Tag: bible

When Fear Falls Silent

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

As much as I wrestle with my anxious heart, I am reminded that God’s Word calls me to a higher place—a place where fear falls silent because faith speaks louder.

I can’t help but think about how often we humans live captive to worry. We fret about our health, the future of our families, money, the state of the world, even the smallest things like salt and sugar intake—things we imagine could throw our lives off balance. The truth is, much of this worry is unfounded, a thief stealing our peace and joy.

The Longman Dictionary defines worry as “an uncomfortable feeling in the mind, caused by a mixture of fear and uncertainty.” How true. And yet, worry doesn’t just stay in our minds; it spills over into our bodies, our spirits, and our actions. Dr. Charles Mayo said something that hit me deeply: “I’ve never known a man who died from overwork, but I’ve known many who have died from doubt.” That doubt—that worry—is more deadly than we realize.

So, what am I worrying about today? Honestly, sometimes it’s everything all at once—my family’s health, my job, the world’s instability. But when I bring it all before God, I realize how small those worries are compared to His infinite power and love.

Jesus’s words in Matthew 6:34 keep ringing in my ears: “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” This isn’t just a suggestion; it’s a divine command to release the burdens that we were never meant to carry alone.

I remind myself that worrying about tomorrow is pointless because God alone holds the future. Proverbs 16:9 says, “In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.” How often do I forget this? I make my plans, map out every detail, and then stress when things don’t go as I imagined. But God? He is sovereign. He guides my steps even when I’m unsure which way to turn.

And honestly, there’s enough trouble in today without borrowing from tomorrow’s troubles. I think about people who wake up each day terrified—some cry out, “Good Lord, it’s morning!” while others cheerfully say, “Good morning, Lord!” Which one am I?

I want to be the latter. I want to greet each morning with faith that God is present, that He is in control.

God declares Himself as the eternal “I AM,” a God of the present moment. Too often, I find myself trapped either in regrets about the past or anxieties about the future. But the Apostle Paul encourages me to forget what lies behind and press forward (Philippians 3:13). And when worry threatens to consume me, Paul’s words in Philippians 4:6 give me a lifeline: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”

Prayer is my refuge. When fear screams loudest, I whisper my needs to God, trusting that He hears and cares.

Lord, I come before You now with my fears and worries. You see the turmoil in my heart. I ask for Your peace that surpasses all understanding to guard my heart and mind in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:7). Help me to surrender my anxious thoughts to You, trusting You with my tomorrow and my today. Give me strength to face each moment with courage and faith, knowing You are my refuge and my strength (Psalm 46:1).

I confess that sometimes I let worry control me, stealing the joy You desire for me. Forgive me, Lord, for doubting Your promises and for holding on to fears instead of releasing them into Your hands. Teach me to walk boldly in faith, to confront the lies of fear with the truth of Your Word.

I remember that God is not a distant deity but a loving Father who cares deeply for His children. He reminds me in 1 Peter 5:7, “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” That’s not just comforting—it’s revolutionary. I don’t have to carry my burdens alone.

Sometimes, I think our worry stems from a lack of trust in God’s goodness and timing. But I want to believe that God is good, always. That His plans for me are for peace and not for harm (Jeremiah 29:11). Even when life feels uncertain and scary, God remains my anchor.

I’m learning that to confront worry, I must confront my fears head-on—not by denying them, but by taking them to God and standing firm in His truth. The enemy would love nothing more than to keep me paralyzed in fear. But the Spirit gives me power, love, and self-discipline (2 Timothy 1:7).

So today, I choose faith over fear. I choose to face my worries with a prayerful heart and a confident spirit. I don’t have all the answers, but I have a God who does.

I pray this for everyone who’s burdened with worry, for those who feel defeated and powerless. May you find rest in God’s promises. May you release your fears into His capable hands. And may you wake each morning with the courage to say, “Good morning, Lord.”

Fear will fall silent—not because it disappears—but because faith speaks louder.

Amen.

The Complete Blessing: From Spirit to Flesh

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Lord, it’s just me — raw, real, and reaching. I feel so much stirring in my spirit that I can’t just sit with it anymore. I have to write it out, wrestle with it, pray through it, speak life over myself. You’ve been pressing 1 Thessalonians 5:23-24 into my heart so deeply, it’s like it’s tattooed on my bones:

“May God Himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul, and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful, and He will do it.”

I read that and my heart screams, YES, LORD. DO IT! But also, God, how? How do You make me whole — spirit, soul, and body — when life feels like it’s constantly pulling me apart?

I don’t want to be a half-built house anymore, Holy Spirit. I want to be made blameless. Not just in my outward appearance or religious rituals, but truly, deeply, wholly sanctified. This isn’t about perfectionism — this is about purification.

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Let’s start with my spirit. That part of me that cries out for You when words fail, that part of me You breathed into life, the part of me that knows Your voice even when my emotions lie. You said in Ephesians 3:16 that we are “strengthened with power through His Spirit in your inner being.” Jesus, I need that strength right now. I’m not here to perform or pretend. I’m here because my spirit wants more of You. It aches when I grieve You. It gets buried when I let my flesh take the lead. But it is yours, fully and eternally. Breathe new fire in me. Fill me with the hunger that moves mountains.

