Tag: Christian diary

Sacred Echo: Listening to Heaven’s Heartbeat

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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

This morning, while journaling, I wrote:


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, I’m ending with a prayer:

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

Cling to the Cross: How to Keep Yourself in God’s Love

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

For a while now, at least since Spring I’d honestly say, my heart has been heavy, but not with sorrow—more like reverence. A deep, weighty awareness of how fragile my love can be compared to Yours (God’s). I’ve been sitting with Jude 21 all week:

“Keep yourselves in God’s love as you wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you to eternal life.” – Jude 21 (NIV)

That verse doesn’t let me off the hook. It commands me. It tells me that remaining in Your love isn’t automatic—it’s intentional. And that convicts me.

Because, God… how many times have I allowed distractions, fears, or even just apathy to distance me from You? How many times have I let my emotions steer me away from Your presence instead of clinging to the cross like it’s my lifeline—which it is?

I sat in my car earlier after running errands, and I just started crying. Not out of sadness, really, but out of this mix of longing and guilt. I want to stay in Your love, but some days I don’t even know what that really looks like. And yet—Your voice, gentle and steady, reminded me: Cling to the cross.

Not just in the hard moments. Not just on Sundays. But every single day.

When I woke up this morning, I prayed out of routine. But by the time I got to mid-afternoon, I had already snapped at someone, scrolled mindlessly through my phone, and barely acknowledged You in the middle of my thoughts. And then tonight, You bring me back again—to Your Word, to Your presence, to Your mercy. You always bring me back.

“Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine.” – John 15:4 (NIV)

You are the Vine. The source of love, strength, and truth. I’m just a branch. I dry out so quickly when I’m not connected to You. I think that’s why Jude tells us to keep ourselves in Your love. Because the world pulls hard. Our flesh pulls even harder. And the only way to stay in Your love is to choose it daily—to choose You daily.

Jesus, I don’t want to just visit Your love when life falls apart. I want to live there. Dwell there. Make it the home my heart always returns to. I want to cling to the cross—not out of desperation, but out of love and dependence.

I thought about what clinging to the cross really means, and I think it starts with remembering. Remembering what You did for me. Not just in a distant, “Sunday-school” way, but really reflecting on it. You gave everything. You suffered shame, pain, rejection—all for me. You didn’t hold back. How could I?

Lord, help me not to treat Your sacrifice like a safety net I only fall into. Help me treat it like the center of my life—the reason I do what I do, the lens I see everything through. When I’m tempted to wander, bring me back to Calvary. When I doubt, show me Your hands. When I feel unworthy, let me hear Your voice again: It is finished.

I guess what I’m realizing is that clinging to the cross looks a lot like choosing You in the smallest moments. Like…

  • Opening my Bible instead of opening a complaining text.
  • Choosing prayer over worry.
  • Forgiving when I want to sulk.
  • Turning off the noise and just sitting in silence with You.

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful.” – Hebrews 10:23 (ESV)

You are so faithful, Lord. Even when I’m not. Even when I wander. Even when I forget. And that faithfulness pulls me back into Your love every single time. It’s not a love I earned—it’s a love You gave. Freely.

Tonight, I wrote this simple prayer in my journal and I want to pray it out loud now:

Father God,

Thank You for the cross. Thank You that Your love was poured out in blood, not just in words. Remind me daily that Your love is not distant—it’s present. It’s active. It’s sacrificial.

Lord, help me to keep myself in that love. Teach me how to cling tightly when the world distracts and the enemy lies. Strengthen my heart to obey, to abide, and to remember that no matter what’s happening around me, Your love is constant.

When I feel cold or distant, draw me near again. Let my soul be tethered to Your cross—never wandering too far, never forgetting the cost of grace.

In Jesus’ holy name,
Amen.

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You know, I used to think “keeping myself in God’s love” meant being perfect. Like, if I read my Bible enough, prayed long enough, behaved good enough—then I’d stay in it. But now I know: Your love isn’t something I have to perform for. But keeping myself in it? That’s about protecting the space You’ve made for me. It’s about fighting to remain in the awareness of Your grace—fighting to stay in the shelter of it when my emotions say otherwise.

I’m reminded of Psalm 91:

“He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.” – Psalm 91:4 (NIV)

Your love is my refuge. My safe place. My covering. And I don’t want to step out from under that. I want to stay close—no matter how grown-up or independent I feel. Because truthfully? I’m nothing without You. I don’t want to be anything without You.

