Tag: bible

Shine God’s Light: Simple Ways to Bless Others Daily

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Today has been heavy, and I don’t say that lightly. Not in a “woke up on the wrong side of the bed” kind of way, but heavy like I’m carrying weights that don’t even belong to me. I guess that’s what happens when your heart is so open to the brokenness around you. You start to feel the ache of others. And let me tell you—there’s so much ache in the world right now.

It’s not like I ever really forget how hard life can be, but some weeks just shove it in your face. This week has been one of those. I can’t stop seeing the pain behind people’s eyes, the tension in their smiles. It’s like God gave me a special lens this week to see what’s usually hidden. A spiritual x-ray vision, maybe.

Family members are dealing with health scares and secrets too deep to share. Friends are grieving—one just lost her mom, and another had her heart broken by someone who promised forever. Financial stress is drowning some people I love. Others are still battling wounds from relationships that never healed right. And what do I even say to all that?

I used to feel helpless in moments like these. Like my compassion wasn’t enough, and my words were falling flat. But God’s been teaching me something powerful: it’s not always about fixing it. Sometimes it’s about showing up, really showing up.

Romans 12:15 tells us, “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” That verse is such a simple call, but it’s deeply confrontational if we’re honest. It’s asking us to feel with people—to step into their joy and their pain without rushing it or sanitizing it with shallow encouragement.

So, what can we really do when we can’t fix things? I’m learning there are three simple things that carry eternal weight.

I felt prompted to text my old college roommate two days ago. We haven’t talked in months—life gets busy, right? But God wouldn’t let her off my heart. So I did. Just a simple message: “Hey, I was thinking of you today. How are you really doing?” She called me crying. Her father had just gone into the hospital. She hadn’t told many people yet.

God doesn’t prompt us randomly. If someone is on your heart, act on it. Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 says, “Two are better than one… If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.” But how can we help anyone up if we don’t see that they’ve fallen?

I want to be the kind of woman who doesn’t just say “I’ll pray for you” and move on. I want to check in, be present, hold space for the hard stuff.

It sounds ridiculous at first, right? But a genuine smile is a ministry all its own.

I was in the grocery store yesterday, and the cashier looked exhausted. You know the kind of tired that has nothing to do with lack of sleep and everything to do with life just being too much? That kind. I smiled, met her eyes, and said, “Thank you for being here today.” She paused, blinked, and said, “That just made my whole morning.”

We’re not called to be flashy or loud with our faith 24/7, but we are called to let Christ shine through us. Matthew 5:16 reminds us, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

Sometimes that light looks like a smile that says, “I see you. You matter.”

This is the foundation of everything.

Prayer is not passive—it’s powerful. James 5:16 says, “The effective, fervent prayer of a righteous person avails much.” I cling to that. Even when I feel like my words are weak or my faith feels shaky. Prayer still matters.

When we pray, we’re stepping into the gap for others. We’re saying, “God, I don’t have the answers, but You do. Show up. Intervene. Heal.” It’s the most loving thing we can do, especially when we feel powerless.

I’ve learned that when I start praying for someone else, God often works in me just as much. He softens my heart, refines my attitude, and teaches me patience and empathy.

So here’s my challenge to myself—and to you, if you’re reading this one day:
Make a difference in someone’s day. Not because it earns you favor with God. Not because it’ll fix their problems. But because Jesus cared deeply about people, and if we’re walking with Him, we should too.

Let me leave this here as a prayer I wrote tonight, hoping it helps me focus on what matters:

God,


Thank You for giving me a heart that feels deeply. Thank You for showing me the pain in others—not so I can carry it all, but so I can love them well.
Help me to never grow numb to suffering. Help me to smile when someone needs joy, to reach out when someone feels forgotten, and to pray with faith even when I can’t see the outcome.


Let me be a vessel for Your compassion. Let my presence make a difference, even in small ways. Remind me that no act of kindness is wasted in Your Kingdom.
In Jesus’ powerful name, Amen.

Tomorrow, I’ll try again. I’ll smile even if I’m tired. I’ll text the person I’m thinking of instead of just thinking. I’ll pray like I believe it changes everything.

Because it does.

When God Calls, Say “Yes”

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Romans 12:1-2 has been ringing in my spirit all day:

“So, brothers and sisters, because of God’s mercies, I encourage you to present your bodies as a living sacrifice that is holy and pleasing to God. This is your appropriate priestly service. Don’t be conformed to the patterns of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds so that you can figure out what God’s will is — what is good and pleasing and mature.”

Paul didn’t say to find a ministry. He didn’t say to pick a purpose like it’s a major in college. He said to present myself. That my whole body—my life, my breath, my desires, my dreams, my mistakes, my identity—is the offering. That is what pleases God. That is the path to understanding His will.

I’ve been so focused on the fruit, the output, the outcome. “What does God want me to do with my life?” “What’s my calling?” “What’s the plan?” I’ve stressed myself out trying to figure out where I fit in the grand kingdom scheme of things. But now I see… I’ve been skipping step one.

Step one is Him. Step one is relationship. Not just Sunday morning kind of relationship, not even quiet time coffee and journal relationship—although those are good. Step one is a living, breathing, moment-by-moment walk with the God who formed me and calls me daughter. A relationship built on trust, full surrender, and wild, unreasonable faith.

Honestly? I’ve been afraid to say yes. Really say yes.

Because saying “yes” to God means saying “no” to some other things. It means letting go of control—and if I’m real, I’ve clung tightly to control like it was the last raft in a stormy sea. Control gave me a false sense of safety. But it also made me tired, bitter, confused.

God doesn’t want to control me. He wants to lead me. There’s a difference.

And if I keep my eyes on Him—just Him—not the blessings, not the callings, not the platforms or titles—just Him—then I’ll never be lost.

Proverbs 3:5-6 says:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.”

Today, I stopped leaning on my understanding. And I started trusting that the God who knit me together in the secret place knows how to lead me in public too.