And Lord, if there are parts of my spirit that are crushed — and honestly, there are — please, please come close like You promised in Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” I need You near. No one else will do. Heal those broken inner places, not so I can feel good, but so I can be whole and walk worthy of Your call.

My soul? She’s a mess sometimes. She’s emotional, sensitive, reactive — but she’s also vibrant, creative, and expressive. She carries the songs I sing, the tears I cry, the joy I radiate. But she gets overwhelmed. She tries to control things that belong in Your hands. She feels everything deeply, and sometimes the pain of the world pierces her too deeply.

Lord, You said You restore our soul (Psalm 23:3). I’m holding You to that promise. Renew her. Teach her to surrender. Show her that she doesn’t have to lead; she just has to follow the spirit that follows Your Spirit. Help her get in divine alignment. I bless my soul to come under the leadership of the Holy Spirit. No more hijacking peace. No more feeding fear. Soul, be still and know that He is God.

And my body? This temple that gets overlooked unless it’s in pain or gaining weight or feeling tired? I’ve spoken so harshly to her, Lord. I’ve treated her like a workhorse instead of the sacred vessel she is. Forgive me. I bless my body to come alive in Your glory. I speak healing over her, strength into her bones, and freedom into her movements.

My body lifts hands in worship. She dances, cries, embraces, kneels. She doesn’t just carry me — she carries Your Spirit, Your purpose, Your presence. I bless her to be whole, strong, and healthy. I speak to every cell, every system, every hidden trauma — be sanctified, be healed, be whole in Jesus’ name.

This isn’t about self-help or some aesthetic “healing journey.” This is about sanctification — deep, holy, through-and-through alignment with the God of peace. It’s about being kept blameless — not because I’m flawless, but because You’re faithful. You’re the One who does the work, Lord. You will do it.

You didn’t call me to salvation only to abandon me in sanctification. You didn’t save my spirit to leave my soul and body in chaos. You’re after every part of me, and I say yes. Yes, Jesus. Sanctify me. Spirit, soul, and body. I’m not hiding any part from You.

Where I’ve let trauma speak louder than truth — silence it.
Where I’ve let exhaustion speak louder than purpose — revive me.
Where I’ve let bitterness poison my soul — cleanse me.

Take the whole of me, Lord. Make it holy. Make it whole.

And God, help me to be bold with others about this. I’m tired of surface-level Christianity. I’m not interested in cute faith or lukewarm prayers. I want to see chains break, strongholds fall, spirits awaken. I want to look people in the eye and say, “He can heal you — all of you. Spirit, soul, and body.” I want to speak with holy fire and radical compassion, not just comfort but confrontation. Not because I’m better — but because I know the One who makes us whole. I know He can do it. Because He’s doing it in me.

Even on the days I feel like I’m falling apart, You’re putting me together. So tonight, I rest in the truth that You are faithful. You are working. You will complete what You started. And when You come back, I’ll be found blameless — not because of me, but because of You.

Amen.


Divine Whispers and Heavenly Kisses

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Sometimes, Lord, I sit in the stillness and it feels like the whole summer rushed at me like cold waves. End of summer always does that to me—brings a weightiness, a holy heaviness that presses into my soul. It’s not depression, not sadness really… just a kind of holy pause. A contemplative ache. A yearning to know—have I made a difference? Did I obey You when it counted? Have I pleased Your heart? Was I a good steward of the time, the breath, the resources, and the people You placed in my life?

Truth be told, I’ve been hit hard this year. Not always in ways that showed up on the surface, but in my soul. You know that, Lord. You saw me.

I look back, and I can’t deny: there were kisses from heaven.

Some were soft, gentle…Others were fierce, disguised as fire.

Scripture tells me in Romans 8:28 that “all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” Not all things feel good. But I’m finally realizing—they’re working for my good.

Even when my best friend called to tell me the doctors found something wrong with her dad. Even when I felt like the bottom dropped out and I didn’t know how to pray. I did pray. Weak prayers. Ugly prayers. Honest prayers. And You still showed up. The diagnosis wasn’t what we hoped, but it also wasn’t what we feared. And somehow, in all of it, we felt You closer than we had in years.

God, this year, I have seen You in the quiet places.

You kissed me with that unexpected job interview when I thought I was completely overlooked.


You kissed me through the laughter of my little niece who said, “Jesus makes me giggle.”
You kissed me with peace in the waiting.


You kissed me with confrontation, too—calling me out when I was slipping into compromise, using people-pleasing as a poor excuse for silence.

I don’t always like how You love me, Lord. But I know it’s love all the same. Hebrews 12:6 says, “For the Lord disciplines those He loves, and He punishes each one He accepts as His child.” You don’t coddle me. You grow me. You stretch me. And it hurts. But thank You for not letting me stay the same.

Some of Your kisses this summer came wrapped in grief.

My best friend’s heartbreak broke me, too. Not being there for her physically, not being able to hold her while she cried… that haunted me for all of June. But then… the dream. That dream You gave me where I saw her happy, light all around her. I woke up crying, Lord. That was You. That was Your way of saying, “I’ve got her. I’ve got you too.”

Jesus, help me live with thanksgiving in my bones. Let me not be so busy doing that I forget to be. To be aware. To be grateful. To be present to the soft whispers You’re always sending—those “you are Mine” reminders.

