Tag: christ

Whispers of the Savior: Learning to Listen For Jesus

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Lord, I need to speak to You tonight—not in the quiet polite way, but with my whole heart. Sometimes I get so frustrated, so angry that I can’t hear You clearly, and I hate that about myself. I know You’re there. I know You’re calling me. Jeremiah 33:3 says, “Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.” And yet, I feel like I’m shouting into a void sometimes. Why is it so hard for me to hear You when You promise so clearly that You will speak?

Christian Tech Nerd Quick Quiz!

Let’s see who can answer the below question correctly…..

If a woman has an abortion, can she still get into heaven?

TAP HERE FOR “YES, SHE CAN STILL FIND A WAY TO REDEMPTION”

TAP HERE FOR: “UNFORTUNATELY NO, YOU’LL SPEND ETERNITY IN HELL FOR HAVING AN ABORTION”

I think the real struggle is my own mind. It’s chaotic. It’s noisy. I worry about bills, relationships, the future, what other people think of me, and in the middle of all that, how am I supposed to hear You? How am I supposed to know Your will when my thoughts are scattered and my heart is restless? Lord, forgive me. Forgive me for letting my mind wander away from You. Forgive me for letting the world’s distractions drown out Your voice.

Today, I tried to sit quietly with Your Word, really look at it, not just skim. I opened my Bible and landed on Psalm 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God.” Be still. It sounds so simple when You say it, but it is the hardest thing in the world to do! I want to be still, Lord. I want to quiet my thoughts and listen. But the world is loud, and I am stubborn, and my emotions get the better of me. I get angry at circumstances, at people, at myself. But You—You are still. And You are perfect.

I know that hearing You isn’t about an audible voice. I’ve read that many times, but sometimes I catch myself hoping for it anyway, like I need a tangible sign to validate that You’re really speaking to me. And maybe that’s pride. Maybe I don’t trust You enough to believe Your guidance comes quietly, deep in my inner being, as a soft nudging, a conviction in my soul. Help me trust that, Lord. Help me to be sensitive to the ways You speak, whether through Your Word, through other people, or through the stirring of my own heart.

Sometimes I get frustrated because I feel like I try, Lord. I really try. I pray. I read. I meditate. I focus. But it still feels like I miss You. Am I looking in the wrong places? Am I impatient? I know You don’t work on my schedule, and yet my human side wants immediate answers, clear directions, step-by-step guidance. I want You to show me the path like a neon sign. But Your ways are higher than my ways, Lord, and Your thoughts are beyond me (Isaiah 55:8-9). So I have to let go of my need to control, to micromanage, to demand clarity, and just listen. Really listen.

Lord, I pray for discernment. Teach me to recognize Your voice among all the noise. Teach me to respond with obedience, even when Your guidance doesn’t make sense to my human mind. Teach me to trust that You are guiding me, even when the path looks uncertain or scary. I want to hear You. I need to hear You. Not just when it’s convenient, not just when it aligns with what I already want, but all the time. In my mundane moments, in my moments of anxiety, in my anger, in my sadness. I want You to be my constant.

Sometimes I feel angry at myself for not hearing You clearly before. I think, “Why did I ignore that prompting? Why did I question Your guidance?” And then I remember that You are patient with me. Your love is relentless. Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Lord, I’m broken, and I am crushed in spirit at times, and yet You are still here. You are not distant. You are not silent. You are close. And that should be enough to make me listen harder, to make me pay attention with everything in me.

I need You, Jesus. I need Your guidance, Your wisdom, Your comfort, Your correction. I don’t want to walk this life relying on my own understanding because I see where that leads me—it leads me to confusion, to bitterness, to anger, to disappointment. But walking with You leads to life, leads to peace, leads to clarity. Proverbs 3:5-6 says, “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 want that trust, Lord. I want to submit fully, even when it stings or when it’s hard.

Father, I pray that You sharpen my ears. Not just my physical ears, but my spiritual ears. Tune my heart so I can hear Your gentle whispers guiding me in decisions big and small. Help me recognize the ways You are speaking through Scripture, through prayer, through other believers, through the circumstances of my life. Help me to act, Lord. I don’t want to hear and do nothing. I don’t want to be passive. I want to follow. I want to obey. I want to respond in faith, not hesitation.