Prayer:

Father, I surrender. I give You not just my Sunday self, not just the “good girl” version of me. I give You the whole thing. My fears, my doubts, my control issues, my desire to perform. I lay it all at Your feet. I present myself to You as a living sacrifice—holy and pleasing—not because I’ve earned it but because Jesus made a way. Teach me how to walk with You in the small moments. I don’t want a surface-level relationship. I want the kind of intimacy that marks me. I want to know Your voice like I know my own breath. Direct me, God—not with pressure, but with peace. I say yes. Yes to You. Yes to love. Yes to surrender. In Jesus’ name, amen.

I’ve realized that vocational clarity, ministry clarity, even relationship clarity—it all flows out of intimacy with God. Not the other way around.

We don’t get close to God after we find our calling. We find our calling as we walk closely with God.

And that’s been the missing link for me.

I’ve been asking for direction like a GPS voice from heaven: “Turn left in 400 feet.” But God wants to walk with me—not just instruct me. He’s not a distant coach. He’s Emmanuel. God with us. God with me.

When I get close to Him, everything else becomes clearer—not always immediately, but deeply. He reveals who I am in Him. And from that place, ministry isn’t forced. It flows. My gifts, my passions, my story—they all become tools in His hands. But I have to be in His hands first. Surrendered. Moldable. Willing.

You know, being compassionate doesn’t mean being passive.

Sometimes loving God means confronting everything in you that wants to be safe, comfortable, in control. Sometimes love is fierce. Sometimes surrender is a fight—a choice to silence the voice of fear and say, “Not today. I trust God.”

And honestly? I’m tired of being lukewarm. I’m tired of half-yeses and conditional surrender.

I don’t want to be the girl who only obeys when it makes sense or when it’s popular. I want to be the woman who says yes even when the cost is high, even when the world calls it crazy, even when I’m scared.

Because Jesus didn’t hesitate when He said yes to the cross for me.

Luke 9:23 hits different tonight:

“Then He said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be My disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow Me.’”

Daily. Not just once at a youth conference. Not just when I feel spiritual. But every. Single. Day.

Saying yes isn’t a one-time thing. It’s a lifestyle. A rhythm. A posture of the heart.

So tomorrow, when I wake up, I’ll say yes again. And the next day. And the next. Until it becomes my default. Until “yes, Lord” is the first thing off my lips and the deepest cry of my soul.

Lord, keep me in a posture of yes. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it costs me friends, followers, or opportunities. Even when it means leaving behind the familiar. Keep me rooted in You. Make intimacy with You my greatest priority—not productivity, not performance, not platform. Strip away everything false in me and replace it with truth. Let Your Word renew my mind. Let Your Spirit fill my steps. May my life be an offering. A living sacrifice. A yes that echoes through eternity. In Jesus’ name, amen.

I may not know where I’m going in five years. I may not have a five-step plan. But I have a yes. And that’s enough.

Because when I said yes, I said yes to the God who does know the plan.

Jeremiah 29:11 says:

“‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope.’”

That’s not just a verse to put on a graduation card. That’s a promise.

And my “yes” activates that promise in my life.

Not because God needs my permission—but because He invites my participation.

So here I am. 25 years old. Still figuring it out. Still learning. But sure of one thing: I’m not living for this world. I’m living for His Kingdom. I’m not chasing fame. I’m chasing His face.

And every time I say yes, I get a little closer.

Amen.

Sacred or Secular? Debating the Ten Commandments in Public Schools

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I watched a heated debate about whether the Ten Commandments should be displayed in public school classrooms. Of course, the arguments were as fiery as always. One side says it’s about morality and foundation. The other screams separation of church and state. As I sat there, my heart burned — not with anger, but with righteous conviction. Lord, help me make sense of this.

I can’t help but wonder… when did truth become controversial?

“You shall have no other gods before Me.” – Exodus 20:3

That alone seems to make people squirm. In our pursuit of “inclusion,” we’ve excluded the very God who gave us the blueprint for living. It frustrates me because people act as though the Ten Commandments are just religious propaganda — when in reality, they’re moral anchors. What’s wrong with telling kids not to steal, lie, kill, or covet? We’re watching society crumble in real time and then getting mad when someone offers a reminder of how to keep it standing.

Dear God,


You are the Author of truth and the Giver of laws that bring life. I pray for wisdom — not just for myself, but for this generation that seems to have lost its way. Help us see the difference between loving all people and erasing the truth to avoid offense. Your Word is not outdated. It is eternal. Amen.

What blows my mind is that schools are filled with posters preaching “Be Kind” and “Respect Each Other” — values that are literally born from God’s commandments. But the minute we mention the source, people freak out. It’s like they want the fruit without the root.

I’m not trying to force religion down anyone’s throat. I’m not asking for mandatory Bible classes. But what I am saying is this: we are witnessing the decay of basic morality among youth. Depression rates are rising, kids are lost, confused about identity, purpose, and truth. And we’re too afraid to even mention the principles that could save them.

“Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.” – Proverbs 22:6

I get it — we live in a pluralistic society. Not everyone believes what I believe. But since when does diversity mean we can’t talk about foundational principles? If the Ten Commandments are so offensive, what does that say about the heart of this culture? That’s not freedom. That’s fear disguised as tolerance.

Some say displaying the Ten Commandments violates the separation of church and state. But the Constitution was never about banning God. It was about preventing the government from establishing a state religion — not silencing expressions of faith. And ironically, many of the founding fathers did reference God in their writings. They leaned on biblical morality while shaping this nation. So now, in 2025, we’re pretending like we’ve evolved beyond it?

No, I’m sorry — I can’t keep quiet.

“Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; who put darkness for light and light for darkness.” – Isaiah 5:20

There’s a spiritual war going on, and we’re acting like it’s just politics. The devil isn’t loud. He’s subtle. He convinces people that removing the Ten Commandments from walls is “progress,” when in reality, it’s a silent erasure of truth from the eyes of children. And if we don’t teach them truth, the world will teach them confusion.

Sometimes I feel like Jeremiah, weeping over a people that have forgotten their God.

Lord Jesus,
Break our hearts for what breaks Yours. Let us not be passive in the face of deception. I pray for every student walking into classrooms where Your name is considered offensive. Place Christians in those spaces who will reflect Your love boldly. Help us to speak truth in love — not with arrogance, but with compassion and courage. Amen.

To the ones who say religion has no place in public schools, I would ask: has removing God improved our education system? Are kids more respectful? Are families more intact? Is morality more evident?

