Tag: Christian encouragement

Surrendered Your Spirit: Living in God’s Hands

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Question: Have you committed your life to God?

Lord, I come before You tonight, and my heart is heavy, yet burning with a fire that will not be quenched. I am frustrated—so frustrated—at myself, at the world, at the way Your people stumble over their own self-centeredness, and at the times I have stumbled, even as I tried to cling to You. I ask You to hear me, O God, because I am speaking honestly. I do not want superficial devotion. I do not want to pretend. I do not want a lukewarm faith. Have I truly committed my life to You? Truly?

“Into thine hand I commit my spirit: thou hast redeemed me, O LORD God of truth.” Psalm 31:5. These words pierce me tonight. How often have I whispered them in moments of despair, in moments of quiet surrender, but do I actually live them? My spirit, Lord, I lay it at Your feet. I hand it over, though my hands tremble and my heart protests in fear. Yet I know that You are faithful. You have sustained me when nothing else could. My body, my plans, my desires—all fragile, all fleeting. But my soul, Lord, is Yours. I want it to be safe in Your hand.

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I confess, God, that my anger rises often. Not at You, never at You, but at the injustice that saturates this world. I see selfishness, cruelty, apathy, and it rages inside me. And yet, in my anger, I realize I must still trust. Psalm 31 reminds me that even when life hangs by a thread, You are holding me. I cling to that assurance even when my human emotions scream that the world is spinning out of control.

Lord, forgive me for the times I have doubted Your plan, for the times I have wanted to grasp life in my own hands, as if I could create peace and redemption without You. Forgive me, Father, for my impatience, for the times I have measured my worth in worldly achievements rather than in Your grace. Your Word says, “All things are safe in God’s hands.” How foolish I have been to believe otherwise. I want, I need, to trust that fully—not just in quiet moments, but in every storm, every betrayal, every injustice.

There is a sweetness in knowing that I am redeemed. “Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth.” Even when I feel the weight of my failures, even when my sins cling like shadows I cannot shake, Your redemption stands as an unshakable fortress. Oh, Lord, how I cling to this! How I want to shout to the heavens that no matter how hard life strikes, no matter how dark the night, You have redeemed me. You have done it before, You do it now, and You will do it again. Nothing can change Your promise, nothing can overturn Your grace.

And yet, I am angry, Lord. I am angry at myself for my weakness. I am angry at the world that resists Your will, that mocks Your name. But let this anger refine me, not destroy me. Let it drive me closer to You, not away. Let it remind me that my life is not mine—it is Yours, for Your glory and Your kingdom. Even in my wrath, let my spirit bow before You.

Father, I commit all of myself to You—my fears, my regrets, my ambitions, my heartaches, my rage. Even the anger I feel, I place it in Your hands. Let it serve You, not Satan. Let it protect the oppressed, fuel righteousness, strengthen the weary. Let it never lead me to sin or despair. “Though Thou slay me, I will trust.” Even if my path is painful, even if my trials crush me, I will not abandon You. Praise You even from the dust, O God, because Your love is unutterable, Your mercy eternal.

I think sometimes about how little I deserve Your grace, how often I fail. But even then, I remember that past deliverances are proof of present assistance. I have seen Your hand move in my life in ways that can only be described as miraculous. I have felt Your whisper in the quiet of despair, Your strength when I had none. If You were faithful then, Lord, You are faithful now. And I cling to that promise. I trust, despite my anger, despite my doubt, despite my pain.

Lord, help me to surrender fully. I want to be a woman whose life is not divided, whose spirit is not fragmented between fear and faith, doubt and devotion. I want to walk in Your light with no shadow of hesitation. Teach me to release control completely. Teach me to commit my soul entirely into Your hands, with no conditions, no reservations. Let me live as a true daughter of the King, fully known, fully redeemed, fully Yours.

I pray for courage, Lord—not just courage to face trials, but courage to live boldly in faith. Courage to confront injustice, to speak truth, to defend the weak, to love the unlovable. Courage to be angry at sin without being consumed by it, to be passionate without being prideful. Let my anger be sanctified, let my compassion be fierce. Let my heart burn with Your truth so that I may stand strong, even when the world trembles.

I ask for humility, Father. Even in my fervor, even in my righteous indignation, I need humility. Teach me to listen, to forgive, to serve. Let my zeal for Your kingdom never overshadow my love for Your children. Let me remember that redemption is not just mine—it is for everyone, and I am called to reflect Your grace as much as I cling to it.

