ask us to surrender things we value.

Why? Because He’s cruel? No. Because He’s holy. And we can’t carry our idols and His glory at the same time. It’s one or the other.

I’ve had to wrestle with this personally. God recently asked me to walk away from a situation that wasn’t sinful in the eyes of the world—but it was disobedient in the eyes of God. I knew it. Deep down, I knew I had to walk away.

But do you know how hard it is to obey God when everyone around you is choosing convenience over conviction?

That’s when Romans 8:28 anchored me: “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.”

All things. Even heartbreak. Even loneliness. Even the messes that come from doing the right thing.

Sometimes, obedience looks like closing doors you prayed would stay open. Sometimes, it’s deleting the text, walking away from the friend group, or speaking up when silence would be safer. Sometimes, it’s trusting God with your reputation when the world calls you “too intense” or “too Christian.”

But what does too Christian even mean? Last I checked, Christ didn’t go halfway to the Cross.

That’s why I can’t be halfway with Him.

Here’s the thing: partial obedience is still disobedience. Delayed obedience is disobedience. Conditional obedience is disobedience.

We don’t get to pick and choose. It’s either all in, or we’re playing church.

And I’m done playing church.

I’m done saying, “God, I’ll obey if…” or “I’ll obey when…” I want to be found faithful even when it’s dark, even when I’m scared, even when the outcome is unclear.

I want to be the kind of woman who obeys God with tears streaming down her face, with shaky hands and a surrendered heart, trusting that His way is better—even when it breaks mine.

1 Samuel 15:22 says, “To obey is better than sacrifice.”
God isn’t impressed by how many Bible studies I attend, or how eloquently I can talk about faith. He’s looking at the posture of my heart. Am I willing to obey Him when no one’s clapping, when it’s inconvenient, when it costs me everything?

Because that’s when obedience becomes real.

Jesus said in John 14:15, “If you love me, keep my commandments.”

This isn’t about legalism. It’s about love.

I obey because I love Him. I love Him more than my comfort. More than my image. More than my timeline or dreams.

And tonight, I want to say this out loud as a prayer:


Lord, forgive me for the times I’ve obeyed selectively. For the moments I negotiated with You as if You owe me options. You are not a consultant; You are King. Help me to walk in radical obedience—even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it costs me everything I thought I needed. I trust that what You ask of me is always for my good, even if I can’t see it yet. Make me the kind of woman who follows You without compromise. I want to live for Your glory, not my gain. In Jesus’ name, amen.

So here I am. A 25-year-old woman who doesn’t have it all figured out, but knows one thing for sure:

I’d rather be rejected by the world in obedience to God than accepted by the world in rebellion against Him.

And if obedience means I walk alone sometimes, I’ll still choose it.

Because I am committed.

Not halfway. Not occasionally. But fully, completely, and passionately—

Even when it hurts.


Triumphant Over Temptation: Shielding Your Soul from The Devil

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Dear Lord,

This morning I woke up with a spark in my soul. It wasn’t just coffee or sunshine—no, it was something deeper. It was You. I felt Your whisper in the quiet: “Daughter, you are not fighting for victory; you are fighting from victory.” That truth struck my spirit like a bell. Loud, clear, and unshakeable.

But even with that promise, I know the battle still rages. Not a battle we can see with our eyes, but a spiritual war over our minds, our choices, our holiness. And the enemy—Satan—is subtle. He doesn’t come waving red flags. He slithers in like a suggestion, a craving, a “just this once.” He’s got tricks, but God, You’ve got truth.

Today, I want to talk about temptation—not in theory, but in reality. This isn’t just about resisting chocolate or scrolling too long. I’m talking about the kind of temptation that tries to snatch your soul little by little. The kind that chips away at your calling and numbs your convictions. And I’m writing this not to condemn, but to confront with compassion, because it’s real and it’s relentless.

What Are the Temptations of the Devil, Really?

Let’s not sugarcoat it: The devil studies us. He watches for weak spots. But he’s not original—he’s been recycling the same three temptations since Eden.

1 John 2:16 lays it out:

“For all that is in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—is not of the Father but is of the world.”