You can’t legislate holiness, but you can offer reminders. And if a simple plaque on a wall that says “Honor your father and your mother” (Exodus 20:12) can plant a seed in even one child’s heart, isn’t it worth it?

I know some will say I’m being dramatic — too confrontational. But silence isn’t compassion. Jesus flipped tables in the temple, not because He hated people, but because He hated what sin had done to sacred places.

I guess my question is — do we even see our children as sacred anymore?

If we did, we’d care more about what’s shaping them.

“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” – Proverbs 9:10

We’ve removed the fear of God and are now confused why there’s no wisdom. We’ve handed kids smartphones instead of commandments and wonder why they’re anxious and lost.

God,
Bring revival. Not just in churches, but in classrooms, in hallways, in teachers’ lounges, and school boards. Let Your truth be written on more than walls — let it be etched into our hearts again. I believe in You more than I believe in anything this world offers. And I know You are not intimidated by courts, governments, or policies. You are King over all. Let Your will be done. Amen.

I’m going to sleep tonight not with anger, but with resolve. The Ten Commandments aren’t just ancient words carved in stone. They’re a lifeline. And whether they’re hung in classrooms or not, I will keep them in my heart — and teach them to those God places in my path.

Because morality isn’t outdated.
And God is still God.
Even when the world tries to take Him off the wall.

Are You a True Disciple of Jesus, or Just Familiar with our Savior?

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I can’t shake the question. It’s been pressing on my heart all week, echoing like a whisper I can’t ignore:

“Will Jesus say He knew me when I stand before Him in heaven?”

It hits different when I ask it out loud.
It’s not just about whether I know about You — it’s whether I truly know You. Intimately. Genuinely. Deeply.

Because here’s the thing — I’ve spent years in church pews, sang the worship songs, prayed the public prayers, quoted the Scriptures. But that doesn’t guarantee that You’ll say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” (Matthew 25:23)

Honestly, the thought of standing before You and hearing, “Depart from Me, I never knew you” (Matthew 7:23) — it wrecks me. Not out of fear, but out of reverence. I don’t want a shallow version of this faith. I don’t want a Jesus I visit on Sundays and forget by Monday. I want to live like You are real — because You ARE.

And You’re not just real — You’re everything.

God, You said in Jeremiah 29:13,

“You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart.”

So here I am again tonight, seeking You with my whole heart. Not for blessings. Not for comfort. Not even for answers. Just for You.

Jesus,
There are moments when I look around and realize how many people claim to know You… but how few actually live like they do. And if I’m being brutally honest — I’ve had seasons where I was one of them.

I said the right words. I knew the theology. But my heart was numb. My prayers were mechanical. And my Bible collected more dust than revelation.

But You didn’t give up on me.
You pursued me. You waited for me. You loved me back to life.

How can I ever thank You for that?

“But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:8

Thank You, Jesus, for wanting to know me. That truth alone melts my soul. You, the Creator of the universe, chose me. Not because I’m worthy, but because You’re good. You didn’t grow tired of my inconsistency. You didn’t give up on me when I wandered. You held my hand in the valley and whispered, “I’m still here.”

I think sometimes we forget that knowing You isn’t just about information — it’s about relationship. And relationships take time. Intentionality. Conversation. Trust.

You’ve shown me that real intimacy with You is built in the secret place — not the spotlight. In whispered prayers. In wrestling with doubt. In the moments no one else sees.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10

You’ve taught me to be still. And in that stillness, I’ve come to know You not just as Savior… but as Friend. As Shepherd. As King… and yet closer than my breath.

Lord, I’ve been thinking about how we treat this relationship sometimes like a checklist.
Did I read my Bible? ✅
Did I pray before my meal? ✅
Did I go to church? ✅

But You’re not looking for a checklist. You’re looking for communion.

You want us to abide.

“Abide in Me, and I in you…” – John 15:4

What an honor that is. That we — broken, distracted, imperfect — get to dwell in the presence of the Almighty God, every single day. What grace. What undeserved grace.

Here’s the confronting part — and I won’t sugarcoat it:
I think we need to stop pretending that proximity to Christian culture is the same as proximity to Christ.

Just because I grew up in church doesn’t mean I know You.
Just because I listen to worship music doesn’t mean I worship You.
Just because I post Scriptures online doesn’t mean I live them.

I’m tired of half-hearted Christianity.
I don’t want to flirt with faith. I want to marry myself to it.

Jesus,
I want You to recognize me when I walk into eternity.
I want You to look me in the eyes and say, “You walked with Me. You trusted Me. You knew Me — and I knew you.”

So here’s my prayer — raw and unfiltered:

Lord,


Strip me of every performance-driven mindset.
Tear down the walls I’ve built around my heart.
Expose every false version of You I’ve believed.
Silence the noise of religion and bring me back to the wonder of relationship.

Help me to know You as You truly are — not who I’ve imagined or heard about secondhand.
I want Your truth, not my version of it.
More than blessings, more than breakthrough — I want You.

Jesus, teach me to seek Your face, not just Your hand.
Let me fall in love with Your Word all over again.
Make my heart burn like the disciples on the road to Emmaus when You opened the Scriptures to them. (Luke 24:32)

And when I’m tempted to perform, to impress, or to hide — remind me that You never asked for perfection. You asked for proximity. You asked for love.

I feel the weight of eternity pressing into this moment.

How I live here matters. Not for salvation — that’s grace alone — but for relationship.
This life is training ground for forever.
I want to show up in heaven already familiar with Your voice.
I want to walk in and feel like I’m home, not like I’m meeting a stranger.

The truth is, Jesus, without You I’d be so lost. I’ve seen what my life looks like when I drift — and it’s ugly. It’s aimless. It’s hollow.

You are my anchor when the world sways.
You are the only constant in this chaotic life.

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.” – John 15:5

Apart from You, I can do nothing.

And maybe that’s the whole point.
Knowing You isn’t about striving… it’s about surrender.
It’s not about doing more… it’s about abiding deeper.
It’s not about being “good enough”… it’s about being in love enough to never let go.

Final Prayer of Gratitude

Thank You, Jesus, for desiring to know me more.
Thank You for never growing tired of our relationship, even when I bring my brokenness to the table.
Thank You for revealing Yourself to me through Your Word — for speaking into my soul, for comforting me when I’m weary, for correcting me when I stray.