Psalm 31:5 says, “Into thine hand I commit my spirit.” I am trying, Lord. Every day, in every thought, in every act, I am trying. But I stumble. I falter. I fight the darkness inside myself. Still, I want my life to be a living surrender, a continuous offering to You. Let this diary, let these words, be a testimony of my commitment. Let them be a reminder that no matter how stormy my soul feels, it is safe in Your hand.

Father, I pray for steadfastness. Keep me from turning back when trials arise. Remind me that the things of this world are fleeting, but my soul is eternal. Let me find rest not in comfort, not in accolades, not in the fleeting approval of others, but in You. Let every breath I take, every choice I make, reflect a deep and unwavering trust in Your plan. Let my anger and my compassion, my sorrow and my joy, all serve to glorify You.

And finally, Lord, I pray for Your love to saturate my being so fully that fear and doubt have no place in me. Let every moment of my life be a surrender, a living Psalm, a testimony to Your redemption. Let my spirit dwell in quiet resting places, as the Psalm says, even when adversities multiply. Let me commit all I have to Jesus’ faithful hand, for in Him alone is security, peace, and eternal joy.

I am Yours, O Lord. Take me. Shape me. Correct me. And even if You must slay me, let me trust You. Let me praise You from the dust, proclaiming Your unutterable love. Let me live as one redeemed, one sustained, one fully committed. And may this commitment not be just words, but life breathed in every action, every thought, every heartbeat.

Amen.

“I am Jesus…now get up and go… “

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Recently something shifted in my spirit. It was quiet—no thunder, no lightning—but it was undeniably God. He interrupted my comfort, my silence, my prayer… with five words that feel like fire under my skin:

“I am Jesus… now get up and go.” (Acts 9:5 AMP)

I don’t even know where to begin, Lord. You’ve been pressing that verse on my heart all week. It’s been waking me up at 3AM. I’ve read it before, studied it, even quoted it. But this time it wasn’t just a story about Saul on the road to Damascus. This time, it was personal. Like… it was me lying there, blind, wrecked by Your holiness, trembling in the dust.

God, You called Saul by name. You stopped him mid-mission and gave him a brand new one. And You didn’t even explain everything right away. You just told him to “get up and go into the city”—and he obeyed, even though he couldn’t see.

Why does obedience feel so risky sometimes?
Why is comfort so seductive when calling is so clear?

I sat in my room tonight with worship music playing, tears falling down my face, Bible in my lap… feeling You. Feeling You so close I didn’t want to move. That mountain top moment—you were there, like You were with Peter, James, and John when You transfigured before them.

But like them, I have to come back down.

The mountaintop is beautiful, Jesus. I love the clarity, the closeness, the holy hush of it all. But the valley is where the work is. And You didn’t save me so I could sit. You saved me so I could serve. You called me not just to be comforted but to carry something—Your truth, Your gospel, Your name.

God, I’m scared sometimes. I won’t lie.

There are days I feel like Saul—wrecked, confused, unqualified. I’ve messed up. I’ve doubted. I’ve let my fear speak louder than my faith. I’ve avoided people You sent me to love. I’ve chosen silence over truth. I’ve sat in the rocking chair of comfort when You were saying, “Get up and go.”

But tonight You shook me.

You reminded me: You don’t call the qualified, You qualify the called.
And I am called.

Just like You told Saul, You’re telling me:

“I am Jesus…”
That’s it. That’s the authority. That’s the reason. That’s all I need to hear.
Not explanations. Not blueprints.
Just You.

You don’t owe me clarity. You’ve already given me the cross. That should be enough.

God, I don’t want to just talk about You—I want to walk with You. I want to move when You say move, even if I’m trembling. Even if I’m blind to what’s next.

I want to obey You without delay.

I’m done waiting for the “right moment.”
You are the moment.

I’m done acting like faith is a feeling.
Faith is movement. Faith is steps. Faith is getting up and going when You say so.

Jesus…
My Jesus.
I kneel in this quiet moment knowing You’re calling me higher and deeper. I know this fire in my chest isn’t hype, it’s Holy Spirit conviction. Don’t let me sit here any longer, playing it safe, praying for signs, waiting for ease. Let me trust You like Saul did. Let me get up blind but bold, broken but obedient.

Forgive me for loving comfort more than calling.
Forgive me for hoarding the mountaintop when You’ve called me to the mission field.

Fill me with courage, God.
Let me be a woman of action, not just emotion.
Let me carry Your name, even when it costs me mine.