And Lord, if I have to be angry, let it be a holy anger—anger at sin, at injustice, at fear that clouds my hearing, at myself when I resist You. But let that anger drive me to You, not away from You. Let it sharpen my desire to listen, not distract me from it. Let it strengthen my resolve to stay in Your Word daily, to call out to You without ceasing, and to open my heart to the guidance You provide, even when it challenges me.

Jesus, I want to hear You more. I want to love You more. I want to follow You more. Help me to be attentive, to be quiet, to trust. Let me call on You and actually wait for the answer, knowing that You will speak great and unsearchable things into my life if I am willing to listen. Jeremiah 33:3 reminds me that You are not silent. You are ready to answer. You are ready to reveal. I just have to open my ears, open my heart, and not run from Your voice.

Thank You for being patient with me. Thank You for never leaving me, even when I am stubborn, distracted, or angry. Thank You for being my constant guide, my anchor, my Father, my Savior. Lord, help me hear You today, tomorrow, and every day after that. Help me live a life tuned to Your voice, obedient to Your guidance, and full of love for You. Amen.

Blessed Beyond Measure: A Journey Into God’s Goodness

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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I opened my Bible this morning to James 2:14–26, and even though I’ve read this passage many times before, something about it stirred me more deeply than usual. Maybe it was the quiet stillness of the morning, or maybe it was the way my soul has been reaching for God with such intensity lately, searching for clarity and direction. But as soon as I read, “What good is it, dear brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but don’t show it by your actions?” (James 2:14, NLT), I felt the Holy Spirit pressing gently on the places in my heart that still need refining.

Christian Tech Nerd Quick Quiz!

Let’s see who can answer the below question correctly…..

If a woman has an abortion, can she still get into heaven?

TAP HERE FOR “YES, SHE CAN STILL FIND A WAY TO REDEMPTION”

TAP HERE FOR: “UNFORTUNATELY NO, YOU’LL SPEND ETERNITY IN HELL FOR HAVING AN ABORTION”

I recently stumbled upon a quote that said, “God blesses us because we respond to Him, not as a response to our good works.” I held onto that sentence like a precious jewel, because so often—even in my own walk with God—I’ve slipped into the mindset of trying to prove my transformation through what I do rather than who I’ve become in Christ. It’s so easy to confuse activity with spiritual maturity. And sometimes I wonder whether that’s why so many new believers get overwhelmed. They come into the faith with this beautiful spark of excitement, wanting so badly to honor God, but without knowing how to rest first in His love. They start volunteering, serving, signing up for everything in sight, hoping their efforts will show God they’ve changed. And then somewhere along the path, they burn out. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve felt it happen.

I think we, as the body of Christ, have unintentionally contributed to that misunderstanding. We often celebrate visible participation—the new church volunteer, the person who signs up for every ministry, the one who seems full of energy and eagerness—without first understanding where their heart is. Service is good and beautiful and holy, but service without foundation is like building a house on sand. It looks sturdy for a moment, until the first storm hits.

James is absolutely right: faith without deeds is empty. But deeds without faith are equally hollow. They may look impressive on the outside, but they don’t carry the substance of God on the inside. And that’s what struck me so strongly today—the reminder that my actions are not the proof of my faith; they are the fruit of my faith. Faith doesn’t begin with motion; it begins with surrender. It begins with falling at the feet of Jesus and whispering, “I can’t change myself. I need You to change me.”

Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes I slip into the rhythm of self-powered striving, almost like a spiritual New Year’s resolution. But faith isn’t a resolution; it’s a relationship. A living, breathing relationship with a God who moves through me rather than around me. When I try to do things for God without doing them with God, everything feels heavier and harder. But when the Holy Spirit stirs something in me—when I feel that gentle tug, that nudge that seems to rise from some quiet place inside my chest—obedience feels almost effortless. It feels like stepping into a river instead of trying to dig my own well.

That’s what good works are meant to look like. Not a performance, not a checklist, not a spiritual résumé—but a response. A natural overflow of the faith God has planted in me. And I love that God invites me into His work not because He needs my help but because He wants my heart. He wants my willingness, my surrender, my trust. He wants me to participate in the blessings He is already pouring out.

When I reflect on my journey with Him, I can see moments when I acted out of pure obedience to His voice, even when I didn’t understand why. And those are the moments that changed me the most. Not because I did something impressive, but because God used my small steps to shape my heart. That’s the kind of life I want—one where my faith is alive, vibrant, and continually responding to Him.