I want to walk into the fall with eyes wide open. Watching. Listening. Surrendered.

Your Word says in James 1:17, “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.” Even the hard things that become good things—those are gifts, too.

So I’ll take time today. I’ll reflect. I’ll let the tears fall if they need to. I’ll praise You in the remembering. I’ll shout thank You even for the almosts—the doors You closed, the relationships You protected me from, the battles I didn’t have to fight because You stood in front of me.

You kissed me, God, in ways I didn’t deserve. You kissed me in discipline. You kissed me in favor. You kissed me in loss. You kissed me in surprise. You kissed me in the storm—and in the calm after.

Let me never confuse the mundane for meaningless.

A friend’s text. A sunrise with colors I can’t name. The fact that my lungs still breathe and my legs still carry me. The ability to worship You freely. To speak Your name without fear.

These are heaven’s kisses. Every one of them.

Let me live like I know that.

Let me love like I’ve been kissed by God.

Let me fight for joy. Let me confront lies with truth. Let me stay soft in a world trying to harden me. Let me never forget what You’ve done.

Because You are worthy. You are holy. You are here.

You are Emmanuel—God with us.

Even here. Even now.

Lord Jesus,


Thank You for the beauty in brokenness.
Thank You for every whisper, every kiss, every form of love You’ve shown me—whether soft or sharp.


I give You this past year.
The joys, the wounds, the growth, the grace.
And I invite You into every moment of the year to come.
Teach me to recognize Your kisses.


Let my soul be quick to say “thank You”
And let my life be a reflection of Your goodness.


In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Blame Ends Here: I’m done pointing fingers!

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I’ve been feeling convicted lately. Not guilty—convicted. There’s a difference. Guilt just sticks to your soul like mud, but conviction comes from the Holy Spirit and leads you toward cleansing. And right now, I need cleansing. Not just from the obvious sins, but from that sneaky one I’ve been nursing in silence: blame.

You know what I’ve realized, Lord? Blame is a comfort zone. It’s easier to say “She hurt me,” “He triggered me,” “They abandoned me,” than to say, “I chose this response.” Because choosing to be angry, bitter, cold, or petty means I have to face myself. And let’s be real—sometimes I’d rather point the finger outward than take a hard look in the mirror.

Galatians 5:22-23 keeps ringing in my ears:


“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control…”


SELF-CONTROL. Not other-control. Not blame-shifting. Not retaliation. Self. Control. The one fruit I pretend isn’t in the basket when I’m fired up.

Earlier this week I was frustrated with my boss—again. She made this snarky comment about my “slow pace” on a project that I literally prayed through and poured my heart into.

Then I heard that still, small voice: “You’re standing on the outside, but inside you’re stomping your feet.” Just like that kid in time-out, pretending to submit while rebellion boils underneath. That hit hard. I’m not called to passive-aggressiveness or silent rebellion. I’m called to radical, inconvenient obedience.

So here I am, laying it all down. No more blaming her. No more blaming my past, my wounds, my triggers. They’re real, yes. But they don’t get to define my reactions anymore. Only You do, Lord.

I’m reminded of Romans 14:12:
“So then, each of us will give an account of ourselves to God.”


MYSELF. Not my coworkers. Not my parents. Me. And if I’m being honest, my account’s got some chapters I’d rather not read aloud. But You already know them.

You see my heart—and love me anyway. That’s what humbles me most. You see the fake apologies, the grudges disguised as boundaries, the sarcasm hiding my disappointment. And still, You invite me into grace.

Holy Spirit, search me. Please. Rip the roots of bitterness out before they become my identity. I don’t want to be “the girl who was hurt” anymore. I want to be “the woman who was healed and chose joy anyway.”

God, I want to live Galatians 5, not just quote it. I want my love to be genuine, my peace to be unshakable, my kindness to be reflexive, not forced. I don’t want to react like the world—I want to respond like You. Because You never played the blame game, even when You had every right to. Jesus, You were blameless, and yet You bore my blame. And what do I do with that sacrifice? I pick it up and throw it at others, using it as a weapon to justify my own hurt. Forgive me, Lord.

Here’s my prayer tonight:

Father, create in me a clean heart (Psalm 51:10), and renew a right spirit within me. Deliver me from the temptation to justify sin with someone else’s failures. You are the Judge, not me. You are the Redeemer, not me. Teach me to stop blaming and start forgiving. Soften my heart, even toward those who don’t apologize. And when I mess up, give me the humility to repent fully and quickly, not just partially. Holy Spirit, grow Your fruit in me. I surrender my responses, my emotions, my rights. I choose obedience, not offense. I choose peace. In Jesus’ name, amen.

I’m realizing that the blame game is the devil’s favorite playground. He doesn’t need us to sin loudly—he just needs us to keep a bitter scorecard while pretending we’re fine. I refuse to play his game. I’d rather play for the Kingdom.

The more I surrender to God, the more I see how much I’ve tried to manage my own vindication.

But Romans 12:19 says….

“Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.”


That’s hard. So hard. But necessary. Because when I hold on to blame, I’m essentially saying I don’t trust You, God. And that’s not the legacy I want.

I want to be known for releasing, not resenting. For healing, not harboring. For grace, not grudge.