Give me eyes to see the hurting, hands to heal, and a voice that doesn’t shrink back from the truth.
Let me not just be changed by You—let me be used by You.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Scriptures I’m Holding On To Tonight:

Acts 9:5 (AMP) – And Saul said, “Who are You, Lord?” And He answered, “I am Jesus whom you are persecuting.
Matthew 17:1-9 – The transfiguration – “It is good for us to be here…”
Isaiah 6:8 – “Here I am. Send me!”
Luke 9:23 – “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”
2 Timothy 1:7 – “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.”

I know tomorrow I’ll have to step back into hard places, hard conversations, and hard obedience. But tonight I’ve been reminded: He is Jesus. That’s enough.

So I will get up and go.

Not perfectly. Not always confidently.
But always with Him.

Obedience: The True Mark of Christian Discipleship

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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—

Even when it hurts.


Is “Forgiveness” The Hardest Gift For Christians?

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Over the past few months, forgiveness has been on my heart in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s like the Holy Spirit is gently pressing on that sore place I thought I had numbed with time. But maybe God doesn’t want time to heal this one. Maybe He wants truth and grace and surrender to do the healing.

Forgiveness—what a strange, holy word. It’s supposed to be freeing, right? But why does it feel like a prison sometimes? Why does giving forgiveness feel harder than asking for it?

I read 1 John 1:9 again today: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

That verse always humbles me. It reminds me that I’m no better than anyone I’m struggling to forgive. I’ve sinned too. I’ve broken promises, spoken in anger, judged others, been selfish. And yet, every single time I come back to Him—even when I crawl back all broken and ashamed—God forgives me. Not just partially. He forgives completely. He doesn’t say, “I forgive you but I won’t forget.” He says, “I will remember their sins no more” (Hebrews 8:12).

So if God, the only perfect One, can forgive me… who am I to withhold forgiveness from someone else?

But, oh, Lord… it’s still so hard.

I’ve always thought that justice felt fair, and it does in a worldly sense. It’s like my flesh wants people to pay for the hurt they’ve caused. But then, what about mercy? Mercy is not getting what we do deserve. And then there’s grace, which absolutely undoes me—grace is getting what we don’t deserve. And that’s what God gives every day.

I heard something this past Sunday that keeps ringing in my ears: “Grace is scandalous. It offends the part of us that wants everyone to earn their way. But Jesus paid so we don’t have to.” I want to live that way. I want to give people that kind of grace. But in moments when the wound is still raw, forgiveness doesn’t feel like a gift—it feels like a death. Like I’m laying down my right to be angry. And sometimes, I don’t want to let that go.

I was reading Matthew 6:14-15 today: “For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”

Oof. That one always hits me in the gut.

We love to receive forgiveness, but giving it? That’s where the rubber meets the road. And yet, the Bible is so clear: it’s not optional. Forgiveness isn’t about saying what someone did was okay. It’s about letting God handle the justice part and freeing ourselves from bitterness. Because unforgiveness is a cage, and the longer we sit in it, the more it poisons us.

Lord, help me with this. I’m tired of holding on to things that You’ve told me to release.

Jesus, You forgave the very people who nailed You to the cross. You said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). If You could do that while bleeding, rejected, and mocked, how can I say that someone is unworthy of my forgiveness? Help me to forgive like You—fully, freely, even when it costs me something.

I think that’s the hardest part: forgiveness costs something. It costs pride. It costs comfort. It costs the illusion of control. And in return, we get peace—but not always instantly. Sometimes it’s a slow release. A decision we make over and over until our heart catches up.

Sometimes I wish God would make it easier. But maybe it’s not meant to be easy. Maybe forgiveness is supposed to stretch us until we look more like Jesus. Maybe it’s the sacred ground where healing begins.

Today, I remembered a time in college when someone I trusted deeply betrayed me. I thought I had let it go. I said the words. I prayed the prayers. But something in my heart still flinches when I think of them. I still want them to “get what’s coming.” But that’s not the way of the Kingdom, is it?

Romans 12:19 says: “Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.”

God is just. He sees. He knows. And He doesn’t need my help delivering justice.

Maybe that’s why forgiveness is so difficult. Because it requires trust. Trusting that God is who He says He is. That He won’t let evil go unanswered. That He truly works all things for good (Romans 8:28)—even betrayal, even heartbreak.

Father, I confess that sometimes I want to be judge, jury, and executioner. I want people to know how deeply they hurt me. But I surrender that desire to You. I lay down my right to be angry. I choose to forgive, not because they deserve it, but because You forgave me when I didn’t deserve it either.