I feel blessed beyond measure not because of what I have, but because of who He is. His goodness has followed me through seasons of joy and seasons of grief, through times of clarity and times of confusion. Every time I’ve tried to take control, He has gently reminded me that surrender is my safest place. Every time I’ve grown weary, He has whispered, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). And somehow, He always keeps His promise.

Today I prayed that He would teach me how to better encourage my brothers and sisters—not to rush into good works out of obligation, but to grow deeper in faith so that their works rise naturally from their relationship with Him. I want to be someone who reminds others of their identity in Christ before urging them toward activity. I want to show them that transformation starts with the heart, not the hands. I want to reflect Jesus in a way that draws them closer to Him, not simply closer to tasks.

And maybe that’s part of my own calling—helping others understand that God isn’t measuring their worth by their productivity. He’s looking at their hearts. He’s looking for faith that is alive, rooted, and real. Faith that breathes. Faith that trusts. Faith that produces action as naturally as a tree produces fruit in season.

As I sit here writing all of this, I realize how deeply grateful I am for the Holy Spirit’s guidance. There have been days when I felt Him nudging me toward someone who needed encouragement, or urging me to pray for a person I barely knew, or prompting me to step out in a way that stretched my comfort zone. Those moments were never born from my own willpower. They were born from His presence in me. And every time I said yes, I experienced God’s goodness in ways I never expected.

One thing I am learning, over and over, is that God doesn’t call me to do good works so that others will see how faithful I am. He calls me to do good works so they will see how faithful He is. When I respond to Him, when I let Him work through me, His love becomes visible. His compassion becomes tangible. His presence becomes undeniable. And somehow, in the midst of that, I am blessed too.

So today, Lord, I pray this from the depths of my heart:

Father, help me to always work in response to You—not from my own strength, not from my own will, but from the moving of Your Spirit within me. Teach me to recognize Your prompting and to obey with joy. Guard my heart from striving and remind me that true transformation comes only from You. Use me as a vessel of Your love, and let Your light shine through everything I do. And guide me as I walk alongside others in the body of Christ. Give me wisdom to encourage, patience to listen, and compassion to understand where their hearts truly are. Let Your living Word take root in us all, that it may grow and flourish in our lives. I ask all of this in the mighty name of Jesus, Amen.

Tonight I rest in the truth that I am blessed not because of what I do, but because of who God is—and because I get to respond to Him with a heart that is learning, growing, and trusting more every day.

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

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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

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

Justified. Pardoned. Cleansed. Freed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But grateful. Deeply, painfully grateful.

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

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

My God does.

My Jesus does.

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

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

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

No more. Forgotten. Buried. Gone.

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

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

And I felt my chest unclench a little.

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

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

Father, teach me to accept being accepted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

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

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

Lord, I choose to trust You.

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

And that is enough.

One Foot In The World, One Foot In Christ

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Some days here, some days there.”

That’s not a line. That’s wobbling.

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

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

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

God, forgive me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But wanting and doing are two different things.

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

I’m choosing His side.

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

I’m choosing Jesus.

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

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

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

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

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

No more lukewarm.

No more double life.

No more divided heart.

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

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

And I’m not looking back.

Let Jesus Inspire and Motivate You Today

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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

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

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

(CLICK THE IMAGE ABOVE TO GET INSPIRED TODAY!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. When I Feel Overwhelmed

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

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

2. When Loneliness Creeps In

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

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

3. When I’m Just Exhausted

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

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

4. When Anxiety Takes Over

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

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

5. When I Feel Far From God

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

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

6. When I’m Tired of Waiting

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

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

7. When Guilt Won’t Let Go

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

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

8. When I Want to Choose Gratitude Over Bitterness

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

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

9. When I Need Strength to Keep Going

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

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

10. When I Need Hope for Tomorrow

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe that’s what healing actually looks like.

Triumphant Over Temptation: Shielding Your Soul from The Devil

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Dear Lord,

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

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

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

What Are the Temptations of the Devil, Really?

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

1 John 2:16 lays it out:

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

Let’s unpack that gently but clearly:

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

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

How Do We Overcome Temptation?

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

1. Know the Strategy of the Enemy

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

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

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

2. Keep Your Eyes on Jesus

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

Hebrews 12:2 reminds us:

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

Look up. Not around.

3. Pray Like It’s Life or Death

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

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

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

A Prayer for the Tempted Heart

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

What to Do In the Moment of Temptation

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

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

Replace the Thought—Immediately

2 Corinthians 10:5 says:

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

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

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

Live Holy—On Purpose

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

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

Final Thoughts: Grace and Grit

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

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

Romans 8:37 says:

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

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

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

When Faith Hurts: Does God See Christians Who are Struggling?