Thank You for choosing me.
I’m not just a name in the crowd to You — I’m Your child.
And I want to spend the rest of my life, and all eternity, getting to know You more.

So tonight, I ask again — not just as a question, but as a commitment:

How well do I know Jesus?

Not well enough.
But I will.

Every day, every prayer, every choice —
I will keep chasing Your heart.

Until the day I stand before You face to face,
and You smile and say,

“I know you.”

Amen.

Yesterday, Today, Forever: Jesus Never Changing, Always Reigning

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

This summer has been one of those summers where the world feels like it ‘was’s sprinting past me—faster than I could even begin to process. Social media keeps changing. Relationships keep shifting. People come and go. My job feels like it demands more and more, yet gives back less. My body—this temple of the Holy Spirit—feels like it’s already starting to wear down. And still, in the midst of the chaos, the noise, the comparison, the constant “be more, do more” energy, I found myself anchored in one simple truth:

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” – Hebrews 13:8

I memorized that verse when I was maybe ten. Back then it was just words. A nice saying on a Sunday school wall or written inside a greeting card. But now? At this age, with everything I’ve seen, felt, and gone through, this verse is not just a line—it’s a lifeline. A hand I hold onto when I feel like I’m drowning in the unpredictability of this life.

And I’m not just writing this to encourage myself. I’m writing this as a reminder, a challenge even, to anyone who claims the name of Jesus but is walking around like they’ve forgotten who He is. Because if we truly believe that Jesus Christ never changes, then why are so many of us walking in fear? In compromise? In anxiety, as if we’ve got no Rock to stand on?

I’m tired of sugarcoating it.
I’m tired of pretending like it’s okay that people who profess Jesus act like He’s only reliable when things are going their way. When life turns, and storms hit—and they always do—suddenly we question everything. But here’s the truth that won’t change no matter how we feel:

“For I the Lord do not change; therefore you, O children of Jacob, are not consumed.” — Malachi 3:6

That’s who He is. He doesn’t shift with the trends. He doesn’t leave when we mess up. He doesn’t grow tired of us when we’re in our feelings. We’re not consumed because His mercy remains. That alone should drive us to our knees in gratitude.

Today I had a conversation with a friend—well, maybe more like a confrontation. She’s been drifting, and I love her too much to stay silent. She said, “God just feels so far right now,” and I asked her straight up, “Did He move, or did you?” I wasn’t trying to be harsh, but I’m so done watching people trade in the unshakable for the temporary and then wonder why their life is in shambles.

We have a generation obsessed with “finding themselves,” chasing vibes, and redefining truth—but Jesus doesn’t need rebranding. He is who He has always been. He is not a trend. He is not an option. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6). Period.

Personal Prayer:

Jesus, my anchor, thank You for never changing. When everything around me shifts, You remain the same. When I am inconsistent, You are faithful. When I am weak, You are strong. When my heart is confused, Your truth is clear. I repent for the times I’ve tried to find stability in things that were never meant to hold me. Remind me every single day that You are the same God who walked with Abraham, sat with the woman at the well, healed the blind, and conquered death. You are the same God who walks with me. Thank You, Lord. In Your name I pray, amen.

The truth is, consistency is rare now. Even people’s morals shift depending on the crowd they’re with. But God’s Word doesn’t change to fit in. It changes us so we no longer fit into the brokenness of this world.

“The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” — Isaiah 40:8

Why do we chase what fades, when we have the eternal? Why do we keep putting our security in people who change like the weather, in trends that evaporate, in status that can disappear with one mistake? It’s a trap. And I’ve fallen into it too. But I’m learning—slowly, painfully, beautifully—that nothing satisfies like Jesus. And He is exactly who He’s always been.

Even when I questioned Him.
Even when I doubted myself.
Even when I let anxiety win.
Even when I ran.
Even when I shut everyone out.

He stayed.

“If we are faithless, He remains faithful—for He cannot deny Himself.” — 2 Timothy 2:13

It’s not just comforting—it’s confronting. Because if Jesus never changes, then my excuses fall flat. I can’t say, “God understands my sin because I’m going through a lot right now.” I can’t say, “Well, things are different now, it’s a different culture.” He’s not a passive spectator. He is holy, and He calls me to be holy too (1 Peter 1:16).

This doesn’t mean perfection. But it does mean pursuit. Pursuit of righteousness. Pursuit of truth. Pursuit of Him. Because I know who He is—and He has never changed His pursuit of me.

There’s such rest in knowing that Jesus isn’t moody. He doesn’t ghost me when I’m messy. He doesn’t roll His eyes at my prayers. He doesn’t withhold love because I didn’t perform right. No. That’s human behavior, not divine.

And when I feel overwhelmed by all that’s broken—my family, my community, the world—I remember that He’s already seen it all. And He hasn’t changed His plans.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” — James 1:17

Lord, You are the gift I don’t deserve.
You are the peace I can’t explain.
You are the strength when I can’t get up.
You are the fire that never goes out.
You are my stillness when the world spins wild.

Sometimes I worry that I’ll outgrow this faith. That someday I’ll become numb or indifferent like so many others. But then I remember—it’s not about me holding on to Him. It’s about Him holding on to me.

And He never lets go.

To anyone reading this—maybe years from now, maybe when I’m not even here anymore—if you ever feel lost, if you ever feel like you can’t trust anyone or anything… remember this:

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.
He was enough for me.
He is enough for you.
And He will be enough, even when everything else fades.

Closing Prayer:

Father God, in a world full of instability, thank You for being the Rock I can stand on. Thank You for Your Son, Jesus, who never changes, who never fails, who never stops loving me. Give me courage to live boldly, love deeply, and speak truthfully. Help me be a reflection of Your consistency in an inconsistent world. Let me never forget what You’ve done, who You are, and that You are not finished with me yet.
In Jesus’ unchanging name, amen.

Even when the world is unrecognizable, I can recognize Him.
Even when I don’t know what tomorrow looks like—I know who holds it.
Even when I am not enough—He is.

Jesus Christ never changes. And that changes everything.