I think about Peter asking Jesus how many times we have to forgive. “Up to seven times?” he asked. And Jesus replied, “Not seven times, but seventy-seven times” (Matthew 18:21-22). Not because people should keep hurting us—but because we’re called to live with hearts that are open and clean.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean there aren’t boundaries. It doesn’t mean we have to allow toxic people to stay in our lives unchecked. But it does mean we let go of the right to hate, to resent, to get even.

And that’s hard. Because bitterness can feel like power, can’t it? But in the end, it only weakens us. It robs us of joy. It distorts how we see God and people.

I want to be a woman who walks in freedom, not chained to old pain.

I want to be someone who can say, “Yes, it hurt—but God healed me, and I’ve released them into His hands.”

Lord, help me live that way.

You know what’s interesting? The more I meditate on what it cost You to forgive me, the easier it becomes to forgive others. I see the nails. I see the crown of thorns. I see the blood. I see the open arms. I see the empty grave.

And suddenly, that petty grudge doesn’t feel so worth holding onto.

I’m reminded of Ephesians 4:32: “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”

That’s the standard. Not “forgive when it feels right.” Not “forgive if they apologize.” But forgive as Christ forgave us—freely, sacrificially, completely.

That’s the Gospel.

I’m so grateful that God doesn’t love me with conditions. That His mercy is new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23). That He doesn’t define me by my worst moment.

So why should I define someone else by theirs?

Jesus, help me remember that You didn’t just die for my sins, but for the sins of those who’ve hurt me too. You love them just as much. And maybe, just maybe, my forgiveness could be the beginning of their healing too.

If I really believe in the power of the cross, then I have to live like it means something. I can’t be half-grace, half-grudge.

Forgiveness is messy. But so was Calvary.

And if God can bring resurrection out of that, He can certainly bring healing to my heart too.

Lord, give me the strength to forgive again. And again. And again. Until it no longer hurts. Until I no longer flinch. Until Your peace becomes my default. May I never forget what You’ve done for me, and may I reflect that same mercy to the world around me.

Forgiveness may be the hardest gift to give, but it’s also the most Christlike thing I’ll ever do.

I want to be more like Him.

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.

God’s Got This: Resting in His Faithfulness

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I needed to write tonight (Sunday June 22nd). My heart feels heavy, not with hopelessness, but with questions, confusion, and honestly—this overwhelming need to let go and trust You. It’s just… hard sometimes. My mind knows the truth: You are good, You are faithful, You are in control. But my emotions? They don’t always catch up.

Today was one of those days that tested me. Work was chaotic, and I felt like nothing I did was enough. I tried my best—stayed online late, double-checked everything in my project case, fake-smiled through it all. But deep down, I felt anxious. Not because of the project itself, but because I’m scared. Scared that I’m failing. Scared that You’re disappointed in me. Scared that maybe I’m not where I’m “supposed” to be.

But You reminded me of something powerful today.

Right in the middle of my anxious spiral, a verse popped into my head—like You whispered it gently to my spirit:

“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.”
— Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)

I’ve read that verse probably a hundred times. I’ve memorized it. Quoted it. But today… today it hit differently. I realized I’ve been leaning so hard on my own understanding. My own logic. My five-year plan. My checklist of how things should be going by now. And in doing that, I’ve subtly told You that I trust my own ability to figure life out more than I trust You.

That stung.

God, I’m sorry. I truly am. I know You don’t expect perfection from me, but You do want my trust. You want my surrender. And that doesn’t mean giving up—it means handing over the steering wheel and saying, “God, drive. I’ll go wherever You take me.”

So tonight, I’m choosing to say it again: God, You’ve got this. Whatever “this” looks like—my career, my relationships, my finances, my emotions, my future—I’m giving it to You. I want to be like David when he said:

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in You.”
— Psalm 56:3 (ESV)

Even David, a man after Your own heart, felt fear. But he didn’t stay there. He put his trust in You. Actively. Intentionally. That’s what I want to do too.

Here’s the truth, Lord. Trusting You isn’t always a one-time thing. For me, it’s like… a million little moments every single day. I trust You when I pray. I trust You when I let go of what I can’t control. I trust You when I stop rehearsing worst-case scenarios in my head. I trust You when I choose peace over panic.