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

God, I need to get this out. I can’t carry it around anymore.

I feel like I’m breaking.

I don’t doubt that You’re real. I never have. But I’m starting to wonder something way more painful—do You see me?

Do You really see me?

I’m not asking this as someone who’s lost faith. I’m asking it as someone whose faith hurts. Like physically aches. Like waiting-for-years, tears-on-my-bedroom-floor, why-do-I-keep-hoping kind of hurt.

I’ve prayed for so long. For healing. For direction. For a spouse. For financial breakthrough. For You to step in and rescue someone I love from addiction. For clarity. For peace. For things that are GOOD. Things I know You care about.

But I keep getting silence. Closed doors. Loneliness. More waiting.

Sometimes I feel like those people in Psalm 94. “And they say, ‘The Lord does not see; the God of Jacob does not perceive.’” (Psalm 94:7) I read that verse and think, Wow. That’s exactly how I feel sometimes. Like You don’t even notice.

And that terrifies me. Because what am I supposed to do when the God I believe in more than anything else feels distant or even—dare I say it—absent?

But then I keep reading…
“He who planted the ear, does he not hear? He who formed the eye, does he not see? … For the Lord will not forsake his people; he will not abandon his heritage.” (Psalm 94:9, 14)

That hits hard.

Because deep down, I know You see. You created my eyes. You crafted my ears. You wired my heart to crave connection with You. There’s no way You’re blind to my pain.

But still. It hurts.

God, why does it take so long sometimes? Why do You ask us to wait so long when You could change things with just a whisper?

Sometimes I feel like You’re just watching from a distance while I struggle to keep my faith intact. And then I immediately feel guilty for thinking that. Because I know it’s not true. I know You’re near. I know Your Word promises You’re “close to the brokenhearted” (Psalm 34:18), and that You “collect all our tears in a bottle” (Psalm 56:8).

But there’s a gap between what I know and what I feel. And I think You can handle me saying that.

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I think You want me to be honest, even if it’s ugly.

I don’t want to pretend anymore. I’m tired of the “bless and highly favored” church mask. I’m tired of acting like I’ve got unwavering peace when I’m crying in the shower and asking why my prayers seem to evaporate into the ceiling.

I want to trust You even when it feels like You’ve gone quiet. I want to believe—like the psalmist did—that even if deliverance isn’t here yet, it’s still coming.

Because he remembers, God. That’s what shook me when I read Psalm 94 again today. He reminded himself of all the times You had delivered him before. “If the Lord had not been my help, my soul would soon have lived in the land of silence.” (Psalm 94:17)

That’s what I need. Remembrance.

You have been faithful before.
You have come through in impossible situations.
You have spoken when I least expected it.
You have saved me from things I didn’t even know were destroying me.

So maybe it’s not that You’re ignoring me now—maybe it’s just that You’re working behind the scenes in ways I don’t see yet. Maybe this “no” or “not yet” is actually a gift. Maybe You’re building something in me that comfort could never produce—like endurance, character, and a fierce kind of hope (Romans 5:3-5).

Still, it’s hard, Lord.

I’m not asking You to make life perfect. I’m not even asking You to take all the pain away (though if You did, I’d be grateful!). I’m just asking You to remind me that You’re near. That You haven’t forgotten. That I’m not crazy for continuing to believe You’ll show up.

Because every time I consider walking away from this faith—You pull me back.
Every time I want to give up praying—You whisper something small that gives me strength.
Every time I think You’ve abandoned me—You send someone to say exactly what I needed to hear.

So maybe that’s what trust looks like in this season. Not pretending I’m okay, but clinging to the truth that You are, even when I’m not.

Lord, I don’t want a fragile, feel-good faith that only works when life is pretty.
I want a real faith.


A rugged, blood-and-tears kind of faith.
A faith that doesn’t break in the silence.
A faith that remembers.

So I’m choosing—again—to believe that You see me.
Even when the job doesn’t come through.
Even when the loneliness lingers.
Even when the healing delays.
Even when my heart keeps breaking.

You see. You hear. You care. You save.

God, I don’t understand this waiting. But I trust You in it.


Help me believe You’re near even when it feels like You’re far.


Help me want You more than I want answers.