Trusting God When He Seems Quiet

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Yesterday was one of those Mondays where I felt everything all at once. Too much and not enough. Angry, tired, hopeful, lonely, spiritually dry—but oddly still full of a flicker of faith that refuses to go out. I’m starting to believe that emotions can actually wear down the body. They’re loud. They’re inconsistent. They’re draining. And they don’t always care about what’s true.

Honestly, I feel like God’s been silent lately. Not gone. Just quiet.

And I hate writing that out, because I know it’s not true. I know God hasn’t left. I know He hears me. I know He’s with me—everywhere, all the time. Psalm 139:7-10 comes to mind:

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.”

I know this. I’ve studied it. I’ve clung to it. I’ve prayed it over other people.

But yesterday? Yesterday I didn’t feel it. Not even a little.

And I hate that, because it feels like I’m betraying God with my doubts. But at the same time, I know He’s big enough to handle them. So here I am—writing to keep from exploding, praying between the lines, hoping that maybe in the silence, He’s actually speaking in a way I just haven’t learned to listen for yet.

I guess what’s really messing me up is how easily my emotions try to rewrite the truth. One second I’m laughing with a friend and feeling like maybe I’ve turned a corner, then a thought hits me—something small, like a memory or a disappointment—and I spiral. Like a trapdoor opens under my feet and I’m falling through sadness, doubt, and disconnection.

Why does God feel so far?

Why does my prayer feel like it hits the ceiling and drops back down?

Why am I pouring out my heart and getting nothing but holy silence in return?

But then again… maybe God isn’t silent. Maybe He’s just still. And maybe still isn’t a bad thing.

I think of Elijah in 1 Kings 19:11-12—

“The Lord said, ‘Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.’
Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind.
After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake.
After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.
And after the fire came a gentle whisper.”

That whisper… that’s where God was. A whisper isn’t loud. A whisper doesn’t interrupt. A whisper waits until you’re leaning in close enough to hear it.

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe God’s whispering and my emotions are just too loud to hear Him.

Still, I’ve been tempted to demand, “God, where are You?!”


But instead, this has been my prayer:
“Lord, I know You’re here, but I feel like I can’t find You. Why am I struggling to connect with You? Help me not to confuse silence with absence. Help me remember that Your truth is bigger than how I feel.”

And I really do believe that. I believe that truth and feelings are not the same thing. I believe that feelings can be deceiving, while truth is steady—even when I can’t see it. Even when it doesn’t comfort me the way I want it to.

Emotions are powerful. I’m not going to pretend they’re not. But they are not ultimate. And I’ve made a decision—not just yesterday, but every day—to keep my eyes on what I know instead of what I feel. That’s not easy. It’s war, honestly.

Sometimes I feel like I’m in the middle of a battlefield with two versions of myself. One that wants to scream at God and the other that wants to cry in His lap. One that says “This isn’t fair” and the other that says “Just hold on.” One that’s angry, and one that’s desperate.

I’ve come to realize both can exist. God’s big enough to hold both.

Psalm 34:18 says:

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

It doesn’t say He shames them. It doesn’t say He avoids them. It says He’s close to them.

And I need that closeness more than I need answers.

I guess part of me assumed that if I’m faithful, I should feel close to God all the time. But that’s not biblical. That’s emotionalism. Even David—man after God’s own heart—cried out in Psalm 13:1-2:

“How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?”

That doesn’t sound like someone disconnected from God. That sounds like someone deeply connected—so much so, that when the emotional connection feels gone, the pain of it is unbearable.

I get that. I feel that.

But David didn’t stop there. A few verses later in Psalm 13:5-6, he says:

“But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing the Lord’s praise,
for he has been good to me.”

That’s the balance I’m fighting for.

Yes, I feel disappointed. Yes, I feel unheard sometimes. Yes, I feel like I’m knocking on Heaven’s door and no one’s answering.


But I will still trust in His unfailing love. I will still rejoice in His salvation. I will still praise Him—not because I feel like it, but because He is worthy.

There’s a discipline to faith that people don’t talk about enough. Sometimes faith isn’t this magical, peaceful thing. Sometimes it’s gritty. It’s showing up to pray even when you feel ignored. It’s reading the Word when you feel numb. It’s worshiping with tears running down your face, choking on lyrics you’re not sure you even believe in the moment.

That’s real faith. That’s tested faith.

So here’s my prayer tonight, and I’ll be real:

Father,

I don’t understand why You feel quiet. I know You’re not gone. I know You love me. But right now, I feel dry, tired, and like I’m wandering around in a fog. I need You. Not just Your blessings, not just Your answers—I need YOU.


Help me to hear Your whisper.
Help me to lean in, instead of walking away.
Help me to live by truth, not by mood swings.


Help me not to fall for the lies the enemy plants when You seem still.
Lord, make me faithful in the silence. Make me attentive in the quiet.


Give me eyes to see You, even if it’s just in a sunrise, or a kind word, or the peace in my own chest.


You’re worth trusting. Even now. Especially now.


In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Footprints of Faith: Following Jesus Every Day

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Lord,

Today I feel like I’m standing still in the middle of a world sprinting in every direction. The noise, the expectations, the pull of my own thoughts—it’s exhausting. But You whispered something to my heart today. Something that anchored me:

“This journey of life was never meant to be traveled alone.”

You didn’t just save me to send me off. You saved me to walk with me.

Sometimes I forget that, Jesus. I know it in my head, but I don’t always live like I know it in my heart. Life gets loud, people get messy, and the days run together like spilled paint. But Your Word reminds me:

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and He delights in his way.” – Psalm 37:23

You delight in my way. You don’t just tolerate my existence or sigh every time I mess up. You actually delight in walking beside me. That floors me.

Why do I so easily forget that You’re right here?

I was reading this morning in Isaiah, and this verse stood out like a flare:

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.” – Isaiah 43:2

You never promised I’d avoid the waters—you just promised I wouldn’t drown. And honestly, lately, it’s felt like I’ve been wading through an ocean of unknowns. But You’re still here, walking beside me, even when I can’t see through the waves.

Jesus, the more I walk with You, the more I realize how much I need to walk in awe of You. Not just in obedience. Not just in routine. But in absolute reverence. The kind of reverence that makes me put my phone down, step away from distractions, and just be with You.