So I’m putting down the gavel. I’m not the judge. I’m not the jury. I’m just a daughter of the King, learning to respond like royalty instead of reacting like a wounded orphan. I’m not perfect—but I’m being perfected. And that’s enough.

If anyone ever reads this entry one day (God help them!), I pray they feel the freedom that comes when you stop blaming and start confessing. It’s like unclenching a fist you didn’t realize was tight. Suddenly, peace can fill your palm.

Ending the blame game doesn’t mean you were never hurt—it means your healing matters more.

I’m done pointing fingers. I’m lifting hands.

The Disruptive Savior: Jesus Violates My Expectations

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Jesus,

Today, You violated my expectations. Again.

And honestly? It wrecked me—in the best way.

I came to You with a plan. A perfect little picture of how I thought You would move. I had it all laid out: the timeline, the method, the outcome. I expected peace in the waiting, healing on my terms, breakthrough in a way that made sense to me.

But You didn’t follow my script. You never do.

And that’s what makes You God.

I used to think that faith meant expecting You to move in a certain way. Now I’m learning that faith is surrendering all my expectations and trusting You to move however You want—even if it’s weird, uncomfortable, or completely opposite of what I had in mind.

Your ways are not my ways. (Isaiah 55:8)

And thank God for that.

I think about the blind man in John 9. You could’ve just said the word and healed him. You have done that before. But instead, You spit in the dirt, made mud, and smeared it on his eyes. That’s not clean. That’s not sanitary. That’s definitely not what anyone was expecting.

“Having said this, He spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. ‘Go,’ He told him, ‘wash in the Pool of Siloam.’ So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.” — John 9:6–7 (NIV)

I mean… really? Mud? Spit?

But that’s the thing. You don’t need to meet our expectations. We’re the ones who need to adjust to Yours.

And You’re not inconsistent. You’re just obedient to the Father’s will. That’s Your only consistency—total surrender to the will of God.

So why do I still act shocked when You move in a way I didn’t expect?

Why do I question Your love just because You didn’t answer how I prayed? Why do I think You’ve abandoned me just because the healing hasn’t come the way I pictured? Why do I think delay means denial?

The truth is, You’ve never failed me. Not once. But sometimes You love me too much to meet the expectations I put on You. Sometimes You intentionally violate my comfort zone to build real faith—not the kind that works when life is cute and convenient, but the kind that stands when nothing makes sense.

That’s the kind of faith I want.

Jesus, confront me. Offend my logic. Violate my false beliefs. Expose every place where I’ve boxed You in.

Because I don’t want a tame God. I want the real You.

I want the Jesus who flips tables.
The Jesus who eats with sinners.
The Jesus who doesn’t fit into any of the categories we try to place You in.
The Jesus who saves with blood, not politics.
The Jesus who washes feet but holds all power.
The Jesus who disrupts my comfort so I’ll depend on grace.

You are not predictable—but You are trustworthy.

And I know I’ve been guilty of trying to domesticate You. I’ve begged You to fit into my plans. I’ve expected blessing without pruning, glory without obedience, and miracles without submission.

But today, I lay that down.

All of it.

I don’t need a Jesus who obeys me—I need to obey You.
I don’t need a Savior who plays by my rules—I need one who saves me from myself.
And You do that. Every day.

So please, Jesus, violate my expectations. Shatter them if You have to.

If You need to spit in the dirt and smear it in my eyes so I can finally see, then do it.

If You need to let me sit in a season of silence so I can hear You clearly again, I’m here for it.

If You need to deny me what I think I want so You can give me what I really need, then so be it.

Because faith isn’t about control. It’s about surrender.
It’s not about understanding every step—it’s about trusting the One who holds the path.

And that’s You.

Lord, forgive me for all the ways I’ve treated You like a vending machine or a wish granter. You’re not here to serve my ego—You came to save my soul.

I don’t want You to just “fix my life.” I want You to transform me.

If that takes discomfort, so be it. If that means dying to my preferences, I’m ready. If that means letting go of everything I thought You would do, I’ll do it.

Because in the end, what I want more than anything… is You.

You alone are worthy.

You alone are holy.

You alone are Lord—not just in theory, but in reality.

So take my expectations, my formulas, my assumptions.
Take my pride, my need for control, my fear of the unknown.
Take it all, Jesus. You can have it.

And in return, give me eyes to see what You’re doing—even if it doesn’t look the way I imagined.

Because that man walked away seeing.

I want that kind of vision.
Not worldly vision.
Not religious tradition.
But real, Spirit-filled sight.

Sight that sees Your hand even in the mud.
Faith that trusts You even when it stings.
Love that stays, even when You move differently than expected.

You are Lord.

Not me.

Amen.

Wrestling with Doubt as a Christian

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The weight of the world feels almost unbearable some days. Everything seems flipped. Right is called wrong. Wrong is celebrated. Sin is dressed up in sequins and paraded in the streets, while righteousness is mocked and silenced. I used to think we’d have more time before it got this loud—this twisted—but here we are. And I know You’re not surprised.

“Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness…” — Isaiah 5:20.


Your Word warned us, Lord. And now we are living in the middle of that woe.