And give me peace that surpasses understanding—not peace that comes from things going my way, but peace that comes from knowing You are with me no matter what.
Give me joy in the waiting. Show me glimpses of Your goodness.


And when I get tired of hoping, remind me that hope in You is never wasted.


Amen.

Christian Thought for Today


What if the thing I’m waiting for isn’t being withheld… but being prepared? What if the delay is protection? What if the closed doors are really just reroutes to something so much better than what I even knew to pray for?

God, open my eyes to see what You see.

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Lifting Up Loved Ones: Praying for Those You Love

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Last night, I found myself staring at the ceiling again, heart heavy and mind racing. Not because I’m burdened by my own stuff—but because I can feel the weight of the people I love. Their pain. Their questions. Their wandering. Their silence.

And honestly? It wrecks me.
I don’t want to be the girl who watches people I love slip through life without Jesus. I want to be the one who fights on her knees.

But I had to start with a hard question:
When’s the last time I actually prayed for them? Like really prayed?

Not a “Lord, bless them” kind of prayer, but the kind that pulls heaven down to earth.

God doesn’t need my passive prayers. He wants my passion. My persistence. My boldness. So here I am—learning to pray like I mean it.

1. Pray for God to soften my heart first.

This might be the most uncomfortable step—but it’s the realest one. Before I intercede for others, I have to let God break me. I don’t want to pray from a place of pride, frustration, or spiritual superiority. I want to pray from love. Period.

Lord, give me a burden. That’s an old-school word, I know. But I want it. I want my heart to hurt for what hurts Yours. Break the apathy. Remove the judgment. Let me weep for them. Let me care deeply again.

“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you.” — Ezekiel 36:26

God, make my heart flesh again. Not cold, not passive, not comfortable. Tender. Ready to move at the whisper of Your Spirit.

2. Pray just to talk about Jesus.

This isn’t about crafting the perfect speech or waiting for the ideal moment. This is about boldness. Godly, humble boldness. I don’t want my conversations to stay surface-level forever. I want opportunities to bring up eternity.

“Pray for us… that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ.” — Colossians 4:3

God, open a door. Not just in their schedule, but in their heart. Give me a moment that can’t be explained by anything but divine timing. Give me courage to walk through it when it comes. Let me be ready, not scared.

No more waiting until “the right time.” The right time is now.

3. Pray that the words of Jesus take off like wildfire.

Sometimes I think we forget just how powerful His words are. When Jesus speaks, things shift. Darkness trembles. Chains break. Hope rises. His words don’t need our help—they just need our obedience to speak them.

“Pray that the Master’s Word will simply take off and race through the country to a groundswell of response…” — 2 Thessalonians 3:1 (MSG)

Lord, let Your Word run wild in their lives. Let it chase them down in the quiet moments. Speak to them in dreams. In songs. In conversations they didn’t expect. Let the name of Jesus echo until it becomes undeniable.

4. Pray for God to heal their hearts.

Hurt people hide behind sarcasm, silence, success, or straight-up rebellion. But when someone’s going through a storm, it’s often because God is softening something deep inside.

So instead of judging their mess, I’m learning to pray into their healing.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3

God, bind up their wounds. Speak peace over the chaos. Show them that You’re not afraid of their broken pieces. You’re the God who walks into storms and speaks stillness. Walk into theirs, Lord. Let them feel You.

5. Pray for endurance on my end.

Let’s be honest: it’s exhausting praying for people who seem like they don’t care. It’s frustrating watching them self-destruct while you’re begging heaven for a breakthrough. But I’ve learned this: God doesn’t call me to fix them—He calls me to pray for them.

So I will.

Even when I don’t see it.
Even when they push me away.
Even when it feels pointless.

Because faith doesn’t wait for feelings. It stands. It believes. It persists.

“The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” — James 5:16

So I will pray powerful, effective prayers. Not because I’m perfect. But because I’m His. And I believe He moves when His kids pray like they believe He will.

Lord Jesus,
Thank You for placing these people in my life. I don’t believe in coincidence—I believe in calling. You’ve called me to love them, serve them, and fight for them in prayer. So today, I lift them up to You.

Soften my heart, Lord. Remove pride. Give me a burden that drives me to my knees daily.
Open the doors for conversations about You—real ones, honest ones. Give me boldness to speak and wisdom to listen.

Let Your Word catch fire in their lives. Let it chase them down and wake something up inside them.
Heal their wounds. Calm their storms. Make them whole, even if they don’t know how to ask for it yet.
And when I get tired, remind me that You never give up on me. So I won’t give up on them.