I know the world doesn’t celebrate walking slowly, intentionally, or sacredly. But I do. Or at least I want to.

This walk with You—it’s not always easy. You confront me. You lovingly correct me. You expose the parts of my heart I want to hide. But You do it with such gentleness, like a surgeon with healing hands.

You never humiliate me. You heal me.

And I’m starting to see how walking with You is the only path that actually changes me. Not religion. Not rules. Not even good works. Just You. Just Jesus.

“He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?” – Micah 6:8

I’m learning that “walking humbly” doesn’t mean shrinking back. It means staying close to You, knowing full well You’re the one holding my hand.

Jesus, can I be honest?

Sometimes I still want control. I still want to call the shots, make the decisions, and map out my future like I’m the creator of time itself. But I’m not. You are. And You’ve never once led me wrong.

It’s hard to surrender. It’s hard to let go. But I’m slowly realizing that walking with You means letting You lead—even when it doesn’t make sense.

You taught me this during my last job when everything crumbled. I was sure that position was my “calling.” But now, looking back, I see it was just a classroom. You were teaching me how to trust You when my identity isn’t propped up by titles.

Thank You for stripping that from me.

Yeah, I said it. I’m thankful for the stripping. Because it forced me to walk more closely with You.

This journey with You is less about where I go and more about who I become. And every step with You is shaping my character—refining me, stretching me, and anchoring me in something real.

So today, I’m asking You for more.

Not more stuff. Not more followers. Not more clarity.

But more of You.

Give me a deeper hunger for Your Word. Let it be the first place I run, not the last.

Give me a holy craving for Your presence—stronger than my desire for approval, comfort, or success.

And give me the boldness to confront the lies in myself and in others. Not to be self-righteous, but to be righteous. There’s a difference.

People need truth, Jesus. Real truth. Not watered-down, “cute” Christianity that doesn’t offend anyone. You didn’t die a brutal death just to make us comfortable.

You died to make us new.

So if I’m really walking with You, my life better start reflecting that.

God, help me not to just talk about You, but to actually walk with You.

Help me be the kind of woman who prays more than she posts.

The kind of woman who forgives quickly and loves fiercely.

The kind of woman who isn’t afraid to confront sin—in love—and call people into truth, not out of shame, but out of deep compassion.

And if anyone reading this (even if it’s just me re-reading it later) doesn’t know You yet, then let me just say this:

You can start walking with Jesus today.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t need to clean yourself up first. You don’t need to have some spiritual resume or emotional perfection.

Just pray. Be real. Be honest. Jesus is listening.

Here’s the prayer that changed everything for me:

“Jesus, I believe You are who You say You are. I believe You are the Son of God, that You died for my sins and rose again. I surrender my life to You. I don’t want to walk alone anymore. I give You my past, my present, and my future. Come into my life and lead me every step of the way. Amen.”

That’s it. That’s the first step. And once you take it, He will walk with you.

He won’t promise the path will always be easy, but He will promise that you’ll never walk it alone.

So here I am, Jesus. Again. Choosing to walk with You—step by step, even when I can’t see the full path.

Thank You for never leaving my side. Thank You for being patient when I wander, and strong when I’m weak.

And thank You for growing me. Even when it hurts.

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

Today, I draw near.
Today, I walk with You.
Today, I choose the narrow road—because You’re on it.

And I’ll keep walking with You until I finally see You face to face.

Blessings Beyond Measure

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

God, I’m sitting here tonight with the windows open. The breeze smells like wet grass, or maybe it’s freshly cut grass, but whichever, I love that smell. It’s subtle—but it’s sweet. And I just can’t keep this feeling inside anymore: I’m so overwhelmed by the beauty You’ve created. The more I look at this world, the more I realize… I’ve barely scratched the surface of what You’ve made. And yet, even this tiny glimpse stirs something in me so deep, I want to shout praises from the rooftops, as corny as that sounds, but it feels so wonderful God.


You didn’t have to make the sky shift colors at sunset.
You didn’t have to create thousands of fish with different patterns and personalities.
You didn’t have to make flowers that bloom for just a week—but You did.
Why? Because You’re not just Creator. You’re generous. You’re thoughtful. And You are good.

You are so good, God.

I mean, Genesis 1 makes it pretty clear:
“And God saw everything that He had made, and behold, it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31 ESV)
Not just “okay.” Not “meh.” You called it very good. And I get it. I see it. I feel it in my soul.

Even the parts of nature that scare me—like thunderstorms, volcanoes, or deep oceans—I’m learning to reverence those too. Because even their wildness obeys You. You set their boundaries.


“Who shut up the sea behind doors when it burst forth from the womb… when I said, ‘This far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt’?” (Job 38:8,11 NIV)

I don’t care what scientists or skeptics say. I don’t care if people roll their eyes and say, “It’s just evolution,” or “It’s just nature doing its thing.” No, it’s not just anything.
It’s Yours.

And if I have to be that woman who stands in a room and says “Nope, actually GOD did that,” then I will. I’d rather be mocked for standing by my faith than silently agree with a world that forgets who painted the skies.

Lord, I’m thankful by faith. Because this kind of gratitude requires more than just observation. It requires belief. Eyes that see beyond what’s visible. Faith that declares, even in a world twisted by sin, God’s creation is still speaking.

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” (Psalm 19:1 NIV)

Every time the sun rises, it’s testifying.
Every wave that crashes, every leaf that flutters in the wind, every star that burns millions of miles away—all of them are testifying to Your majesty. And I’m listening, Lord.

I’m not pretending everything is perfect. I know creation groans. Romans 8:22 says so:
“We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.”


But even in the groaning, there’s glory. Even in the brokenness, there’s beauty. Even in the suffering, there’s still evidence of a Creator who cares.

What blows my mind the most, God, is that You didn’t make everything in black and white. You didn’t make it sterile or boring. You gave us color. And textures. And scents. And sounds. I mean… oranges smell like sunshine. Lavender smells like peace. Ocean waves sound like rest. And birds sing like they were born to worship.

You made this world with so much love. You didn’t rush it. You didn’t mass-produce it. You crafted it.


Every creature. Every corner. Every ecosystem.
You are the original artist, and nature is Your canvas.
And I feel sorry for anyone who misses that.

