Father, in the mighty name of Jesus, I refuse to treat Your grace casually. Break every chain of sin in my life. Expose every lie my flesh has believed. Give me a holy hatred for sin and a fierce love for righteousness. Strengthen me by Your Spirit to reject every temptation and stand boldly for Your truth. Jesus, thank You for Your sacrifice—teach me to honor it with my life, my choices, and my obedience. I choose holiness. I choose surrender. I choose You. Amen.
We talk a lot about grace—Christ taking our punishment, ending the need for sacrifices, shielding us from the wrath of a holy God. But somewhere along the line, people twisted that truth into an excuse to live however they want. Let me be blunt: grace is not your permission slip to sin.
Some people ask, “Well, if God won’t punish us anymore, why not just sin as much as we want?” Because that’s a foolish, flesh-driven mindset. Yes, God still loves His children—but sin will wreck you. It will chew up your life, harden your heart, and make you spiritually deaf and blind (Hebrews 3:13). Grace may remove eternal punishment, but it does not remove consequences.
The Bible doesn’t sugarcoat this: Whatever you obey, you become a slave to—sin leading to death or obedience leading to righteousness (Romans 6:16). There’s no neutral ground. If you’re indulging your flesh, you are willingly chaining yourself back to the very thing Christ died to free you from.
Sure, God can love someone sitting in a jail cell. But the bars are still there. Their crimes still destroyed lives. Sin always hurts someone—sexual immorality destroys families, addictions destroy bodies and relationships, lies destroy trust, covetousness opens the door to even worse evil. Sin is not harmless; it’s weaponized self-destruction.
That’s why Scripture says we have an obligation—not to the flesh, but to put it to death (Romans 8:12–13). If you keep feeding your old nature, you will die. Spiritually. Emotionally. Sometimes physically. Grace doesn’t change that.
And let’s be honest—if we truly understand how deeply the Father loves us, we wouldn’t dare treat His grace like a cheap loophole. To use the cross as an excuse to sin is to spit on the sacrifice of Jesus. It’s spiritual arrogance, plain and simple.
Yes, we’re under the law of love now (Romans 13:8–10). Yes, we’re freed from the curse of the Law because Christ became the curse for us (Galatians 3:13). But freedom from the Law was never meant to give us freedom to rebel. It was meant to free us to love, to obey, to walk in the Spirit.
God’s intention has always been for humanity to accept His love. But we rejected it, chased evil, and proved we were utterly incapable of saving ourselves. That’s why a Savior had to come—not so we could go back to our filth, but so we could finally walk in the life, purity, and power He paid for.
Grace is a gift—but it’s also a call to fight your sin, not flirt with it.
Today I felt God tugging at my heart, whispering, “Daughter, pay attention. I’m teaching you something.” Sometimes I feel like I’m stumbling around trying to understand what it really means to walk out this faith that I love—this faith that feels like the most important truth in my life. But today, I was reminded again of the brokenness all around me and the small, powerful ways God invites us to make a difference.
Not long ago, I found myself confronted again by the pain and heartache in the world. It’s not that I’d forgotten; it’s just that sometimes the world throws it right in your face. Some weeks it seems like the struggle behind people’s smiles is more visible than usual. I can almost read the heartache tucked between their words or hear the tremble in someone’s voice long before the tears come. And in those moments, I feel this ache—frustration at my own helplessness, compassion for what others are going through, and this deep yearning to somehow be light in the middle of someone’s darkness.
Family members struggling. Loved ones hurting. Friends grieving.
Strained and broken relationships. Physical and emotional pain. Financial hardships that keep people awake at night.
Everyone has something. And while our struggles differ, pain doesn’t have a ranking system with God. Everything we carry matters to Him. I know this, but sometimes I wonder if other people know it too—if they realize how deeply seen they are by Him. Maybe that’s part of why my heart gets so stirred up. I want people to feel loved. I want them to feel cared for. I want them to somehow catch a glimpse of God’s compassion through the small things I do. But honestly… sometimes I’m so drained myself that I don’t know what difference I can even make.
Still, God keeps reminding me that sometimes the only thing we can do for someone is to simply be there. To sit with them in the silence. To listen without rushing to fix. To offer compassion even when we don’t fully understand.
But what else can I do? What else should I do?