I trust You, Jesus. And I believe You’re already moving.
Amen.

Prayer isn’t a last resort—it’s the first line of battle.
And I refuse to let the people I love walk through life without someone warring for them in prayer.

Even if they never know it, I’ll be the one interceding.
Because that’s what love does.

Safe in God’s Hands: Conquering Fear Through Faith

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

This weekend I faced fear in the mirror. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t shout or shake me. It just stared me down like it had something to prove. And for a split second—just a second—I let it. I let fear have the mic. I let it whisper all its what-ifs and why-nots into the corners of my mind.

But then I remembered who I am.
And more importantly, whose I am.

The Word hit me like a wave straight to my spirit:

“Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” — Isaiah 41:10

That’s not just poetry. That’s truth. That’s a promise.

Fear is a liar, and it loves to dress up like logic. It sneaks in disguised as “being realistic,” “protecting yourself,” or “thinking it through.” But really, it’s just a mask for unbelief. I’m not here to coddle fear anymore. I’m not making a bed for it in my spirit. I serve the Almighty God, and He didn’t give me a spirit of fear.

“For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” — 2 Timothy 1:7 (AMP)

I say this with fire in my chest: If God didn’t give it, I don’t want it. I’m rejecting fear like poison because that’s what it is—it slowly kills joy, hope, peace, and even purpose. And I am DONE letting fear kill anything in me that God has breathed life into.

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Here’s what’s wild though: fear feels real. And maybe that’s the point. Faith isn’t about feelings. It’s about choosing truth over feelings. It’s about standing firm when your knees want to buckle.

I had this moment today…
I was anxious—my heart pounding, palms sweaty, spiraling with thoughts of everything that could go wrong in my life. I could feel fear tightening its grip like a noose. But instead of letting it choke me, I imagined myself curled up in the lap of the Father. Not a distant, angry God—but Abba. A God who wraps His arms around me like a blanket and whispers over me:

“Do not fear, for I am with you…” — Isaiah 41:10 again. Yes, again. Because I need that Word on repeat.

And I felt His love.
Like really felt it.
Not earned, not negotiated. Just freely poured out.

That kind of love doesn’t just comfort—it casts out fear.

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear…” — 1 John 4:18

God’s love doesn’t ignore fear—it evicts it. When I let Him in fully, fear has no legal right to stay. So why am I still renting it a room?

Time to confront this mess.

I love people deeply. But I’m also not afraid to speak boldly. Especially when I see fear running people’s lives. I’ve seen it paralyze dreams, crush marriages, stop ministries before they even begin. That’s not humility—that’s fear wearing a disguise.

God is not calling us to survive our lives. He’s calling us to live them boldly in His power. And that’s not pride—it’s faith.

Jeremiah 29:11 rings out like a battle cry in my soul:

“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.”

If I truly believe that, then fear has no place. Not in my mind, not in my decisions, and definitely not in my future.

So how do we fight fear?

We don’t fight alone.
We don’t fake it till we make it.
We face it with God beside us.
We let His love meet us right in the trembling.

Even when we’re scared, we walk forward. That’s what courage is. As Rick Warren said so perfectly,

“Courage is not the absence of fear; courage is moving ahead in spite of your fear.”

That hit me deep today. I’m not waiting until I feel brave to obey God. I’m just going to obey—and trust that courage will follow.

And when the voice of fear tries to whisper again, I’ll answer it with this:

“The LORD is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?” — Psalm 118:6

Let that be tattooed on my soul.

God’s presence is greater than my panic.
His promises are louder than my anxieties.
And His power? It’s made perfect in my weakness.

If you’re reading this and you’ve never surrendered your life to Christ, I need you to know—He’s not waiting for you to get perfect. He’s waiting to love you now.

Here’s a simple prayer. Pray it with me, even if your voice shakes:

Prayer of Surrender:


Jesus, I’m tired of doing life on my own. I’ve been letting fear lead, and it’s only left me empty. I believe You are the Son of God. I believe You died for me and rose again. I ask You to come into my heart. Be my Lord, be my Savior, be my peace. I surrender my life, my fear, my future—everything—to You. Thank You for loving me. I receive Your love. Amen.

And for those of us already walking with Him—maybe today is the day we finally trust Him like we say we do.

I’m choosing courage. I’m choosing Christ.
Because fear doesn’t get the final word. Faith does.