That’s the part that makes me bold. Maybe even confrontational. Because I will not sit quiet while people pretend the universe made itself. No. God made it.
And not only that—You sustain it.

“He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” (Colossians 1:17 ESV)

Without You, the oceans would rise out of control. The planets would collide. The sun would burn us up or vanish.
But You hold it all.
I don’t need scientific data to prove that.
I feel it in my bones.
I believe it because I know You.

Even if no one else around me acknowledged You, I’d still bow in gratitude. I’d still praise You in the middle of a forest, or on a crowded street, or stuck in traffic. Because I see what You’ve done.

I mean… how can I not?
You made fireflies that glow like little lanterns.
You made snowflakes that are all different—every. single. one.
You made the Grand Canyon and grains of sand.
You did that.

Lord, forgive us for taking it for granted. Forgive me, even, for walking past flowers without stopping to admire them. Forgive us for driving under starry skies with our eyes glued to glowing screens instead. What a tragedy, to miss the Creator’s artwork because of distraction. What a waste.

So tonight, I’m stopping.

I’m pausing everything and just saying: Thank You.
Not just for what You made, but how You made it. And why.

Because You didn’t just make it to be beautiful—you made it to reveal Yourself.

Nature reflects Your character. Your patience. Your order. Your extravagance.
Creation is not God—but it sure points to You like a neon sign.

I think of Romans 1:20:
“For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.”


That hits hard. Nobody has an excuse to not believe. Creation is literally shouting that You exist. We just need to stop covering our ears.

So here’s my prayer tonight, God:

God,
Thank You for the wonder of Your creation.
Thank You for the stars, the sea, the sky, and every living thing.
Thank You that You made a world in color, with sounds and scents and sensations that feed our souls.


I praise You not just for what my eyes can see, but for what my spirit knows.
Even when I don’t understand everything, I trust the One who made it all.
Give me eyes to see more. A heart to feel deeper. A voice to speak bolder.
Don’t let me get numb to the beauty around me.
Help me never take it for granted again.


Let my gratitude be loud. Let my faith be stubborn.
Let my life worship You in how I see, love, protect, and appreciate Your creation.
In Jesus’ mighty, creative, beautiful name — Amen.

Final Thoughts…..

I guess some people would say this kind of awe fades with age. But I refuse that.
I want to stay wide-eyed and wonder-filled all my life. I want to be 80 years old still gasping at the moon like it’s the first time I’ve seen it.

Because You never get old, God.
Your mercies are new every morning.
Your creation is a constant sermon.
And I’m here for all of it.

I’m thankful by faith.
Not because I’ve seen every miracle, but because creation is already a miracle in motion.
And my soul knows it well.

God’s Truth Over Human Proof

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Dear Heavenly Father,

I’m writing from a place I know You’ve called me to—honesty, vulnerability, and trust. Not performative trust. Not the “I’m fine, I know God’s got this” trust I put on when people ask how I’m doing. But the deep, aching kind—the kind that digs into the core of who I am and challenges what I believe when life doesn’t make sense.

I’ve been wrestling with facts. The facts say things are not going well. The facts say I’m behind in life. The facts say that what I prayed for didn’t happen—again. But Lord, You keep whispering to me, “Don’t trust the facts. Trust Me.”

I keep thinking about Proverbs 3:5-6:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”


I’ve quoted that verse a thousand times. But tonight, it feels confrontational. It’s telling me that my understanding of the facts—my human logic—isn’t the final word. You are. And honestly, that both comforts me and frustrates me.

It comforts me because I know You’re bigger than the circumstances. But it frustrates me because I want clarity, not mystery. I want proof, not promises. I want to see it before I believe it—but You ask me to believe it before I see it.

Why is that so hard, Lord?

Because my flesh is loud.
Because my mind wants explanations.
Because the world worships evidence and mocks faith.

But here’s the thing: facts are not the same as truth.


Facts are what we see. Truth is what You say.


And You are Truth—not just a version of it. Not just a perspective. You are the Truth (John 14:6).

So here’s where I stand tonight: I’m choosing Your truth over human proof.

Even when it’s hard.
Even when I don’t have the evidence.
Even when it makes me look delusional to other people.

I don’t need to defend You. I don’t need to explain away the delays. I don’t need to convince anyone of what You’ve promised me. I just need to believe You. Period.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord.
“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

That verse punches me in the pride. I want to understand, but You tell me that Your ways are so high above mine, I couldn’t even comprehend the blueprint. You’re not asking me to figure it all out—you’re asking me to walk by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7).

So tonight, I surrender—again. Not just in theory, but in practice.

I lay down my timeline.
I lay down my need for proof.
I lay down the idol of certainty.
I lay down the fear that says, “What if God doesn’t come through?”

You will come through. You always have. Even when You didn’t answer the way I wanted, You answered the way I needed. That’s what a good Father does.

God, I confess that I’ve let fear interpret the facts of my life. I’ve looked at closed doors and assumed You were silent. I’ve looked at empty hands and assumed You were absent. Forgive me. Remind me that You are always working, even in the unseen. Strengthen my faith, Holy Spirit. I don’t want a faith that collapses under pressure. I want a faith that declares, “My God is still good, even when the facts don’t look favorable.”

You’re not a God of convenience; You’re a God of covenant. You don’t break promises. You don’t forget prayers. You’re not slow; You’re strategic.

So I declare tonight: Your truth over my facts.
Your voice over my logic.
Your promises over my panic.

Help me trust You with the facts of my life—because no one is more qualified to interpret them than You.

Amen.

I keep thinking about Joseph. The facts of his life looked like failure.

  • Betrayed by his brothers.
  • Sold into slavery.
  • Falsely accused.
  • Forgotten in prison.

But God was with him the entire time. And in Genesis 50:20, Joseph says something so powerful, it echoes in my soul tonight:


“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”

That’s it. That’s the perspective I need.
What looks like harm may actually be preparation.
What feels like a setback may be the setup for something greater.
What seems like the end might just be the middle.

God, You are not just watching my life play out. You are directing it.

And I hear You saying, “Let Me interpret the facts. You don’t have to.”

Maybe what feels like rejection is actually Your protection.
Maybe the silence is not absence—it’s incubation.
Maybe You’re growing something in me that needs this exact season of pressure.