Sometimes I just want to scream. Not because I hate people—I don’t. I ache for them. For the blind leading the blind. For the influencers raising a generation on relativism and emotion, not truth. For the silence of the church where there should be a shout. For my own weariness in holding the line.

I feel the tension in my soul every single day. To go along or to speak up. To be silent or to be that “annoying Christian girl” who just has to bring Jesus into everything. But how can I not? He is everything to me. He pulled me from darkness. He healed parts of me no one saw. He made me new. If I deny Him, I deny myself.

But today was hard.

I watched another celebrity mock believers. “Y’all still believe in that sky fairy?” she laughed. Thousands of likes. Thousands of cheers. I cried. Not because I’m weak, but because I know what it’s like to live without hope—and I know what it’s like to meet Jesus. And I want that for them, even if they spit in my face. Even if they call me brainwashed. Because Christ said they’d do all of that.

“If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first.” — John 15:18

Jesus, You knew this would happen. You promised this walk wouldn’t be easy, but You also promised You’d walk with me. I guess that’s what I’m clinging to right now: that I’m not alone, even when it feels like I’m walking upstream in a river of compromise.

It’s hard to hold on when it feels like faith itself is on trial.

Every time I open social media, the battle is louder. The culture says be “politically correct,” while You’ve called us to be morally correct. There’s a war raging, not just around us, but inside of us. The culture war is just a symptom of the deeper spiritual war, and I can feel it tearing at hearts. Mine included.

But Lord, I believe. Even when it’s hard. Even when I don’t feel You the way I used to. Even when my prayers feel like they’re bouncing off the ceiling.

I still believe.

I still believe You are the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6).
I still believe the Bible is Your living, breathing Word (Hebrews 4:12).
I still believe You died and rose again, defeating death and hell (Revelation 1:18).
I still believe the cross is not foolishness, but the power of God (1 Corinthians 1:18).
I still believe You are coming back, and soon.

So help me, Jesus.

Help me keep my eyes on You, not the headlines.
Help me keep my ears tuned to Your voice, not the noise of the crowd.
Help me to stand, even if I’m the last one standing.
Help me to speak when You say “speak,” and be silent when You say “wait.”
Help me to love, even when I’m hated.
And help me to never confuse compassion with compromise.

The world follows Carl Sagan’s voice—”The cosmos is all that is, or ever was, or ever will be.” But I hear Your whisper through the ages: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” — Genesis 1:1.

Sagan saw a godless void. Calvin saw a stage for Your glory. I choose to see what Calvin saw—what You showed us. Creation is Your theater, and we’re living in the final act. I’ve read the end of the script. I know who wins. You do. So I will not be afraid.

But Lord, give me wisdom. There’s so much deception. And it’s subtle. The devil isn’t dumb. He disguises lies as “love.” He paints sin with glitter and slogans like “your truth” and “just be you.” But Your truth is the only truth that saves. And it breaks my heart that so many will miss it because it doesn’t feel good or sound trendy.

Jesus, revive Your Church. Shake us. Wake us up. We were not called to blend in. We were never meant to be lukewarm or “cool.” We are salt and light—meant to sting and shine. Forgive us for choosing comfort over conviction.

I want to be bold, God. But not rude. I want to be loving, but not compromising. I want to reflect You, even when people reject me. Because this world is not my home. I’m not living for likes. I’m living for “Well done.”

So tonight, I lay my weariness before You. I pour out the ache, the confusion, the heartbreak, the loneliness. I give it all to You. And I pick up peace. I pick up faith. I pick up the cross.

Because You’re worth it.

Every tear.
Every rejection.
Every label.
Every loss.

Jesus, You’re worth it.

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Unshaken: Prayers for Strength in Hard Times

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I know what it feels like to smile in public and crumble in private. I know the weight of feeling like you’re supposed to be “okay” because you’re a Christian, even when everything inside you is screaming for help.

But being a Christian doesn’t mean we don’t struggle. It means we struggle differently. It means we struggle with hope—and that’s what I want to talk about today.

I had a rough morning. If you’re reading this after August 27, 2025, then google that date so you know why I had a horrible morning. I just don’t want to get into it all.

But, I needed strength, as we all do, for whatever the reason may be.

So I whispered, “God, please give me strength.” And it wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t even confident. It was raw and desperate. But He met me there. And I want to share the prayers and verses that helped lift me up. Because if they lifted me today, I believe they can lift someone else, too.

-Prayers for God’s Strength–


“We praise you that nothing is impossible with you… In our weakness, you make us strong.”

This one hit deep. Because I don’t feel strong right now. But strength isn’t something I need to manufacture. It’s something I receive. From Him. That’s why Philippians 4:13 isn’t a motivational quote—it’s a declaration:

“I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

Not because I’m good. Not because I’m capable. But because He is.

-Prayer For When I’m Overwhelmed-

“You have shown me that falling is not always failing.”

This line made me cry. I’ve fallen a lot lately—emotionally, spiritually, even physically. I’ve doubted myself, second-guessed decisions, and sat in the pit of “not enough.” But God reminded me through this prayer that falling doesn’t disqualify me. He picks me up—again and again.

Isaiah 41:10 says:

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you…”

That’s not a suggestion. That’s a promise.