I’ve been sitting with this question all week: How can I make a difference in someone else’s day? Not in giant, world-saving ways—but in small, faithful, meaningful ones. And maybe—just maybe—those little moments matter more than we realize.
So today I tried to unpack that question, and these three things kept coming to mind.
1) Smile
It feels silly writing it out, but I can’t help thinking about how powerful a simple smile can be. I wonder how often one person’s smile ends up being the best thing someone else sees all day. Something so small, but big in impact. So easy… yet so easy to forget.
Sometimes when I’m rushing, or stressed, or lost in my own world, I forget to look up. I forget to be present. I forget that my face might be the one reminder someone needs that there’s still kindness in the world.
I caught myself today at the grocery store, checking out with that little automatic frown I wear when I’m tired. Then the Holy Spirit nudged me. I raised my eyes and smiled at the cashier. She looked startled for a second—then she smiled back. And maybe it meant nothing. Or maybe, just maybe, she needed someone to look at her like she mattered.
Lord, teach me to choose joy even when my heart feels heavy. Help me remember that my countenance can carry Your light. “The joy of the Lord is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10). Let my smile be strength for someone else.
2) Reach Out
This one is harder for me, if I’m honest. When someone is on my heart, I often intend to reach out… later. I’ll text them later. I’ll check in later. I’ll send that email later. And then? I forget. Not because I don’t care—God knows I care—but because I get distracted, or tired, or overwhelmed.
But I can’t help thinking about all the times I have received a message right when I needed it. Those moments when a friend says, “You were on my mind today,” and suddenly the whole world feels a little less dark. How many times have I whispered, “Lord, I needed that”?
I want to be that for others. I want to act when God nudges my heart.
Today as I was driving, someone came to mind, someone I hadn’t talked to in months. And I felt that familiar inner pull. So I reached out—just a simple message, nothing fancy. She replied within minutes, telling me she’d been having a really hard week and had prayed for encouragement just this morning.
Moments like that remind me: God uses us. Our words matter.
Lord, help me be obedient when You place someone on my heart. Let me not be so distracted that I miss the chance to love someone well. “Encourage one another and build each other up” (1 Thessalonians 5:11). Let me be a builder, not a bystander.
3) Pray
Prayer changes things. I know this. I believe this deeply. But sometimes praying feels like pouring water into dry soil that never seems to soften. Sometimes I pray and pray and pray… and nothing seems to shift. And I’ll be honest—those are the moments that frustrate me. Those are the moments I wonder if anything I’m doing is even helping.
But then God reminds me: Prayer isn’t just about outcomes. It’s about connection. It’s about surrender. It’s about trusting that when I bring someone’s name before God, He hears me. And not only does He work in their life—He works in mine too.
I think of the verse: “The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective” (James 5:16). I don’t always feel righteous, or powerful, or effective. But God never asked for perfection—just faithfulness. Just willingness.
So today, I prayed. I prayed for the hurting people around me. For healing. For peace. For restoration. For God’s comfort to meet them like warm sunlight after a long night. And maybe I’ll never know what those prayers accomplished—but God knows. And that’s enough.
Lord, teach me to pray boldly, faithfully, and consistently. Let my prayers be a lifeline for those who feel like they’re drowning. Let me trust in Your unseen work.
Tonight, as I write all this down, I keep thinking about the fruit of the Spirit: “Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” (Galatians 5:22–23)
This is who I want to be. This is the woman I want to grow into. Compassionate. Joyful. Kind. Soft-hearted but strong in faith. Isn’t that the kind of person who makes a difference in the world?
Sometimes I worry that my small offerings don’t matter. But maybe making a difference doesn’t always look like changing someone’s life—it might simply be changing their day. Giving them a moment of hope. A breath of peace. A reminder that they aren’t invisible and they aren’t alone.
And maybe that’s enough.
A Prayer for Today
Dear Lord, Thank You for opening my eyes to the hidden burdens people carry. Thank You for stirring compassion in my heart even on the days when I feel tired and discouraged myself. Help me make a difference in someone’s day, even in ways that seem small to me. Teach me to smile with Your joy, reach out with Your prompting, and pray with Your strength.
Make my heart tender, my ears open, and my spirit willing. Let Your love flow through me, not because I’m strong, but because You are. Help me shine Your light in a world that feels so heavy with sorrow. Amen.
So how can I make a difference in someone’s day? By smiling. By reaching out. By praying.