Let’s unpack that gently but clearly:

  • Lust of the Flesh: These are desires that target our physical urges—sexual temptation, laziness, gluttony, addiction. Things that feel good but leave us empty.
  • Lust of the Eyes: This one’s crafty. It’s what we see and start to crave—bigger homes, perfect bodies, relationships we weren’t meant to have. It’s envy dressed as ambition.
  • Pride of Life: Maybe the most dangerous of all. It’s that inner voice that says, “I’ve got this. I don’t need God’s input.” That pride, beloved, is spiritual poison.

If we don’t name these for what they are, we won’t recognize when they knock.

How Do We Overcome Temptation?

Now here’s where we rise—not in our strength, but in His. The devil may be loud, but God is louder. And He didn’t leave us defenseless.

1. Know the Strategy of the Enemy

Ignorance is not holiness. We are called to be alert. 2 Corinthians 2:11 says:

“…so that Satan will not outsmart us. For we are familiar with his evil schemes.”

Satan thrives when we underestimate him. So learn his patterns. Don’t fear him—expose him. And do it by immersing yourself in the Word. Scripture isn’t a trophy. It’s a weapon.

2. Keep Your Eyes on Jesus

Peter only sank when he looked at the storm instead of the Savior (Matthew 14:30). We do the same. When we obsess over the temptation, we empower it. But when we fix our eyes on Jesus? That’s when we walk on water.

Hebrews 12:2 reminds us:

“Fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith…”

Look up. Not around.

3. Pray Like It’s Life or Death

Because honestly—it is. Temptation doesn’t knock politely; it barges in. Jesus said in Matthew 26:41:

“Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

Prayer isn’t last resort. It’s first response. Don’t wait until you’re drowning—start praying before your feet even touch the water.

A Prayer for the Tempted Heart

Heavenly Father,
I come before You with humility, knowing that my flesh is weak but Your Spirit is mighty within me. Strengthen me when temptation whispers. Remind me that sin never satisfies and that holiness is worth the fight. I submit my desires to You, Lord—make them holy. Fill the spaces where sin used to knock with Your peace, Your power, and Your presence.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.

What to Do In the Moment of Temptation

Let’s be practical here. When that moment hits—when you’re alone, vulnerable, or discouraged—do this:

  • Pray for help. Cry out. God’s not afraid of your desperation.
  • Resist and flee. James 4:7 says: “Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.”
  • Turn away—literally. Close the laptop. Exit the room. End the conversation. Temptation grows when we linger.
  • Speak Scripture out loud. Jesus did it. We should too. (Matthew 4:1–11)

Replace the Thought—Immediately

2 Corinthians 10:5 says:

“We take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”

Don’t entertain sinful thoughts. Don’t replay them like a movie trailer. Replace them with God’s truth.

  • Temptation: “Nobody will know.”
    Truth: “The eyes of the Lord are everywhere.” (Proverbs 15:3)
  • Temptation: “Just one more time.”
    Truth: “Make no provision for the flesh.” (Romans 13:14)

Live Holy—On Purpose

We are not just called to avoid sin. We’re called to pursue righteousness. That means taking proactive steps:

  • Avoid triggers. Don’t go where sin is easy.
  • Armor up daily. Ephesians 6:11 reminds us: “Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.”
  • Choose godly community. You weren’t meant to fight alone.
  • Stay humble. Don’t flirt with pride. It will take you down fast.

Final Thoughts: Grace and Grit

Sister, brother—temptation is real. But so is our victory. And hear me clearly: Temptation is not sin. Jesus was tempted. Giving in is the sin. And if you’ve slipped—there’s grace. God’s mercy isn’t fragile. He doesn’t cancel His children when they fall. He lifts us. He restores. He loves.

But let us not use grace as a crutch to keep sinning. Let’s use it as a weapon to rise higher. The devil wants you distracted, discouraged, and defeated. But Christ already won. So let’s live like it.

Romans 8:37 says:

“No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.”

Not barely surviving. More than conquerors. That’s who we are.

So today, let’s fight—not with fear, but with faith. Let’s live—not with shame, but with strength. And let’s walk—not in compromise, but in conviction.