–Prayer For The Strength to Survive–


I felt so convicted praying this over persecuted believers. My stress feels real—but some of our brothers and sisters are dying for this faith. And yet they hold on. It humbled me. It reminded me that God isn’t just enough for small problems—He is enough for the big, life-threatening ones too.

And if He can sustain them in prisons, warzones, and underground churches, He can sustain me right here in my living room, with my messy heart and anxious mind.

–A Prayer in the Storm–


“In turbulent times… You are my strength.”

Whew. I needed that. Because my storm isn’t going away overnight. But God never promised a storm-free life—He promised to be my refuge in the storm.

“But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength…” – Isaiah 40:31

That’s the kind of strength I need. Not hyped-up energy. Not fake positivity. Renewed strength. Strength that lets me wait well.

I’m not the kind of Christian who sugarcoats. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend that quoting a few verses makes all my anxiety disappear. But I will tell you what does happen: my perspective changes. My posture shifts. My faith wakes up.

And I begin to remember that my feelings are real—but they’re not in charge. God is.

–Prayer For the Weary–


“Lord, I need You.”
Honestly, that could be my life motto. I need Him to help me sort through the chaos—internal and external. I need His Spirit to guide me through every “I don’t know what I’m doing” moment. And I’m tired of trying to be strong on my own.

–A Prayer for God’s Power–


“Help us not to underestimate You in our praying.”

Let that line marinate for a second. How many of us pray like God is small? Like He might help… if He’s not too busy? Nah. He’s the King of the Universe. He is not overwhelmed by my mess. He’s not afraid of my questions. He invites me to pray big prayers—and believe He’s big enough to answer them.

–Prayer For Guidance and Strength–


Right now, I need both. I need God to direct my steps and give me the energy to walk them out. It’s not enough to know the way—I need Him to walk it with me. And He does.

“Be strong and courageous… for the Lord your God goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” – Deuteronomy 31:6

If you’re living without prayer—you’re living on fumes.


If you’re trying to be strong without God—you’re building your house on sand.

I love you too much not to say that. The world teaches us to be “self-made,” but Christianity calls us to be Spirit-led. That means putting down the fake strength and picking up His supernatural strength.


Every prayer I shared today isn’t just a “nice thought.” It’s a weapon.
A weapon for your warfare.
A weapon for your weariness.
A weapon for your tomorrow.

You’re not too far gone. You’re not too broken. You’re not too weak.
You’re right where God can show up—and show off.

So pray. Even if your voice shakes. Even if all you can say is “God, help me.” He hears. He answers. And He strengthens.

Unshaken.

Words of Grace: Top 10 Christian Prayers Every Believer Knows By Heart

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

The world feels heavy, but my heart is heavier for those who claim to believe, yet barely acknowledge Your presence. I’m not judging—well, maybe I am a little—but it’s because I care. I believe in You more than I believe in the air in my lungs. And if prayer is how we breathe spiritually, then we’re walking around as a suffocating generation.

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So here it is: the 10 Christian prayers that have helped me stand when I had no strength, cry when I felt numb, and believe when I was tempted not to.

1 – The Lord’s Prayer (Our Father): A central Christian prayer taught by Jesus, found in the Bible, with variations across traditions.

This is the blueprint. Jesus Himself gave it to us, not just to recite, but to live. I pray it when I don’t know what to say. It reminds me that God is holy, sovereign, forgiving, and my provider. Every time I say, “Thy will be done,” I’m surrendering again. Honestly, it’s hard. But it’s real.

2 – The Hail Mary: A common Catholic prayer invoking the Virgin Mary, full of grace and mercy.

Some people avoid this prayer because they’re scared of sounding “too Catholic.” But I’m not afraid of reverence. Mary said yes to God when it meant scandal, shame, and sacrifice. When I pray this, I remember that obedience is costly, and God honors it.

3 – The Glory Be: A doxology, or prayer of praise, honoring the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

This one is like spiritual punctuation. I pray it when I finish thanking God or after reading scripture. It’s my way of saying, “All glory is Yours, not mine.” I can be prideful—especially when I feel spiritually “on fire.” But this resets me. 1 Corinthians 10:31 says, “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.”

4 – The Nicene Creed: A fundamental profession of Christian faith summarizing core beliefs.

I had to memorize this in confirmation class, and I rolled my eyes at it back then. But now, I cling to every line. It’s our identity, our statement of belief. When the world pushes false doctrines, this prayer anchors me to the unshakable truth. “I believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ…” Amen.

5 – The Serenity Prayer: A prayer to feel peaceful, often used to promote acceptance and courage.

Acceptance doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m a fighter. But sometimes, the most courageous thing I can do is let go. This prayer pulls me back when anxiety takes over. Philippians 4:6-7 tells me not to be anxious, and this prayer helps me live that out. One sentence at a time.

6 – Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace (Prayer of St. Francis): A well-known prayer by St. Francis of Assisi, asking to be an instrument of peace and love.

This is my go-to when I’m angry, hurt, or ready to argue—which, let’s be honest, happens often. But it convicts me every time: “Where there is hatred, let me sow love.” I can’t claim to follow Christ and still spread bitterness. Lord, make me an instrument. Dismantle my ego.

7 – The Prayer of St. Richard of Chichester: A prayer for spiritual guidance and to feel God’s presence, ending with “Thanks be to you, Lord Jesus Christ”.