You’re not random. You’re intentional. And I don’t want to miss the purpose because I was too focused on the proof.

Father, give me eyes to see what You see.
When my heart tries to interpret the facts through fear, remind me of Your Word.
Let me not be led by feelings, but by faith.
Not by human evidence, but by divine revelation.
I declare: I will not let circumstances define what You already decided.

I silence every lie of the enemy that says I’m forgotten, behind, or disqualified.
Your truth says I’m chosen.
Your truth says You’re working all things together for my good (Romans 8:28).
Your truth says You started a good work in me and You’ll finish it (Philippians 1:6).

So I rest.
Not in denial of the facts—but in confidence that You’re above them.

I guess what I’m learning, slowly but surely, is that faith isn’t denial. It’s defiance.

Faith says, “Yes, I see the facts—but I still believe God.”
Faith is standing on a battlefield, outnumbered, and saying, “This is the Lord’s fight.”
Faith is putting one foot in front of the other, even when it feels like walking in the dark.

I’m not always going to feel strong. But I can still choose faith.
I can still choose to trust the God who’s never lied, never failed, and never abandoned me.

Tonight, I breathe a little deeper. I cry a little softer.
And I believe a little harder.

Because God’s truth > human proof.
Every single time.

10 Powerful Short Prayers to Carry You Through a Difficult Weekend

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

This weekend has been heavy, and it’s only Saturday.

Not in the dramatic, everything-is-falling-apart kind of way—but more in that quiet, aching, invisible weight sort of way. It’s the kind of weekend where time moves slowly, people seem distant, and my thoughts are louder than usual. I’ve been stuck in my head all day, trying to shake this feeling of overwhelm, loneliness, and honestly…spiritual dryness.

I’m trying not to let my emotions dictate my faith, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little disconnected from God right now. Not because He’s distant—He never is—but because I’ve just been tired. Tired in my body, tired in my mind, and tired in my soul.

But something I’ve learned this past year is this: when the world gets heavy, prayer becomes my oxygen. Even if the words are broken. Even if the prayers are whispered between tears or said without saying anything at all.

Last night, I wrote out 10 prayers to help me get through this weekend—and maybe even carry into next week. Writing them helped me breathe again. They reminded me that I’m never alone, no matter how quiet it feels around me. That God sees me even when I feel invisible.

So, here they are—my honest prayers. No filters. Just my heart and His presence.

1. When I feel overwhelmed

God, I can’t keep juggling everything. I feel like I’m dropping the ball in all areas of my life. Work. Friendships. Family. Even spiritually. I need You to be my calm in this chaos. Help me slow down. Help me remember that You’re not asking me to carry all of this alone. You’re my rest and my rescue. Please remind me to let go. Amen.

2. When loneliness creeps in

Jesus, this loneliness is louder than usual today. It’s like no one sees me. Everyone is busy, and I don’t want to be a burden. But You, Lord—you’re near to the brokenhearted. Sit with me tonight. Whisper Your love over me. Help me believe I’m not forgotten. Just knowing You’re here makes all the difference. Amen.

3. When I’m just exhausted

Lord, I am so, so tired. Not just sleepy—but worn thin. I’ve been running on empty for weeks, and I can feel the burnout creeping in. You said in Your Word that You’d give rest to the weary. Please give me that rest. Teach me that it’s okay to stop striving. Let me rest with You, not just from the world. Amen.

4. When anxiety tries to steal my peace

Father, I can’t shut off my thoughts. My mind keeps racing, playing out worst-case scenarios, obsessing over things I can’t control. I hate how anxiety makes me feel like I’m spiraling. Please step in. Be my anchor. Quiet the noise in my head and replace it with Your peace. You’re the Prince of Peace, and I need You right now. Amen.

5. When I feel far from God

Jesus, it feels like it’s been a while since we were close. Not because You’ve moved, but because I’ve been distracted, distant, maybe even a little ashamed. But I miss You. I miss our time together. Please draw me back in. Speak to me again. I’m ready to return. Amen.

6. When I’m tired of waiting

God, why does it feel like everything I pray for is stuck in limbo? I’m doing my best to trust You, but I’m also getting discouraged. Everyone else seems to be moving forward, and I feel stuck. Help me trust Your timing. Help me believe that delays are not denials. Strengthen my faith in the waiting. Amen.

7. When guilt weighs me down

Lord, I’ve made some choices this week that I’m not proud of. And I’ve been avoiding You because of the shame. But I know You’re not surprised. You’ve already seen it all—and You still love me. Please forgive me. Wash me clean. Remind me that I don’t have to earn Your grace—it’s already mine. Amen.

8. When I want to choose gratitude instead of bitterness

Jesus, I don’t feel super thankful right now. I’ve been focusing on everything I don’t have, and it’s made me bitter. But I don’t want to live like that. I want to be someone who sees the good, even when life is hard. So thank You—for this moment, for this breath, for Your patience with me. Help me fix my eyes on You. Amen.

9. When I need strength to keep going

Father, part of me wants to just quit—on everything. It’s hard to keep showing up when I’m tired and unseen. But I know You give strength to the weary. So please strengthen me now. Lift my head. Renew my energy. Remind me that You’re not done with my story. Amen.

10. When I need hope for tomorrow

Lord, thank You for being with me through this weekend. Even when I didn’t “feel” You, I know You were there. Help me go into this new week with hope—not fear. Let me walk in the light of Your promises. I believe the best is yet to come, not because life is perfect, but because You are. Amen.

That’s all I could get out last night.

But honestly, just writing these down helped lift a little of the weight. It reminded me that I don’t need to have it all together for God to meet me. He meets me right here—in my messy room, in my tired soul, in my doubts and in my silence.

I know this weekend didn’t turn out how I imagined. But maybe it was still sacred in its own way. Maybe sometimes the holiest moments are the ones where we have nothing to offer but our honest heart—and He shows up anyway.

Tomorrow is Sunday. I think I’ll go to church, even if I don’t “feel” like it. Sometimes obedience comes before the emotion. And maybe that’s where healing begins.

I’m going to leave my Bible open on the nightstand and let God speak while I sleep.

One day at a time. One prayer at a time.