Simple things. Small things. But maybe holy things too.
Today, I’m writing this with trembling hands and a heavy heart—not out of fear, but with the kind of spiritual weight that comes when God stirs something deep in your soul. I feel like the Holy Spirit won’t let me move forward until I sit with this truth: obedience is not occasional. It’s a lifestyle. A commitment.
I don’t want to sugarcoat anything. I’m not here to play Christian dress-up or quote Scripture when it feels convenient. I’m here to live it, breathe it, suffer for it if I have to. And lately, God has been confronting me about what I really mean when I say, “Jesus is Lord of my life.”
Because if I truly believe that, how dare I reserve the right to say “yes, but not right now” or “yes, but not in front of them” or “yes, as long as it doesn’t cost me comfort, reputation, or connection.” Who am I kidding?
Luke 6:46 says: “Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say?”
That verse pierced through me today like a sword. It’s Jesus asking a question most of us dodge with spiritual fluff. We love the idea of Him being our Savior—our Provider, our Comforter, our Deliverer. But our Lord? That’s where we hesitate.
And the truth is, Lordship means ownership.
If He owns me—my body, my choices, my time, my future—then obedience is not optional. It’s expected. Not from a place of fear or pressure, but love and honor.
I think of Hebrews 13:5, where God says, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” That’s not a cute quote for a coffee mug. That’s a promise to carry with us when obedience leaves us standing alone. When saying “yes” to God means losing relationships. When obedience costs us popularity, stability, or dreams we once held dear.
And He will ask us to surrender things we value.
Why? Because He’s cruel? No. Because He’s holy. And we can’t carry our idols and His glory at the same time. It’s one or the other.
I’ve had to wrestle with this personally. God recently asked me to walk away from a situation that wasn’t sinful in the eyes of the world—but it was disobedient in the eyes of God. I knew it. Deep down, I knew I had to walk away.
But do you know how hard it is to obey God when everyone around you is choosing convenience over conviction?
That’s when Romans 8:28 anchored me: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
All things. Even heartbreak. Even loneliness. Even the messes that come from doing the right thing.
Sometimes, obedience looks like closing doors you prayed would stay open. Sometimes, it’s deleting the text, walking away from the friend group, or speaking up when silence would be safer. Sometimes, it’s trusting God with your reputation when the world calls you “too intense” or “too Christian.”
But what does too Christian even mean? Last I checked, Christ didn’t go halfway to the Cross.
That’s why I can’t be halfway with Him.
Here’s the thing: partial obedience is still disobedience. Delayed obedience is disobedience. Conditional obedience is disobedience.
We don’t get to pick and choose. It’s either all in, or we’re playing church.
And I’m done playing church.
I’m done saying, “God, I’ll obey if…” or “I’ll obey when…” I want to be found faithful even when it’s dark, even when I’m scared, even when the outcome is unclear.
I want to be the kind of woman who obeys God with tears streaming down her face, with shaky hands and a surrendered heart, trusting that His way is better—even when it breaks mine.
1 Samuel 15:22 says, “To obey is better than sacrifice.” God isn’t impressed by how many Bible studies I attend, or how eloquently I can talk about faith. He’s looking at the posture of my heart. Am I willing to obey Him when no one’s clapping, when it’s inconvenient, when it costs me everything?
Because that’s when obedience becomes real.
Jesus said in John 14:15, “If you love me, keep my commandments.”
This isn’t about legalism. It’s about love.
I obey because I love Him. I love Him more than my comfort. More than my image. More than my timeline or dreams.
And tonight, I want to say this out loud as a prayer:
Lord, forgive me for the times I’ve obeyed selectively. For the moments I negotiated with You as if You owe me options. You are not a consultant; You are King. Help me to walk in radical obedience—even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it costs me everything I thought I needed. I trust that what You ask of me is always for my good, even if I can’t see it yet. Make me the kind of woman who follows You without compromise. I want to live for Your glory, not my gain. In Jesus’ name, amen.
So here I am. A 25-year-old woman who doesn’t have it all figured out, but knows one thing for sure:
I’d rather be rejected by the world in obedience to God than accepted by the world in rebellion against Him.
And if obedience means I walk alone sometimes, I’ll still choose it.
Because I am committed.
Not halfway. Not occasionally. But fully, completely, and passionately—
The Christian Tech-Nerd 