It’s not fancy. It’s not long. But wow, it reminds me to pause and just thank Jesus. Not for what I want—but for who He is. Psalm 103:2 says, “Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits.” This prayer is my whisper of gratitude when the day has wrecked me.

8 – The Prayer to the Angel of God: An invocation for a guardian angel to protect and guide.

I used to think this one was “childish.” Until I found myself alone in my apartment, sobbing in the dark, feeling like evil was closing in. I prayed it out loud. “Angel of God, my guardian dear…” And peace came. Whether you believe in guardian angels or not, God’s protection is real. Psalm 91:11 confirms it.

9 – The Prayer of Jabez: A biblical prayer for God to bless and enlarge one’s territory.

Some people treat this prayer like a vending machine. But for me, it’s a reminder that I can ask big things of a big God—if my heart is right. “Keep me from evil,” Jabez prayed. That part matters. I don’t want a bigger platform if it pulls me away from righteousness.

10 – Thomas Merton’s Prayer: A prayer for God to lead one’s path, focusing on trust and surrender to divine will.

This prayer is terrifyingly honest—and that’s why I love it. Trust is not pretending I have it together. Trust is saying, “God, I don’t know the way, but I’m following You anyway.” Proverbs 3:5-6 tells me to lean not on my understanding. This prayer helps me do just that.

So here I am, Lord.

Still messy. Still mouthy. Still full of questions. But I’m also full of faith—and I refuse to stay silent about it.

These 10 prayers have changed me, broken me, rebuilt me. They are not magic words. They’re declarations of surrender, hope, and belief. I don’t care if people think I’m “too intense” or “too religious.” I’m just too in love with You to play it safe.

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

I don’t pray these because I have to. I pray them because I can. And I won’t stop.

Double Vision: Seeing God Clearly

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Today I write with a heart full of conviction and a mind freshly awakened by God’s truth. I’ve been walking with the Lord long enough to know better—and yet He’s so loving, so gentle, so precise in His correction that I can’t help but love Him more even in the middle of being exposed. There’s something about when the Holy Spirit shines His light on a part of me that’s not aligned with the will of God. It stings, yes—but it’s also freeing. Like truth that pulls you out of a fog you didn’t realize you were in.

The Lord has whispered to me before about being double-minded. I remember the first time vividly. It felt like a gut-punch cloaked in love. I was offended. Not outright angry at God—but internally, I wrestled. I remember thinking, “Lord, surely not I?” I was sure I was sold out. My lips said it, my actions (on the surface) looked like it. I went to church, I prayed, I gave, I served. What more could He want?

But God doesn’t look at the outward appearance. “The Lord looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7)

And He saw mine.

My heart wasn’t fully surrendered. There were pockets—hidden closets—where I still sat on the throne. Where I wanted my way, my comfort, my attention, my timing. When things didn’t go the way I had hoped or planned, I grumbled inside. When people didn’t respond to me the way I wanted, I felt unseen. And isn’t that telling?

I’ve come to realize how subtle double-mindedness can be. It doesn’t always look like blatant rebellion. It can come wrapped in spiritual language, masked as maturity, or covered in Christian performance. But God knows. The double mind is divided—half surrendered, half striving. Half trusting, half controlling. Half focused on Him, half secretly asking, “But what about me?”

James 1:8 says, “A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.” And girl, that shook me. Unstable. Even though I smiled through it, I knew I had been living with a mind split between trust and self-protection. I said I trusted God, but when life pressed in—when I felt overlooked, rejected, or disappointed—what came out was telling. Bitterness. Jealousy. Entitlement. Not always outwardly, but inwardly for sure.

Just last week, I had a moment. I was about to meet up with someone, and I felt this urge to be seen—to say something clever, or deep, or “impressive.” I wanted them to notice me. Like a child jumping up and down shouting, “Look at me! Look at what I can do!” But before I spoke, the Holy Spirit gently interrupted.

He said, “Give that thought to Me.”

And I did.

I paused. I breathed. I surrendered that moment—not because I’m holy, but because I’m learning to recognize when it’s about me instead of about Him.

And when I gave it to Jesus, peace came. The striving stopped. The ego sat down. And somehow—miraculously—it felt easier to just be present, to listen, to respond with wisdom that wasn’t mine. The person asked me a question, and I could sense that Jesus answered through me. Not in some dramatic, super-spiritual way—but with a quiet confidence that didn’t demand attention.

That’s what humility looks like when God births it in you. And trust me, it’s not something I naturally possess.

The world screams: “Promote yourself. Assert yourself. Take up space.” But Jesus says, “Deny yourself, take up your cross daily, and follow Me.” (Luke 9:23)

That’s the paradox of the Kingdom.

I’m not here to be glorified. I’m here to glorify Him. I’m not here to be known. I’m here to make Him known. That’s the shift I’m learning to live out—not perfectly, but intentionally.

And here’s what’s wild—when I lose myself in Him, I find more peace than I ever did trying to make people notice me. When I humble myself, He really does lift me up, in the ways that actually matter. (James 4:10)

That’s why I want to keep coming closer. Not because I’ve mastered it. Not because I’ve figured it all out. But because His nearness is my good. (Psalm 73:28)

I long for His presence—not as a reward for good behavior, but as my daily necessity. I want to abide, not just visit. I want to live in the safety of full surrender. Because when I really submit every thought, every ambition, every desire to Him—that’s where I find peace. That’s where I find clarity.