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and whisper again, “Cling to the cross.” When my thoughts scatter, when my heart grows tired, when the enemy tries to accuse—I’ll choose the cross. I’ll choose the love that never gives up on me. The love that bleeds and redeems and resurrects.

I don’t always know what lies ahead, Lord. But I know what holds me now: Your love. And I’m keeping myself in it by clinging tightly to You.

Women Belong in The Kitchen: Embracing My God-Given Role in a World on the Brink

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

The kettle is whistling and the bread just came out of the oven. The warmth of the stove wraps around me like a blanket, and the quiet is a comfort — not a curse. The world outside may be in chaos, but in here, peace still reigns. Not because I have it all figured out, but because I know who holds the future.

Even though I live alone for now — no husband, no children — I live as if they’re already part of my life. Because one day, if the Lord wills, they will be.

“Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.”
— Psalm 37:4

And I do desire marriage. I desire to serve a husband. To raise children in truth. To be a keeper of the home who is clothed in strength and dignity — not caught in the world’s confusion about what it means to be a woman.

I don’t see the kitchen as a prison. I see it as a place of preparation and power. It’s where I practice serving, sacrificing, and sustaining life. Even now — even just for myself — I treat every meal I prepare, every space I tend, every routine I build, as an offering. Because this is not about me. It’s about being faithful in the waiting.

“She rises while it is yet night and provides food for her household.”
— Proverbs 31:15

I want to be ready when God calls me into marriage — not just emotionally or spiritually, but practically. I want to know how to feed, nurture, support, and follow my future husband with grace and strength. And I want to raise children who know truth from lies, who see joy in discipline and purpose in obedience.

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

The world is falling apart. The news grows darker every day. And while people stock up on weapons and solar panels, I’m stocking up on wisdom, discipline, and love. Because survival is about more than having a pantry full of food. It’s about knowing how to create peace in a storm — and that starts in the home.

So yes, I belong in the kitchen. Not because I have to — but because I choose to be a woman who nurtures life. It’s where I’ll minister to my family. It’s where I’ll teach lessons, dry tears, fill empty bellies, and pray over every plate.

“The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down.”
— Proverbs 14:1

I’m not foolish. I know what’s coming. And I want to be ready in spirit and skill when the world expects women to be helpless and hopeless.

Prayer
Father, thank You for creating me with purpose. Thank You for showing me that womanhood is not weakness, but strength of a different kind — softer, deeper, and holy. Help me to become the kind of wife who blesses her husband all the days of his life. Make me diligent in this season of waiting — to work, learn, and worship in private, unseen ways. Let this home be a training ground for the life You’re preparing me for. Amen.

Sometimes I think of my future husband. I wonder what he’s doing tonight. Maybe he’s chopping firewood or reading the Word by lamplight like I am. Maybe he’s praying for a woman who will walk beside him without questioning his leadership or trying to take it from him.

I pray I’ll be the answer to that prayer.

“Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church…”
— Ephesians 5:22–23

That verse is not a burden to me. It’s a comfort. I want a husband I can trust to lead — and I want to be the kind of woman he can trust to follow without resistance. Because that kind of order isn’t outdated. It’s biblical. It brings peace, not confusion.

And I know the world rolls its eyes at women like me. They think we’re brainwashed, repressed, afraid. But I’ve never felt more free. Free from the pressure to compete, to climb, to prove myself by the world’s standards. I know who I am — and whose I am.

“Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”
— Proverbs 31:30

So tonight, I light my candles. I pray over my future table. I fold my laundry with care and organize my shelves because this is my calling. Even now, without a husband to serve or children to raise, I am living the life of a God-honoring woman in training.

Prayer
Lord, prepare me to be a wife and mother who walks in wisdom, patience, and deep love. Teach me to lay down selfish ambition and pick up quiet faithfulness. Let me serve now with joy, knowing that You see everything done in secret. Bless my future husband, wherever he is tonight. Strengthen him to lead. Teach him to love. And when the time is right, bring us together in Your perfect plan. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

This is enough for tonight. The stew is cooling and the world is still turning. But my heart is full. Because even in this quiet season, I know I’m becoming exactly the kind of woman I was made to be.

And when the time comes — when God brings my family — I won’t just be ready. I’ll be grateful.