Jesus said, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” (Matthew 5:8)

And that’s what I want—to see God clearly. No more double vision. No more blurry faith. Just Jesus, front and center, and everything else falling in line behind Him.

So here’s my prayer today:

Father God,

You know me. Fully. And still, You love me deeply. Thank You for Your patience and correction. Forgive me for the ways I’ve been divided—saying I trust You while still clutching control. I surrender again, even the hidden things.

Lord Jesus, be the only King on the throne of my heart. Let no desire rise above You. Help me to see when pride creeps in, and teach me to choose humility—not to be overlooked, but to make You unmistakably visible.

Holy Spirit, make me sensitive to Your whispers. Remind me when I start performing. Teach me to rest in who I am in You, not who I’m trying to be for others.

Draw me nearer, God. I want to see You clearly—with a single heart, a single mind, and a single focus: Your glory.

Amen.

When Faith Feels Fragile

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I promise to be honest in everything I write. Sometimes, when I open my eyes to this world, my faith feels fragile—like it’s walking on a tightrope stretched thin over a canyon of confusion and chaos. The moral compass everyone once seemed to respect is spinning wildly, and I’m left clinging to the only anchor that’s ever truly steady: God. It’s like the whole culture has flipped upside down. Right is suddenly wrong, and wrong parades itself as right. How do you stay steady when the ground beneath you keeps shifting like sand?

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I’m reminded of 2 Timothy 3:12-13, which says, “Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted, while evil people and impostors will go from bad to worse, deceiving and being deceived.” That’s exactly where we are—deception reigning, and confusion swallowing truth. The world screams, “Be politically correct!” while the Bible quietly but firmly demands, “Be morally correct.” The culture war we’re seeing? It’s not just politics on steroids—it’s a reflection of a deeper, spiritual battle raging inside hearts and souls.

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There’s a line I keep thinking about from Carl Sagan, an atheist who had a huge influence back in the ’80s. His show was iconic, and his motto was chilling: “The cosmos is all that is, or ever was, or ever will be.” No God. No Creator. Just random chance and time stretched infinitely. I feel this is the root of the moral decay—if the cosmos is just a cosmic accident, why should anyone care about absolute right or wrong? But John Calvin offers a completely opposite, beautiful truth: “The cosmos is God’s theater to show His glory.” Our world isn’t a meaningless accident; it’s a stage where God reveals Himself. That changes everything.

The God who made the stars also gave us His Word, a map for how to live—morally, spiritually, and eternally. It’s hard to stand firm when so many voices shout lies, but the Bible is clear: the message of the cross sounds foolish to those lost in sin (1 Corinthians 1:18), but to us who believe, it’s the very power of God saving and transforming us.

I won’t lie—some days I want to scream at the injustice, the godlessness, the blatant rebellion against God’s truth. But I also have to be careful. The battle is not against flesh and blood but against spiritual forces (Ephesians 6:12). The culture war we see out there is really the outward reflection of the war within every believer’s heart. Sometimes I feel it in my own soul—questions, doubts, the temptation to just blend in, to avoid confrontation, to stay silent. But silence is not an option. I feel God nudging me to be bold.

Prayer has become my lifeline. I cling to Psalm 25:4-5, “Show me your ways, Lord, teach me your paths. Guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior.” I pray every morning for strength to keep my eyes fixed on Jesus and not on the chaos swirling around me. Because if I look at the world, I’ll be overwhelmed. But if I fix my gaze on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith, I find peace (Hebrews 12:2).

I pray for courage to speak truth in love, even when it’s unpopular. The world is desperate for that kind of courage. People are hungry for light, even if they don’t realize it. It’s easy to feel small, powerless, and defeated, but God reminds me in Isaiah 40:31, “But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” That’s a promise I hold onto tightly.

I also pray for those who don’t believe, who mock, who call the cross foolish. Lord, open their eyes to Your truth. Help them see that without You, life is empty, purposeless, and fleeting. And I ask God to keep me humble, compassionate, and steadfast—never confrontational for the sake of being harsh, but always confrontational for the sake of truth and love.

It’s tempting sometimes to get discouraged. The world’s values seem upside down, and people mock those who stand for biblical truths. But I’ve read the last chapters of this story—Revelation 21:4 promises, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.” The God who began the story has the final word. Evil won’t win. Darkness won’t prevail.

That truth doesn’t mean we sit back and do nothing. No, it means we fight—with prayer, with love, with boldness, and with faith. It means being a light in the darkness, no matter how small that light seems. Because one small light can pierce the deepest night.

So, today, even though my faith feels fragile, I choose to stand. I choose to believe God more than the lies of this world. I choose to be morally correct, even when the world screams otherwise. I choose to fight the good fight of faith (1 Timothy 6:12), knowing the victory is already won.

Lord, help me never forget that You are the unshakable Rock beneath my feet. Keep my eyes on You, not on the shifting opinions of the world. Give me boldness to speak truth with love and compassion. Strengthen my heart when it feels weak. Remind me daily that Your glory is the ultimate purpose of this life and this world.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

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