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Honestly, it’s humbling. I’m 24, and there’s so much I thought I’d have figured out by now. But maybe that’s part of the journey. Maybe You’re allowing this space of “not knowing” to teach me how to walk by faith and not by sight.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.”
— 2 Corinthians 5:7 (KJV)

Lord, that verse has been my anchor lately. It’s so countercultural to walk by faith. The world screams, “Have a plan. Be in control. Know what’s next.” But You whisper, “Follow Me. Trust Me. I know the way.”

Tonight, I needed to write all this out to remind myself—and maybe even to declare to You again—that I do trust You. Even when it’s messy. Even when my heart trembles. Even when I can’t see two steps ahead.

You’ve been too faithful for me to doubt You now.

I remember when I prayed for this job. You opened the door. I remember when I prayed for peace during Mom’s surgery. You flooded me with it. I remember when I asked You to show me if that relationship wasn’t from You—and You did, even though it hurt. You’ve always been there. Always come through. Always held me when I felt like I was falling.

So if I believe that You were God then, I need to believe You’re still God now.

Here’s a little prayer I want to pray tonight before bed:

Heavenly Father,
Thank You for being patient with me when I waver. Thank You for holding me when I’m tired of trying to hold everything together. I lay down my need to control, my fear of failure, my doubt, and my anxiety at Your feet.
You are the Author and Perfecter of my faith. I trust that You are writing a beautiful story, even if I’m only on a confusing page right now. Help me to rest in the truth that You see me, You know me, and You love me more than I can comprehend.
Teach me to trust You more tomorrow than I did today.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

I think about Peter walking on water sometimes. The second he looked at the waves instead of Jesus, he sank. And yet—You didn’t let him drown. You reached out and pulled him back up. That story gets me every time.

You didn’t shame him for looking away. You didn’t abandon him when he got scared. You just reached out and saved him.

That’s who You are, Lord.

You’re not waiting for me to be perfect. You’re just waiting for me to trust You.

So tomorrow, I’m going to my best to wake up and remind myself: God’s got this.

The Final Word: Why the Bible Still Speaks Today

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Today, I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude as I opened my Bible—the living Word of God. It’s not just ink on paper. It is breath and truth, sharper than any two-edged sword (Hebrews 4:12), and it still speaks with clarity, authority, and compassion into every broken, confused, and distracted corner of our world.

There’s a lot of noise around us—so many opinions, ideologies, and distractions fighting for our attention. But in a world spinning ever faster into chaos and confusion, the Bible remains a steady voice. It is the voice of God. It doesn’t shift with cultural tides or bend to human preference. It stands. It convicts. It comforts. It corrects. And ultimately, it reigns as the final Word on all that is truly glorious.

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

This morning, I sat in the quiet before sunrise, coffee in hand and Bible open, reading from John 1. The words leapt off the page: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” My heart stirred. Jesus is not only the fulfillment of the written Word—He is the Word made flesh. And what God has spoken through Him will never pass away (Matthew 24:35). He alone defines truth, beauty, and what is worthy of praise.

The world, however, seems to be on a different path. So many are quick to dismiss the Bible as outdated, irrelevant, or intolerant. My heart aches for them. Not out of superiority—but out of sorrow. Because without the truth of God’s Word, how will they know the way to life? Jesus said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). That’s not a suggestion. It’s a final word.

As believers, we cannot afford to be silent about this. We are called to be salt and light (Matthew 5:13–16). We must hold firm to the authority of Scripture in a world that desperately wants to rewrite truth. God’s Word isn’t just a good book—it is The Book, divinely inspired and profitable for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness (2 Timothy 3:16). It tells us what is glorious—what reflects the heart and holiness of our Creator.

When I look around and see what society now calls “glorious,” it grieves me. So often, it exalts pride, self-expression without boundaries, sexual immorality, greed, and rebellion against God’s order. But the Bible makes it clear: “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil” (Isaiah 5:20). What God calls sin is not a matter of personal interpretation or cultural evolution—it’s eternal truth. And truth has consequences.

This is where my heart becomes burdened for the lost—those who don’t believe, those who reject or ignore God’s Word. The Bible is not ambiguous about the fate of those who die without Christ. Hebrews 9:27 says, “It is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment.” That is sobering. That is real. And while God is rich in mercy and slow to anger (Psalm 103:8), He is also just. There is a day coming when every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord (Philippians 2:10–11). For some, that day will be one of eternal joy. For others, one of eternal regret.

I don’t write these things from a place of condemnation. Lord knows, I too once wandered far from Him. But His Word found me. It cut through my sin, my pride, my pain, and called me home. His grace changed everything. That’s why I believe the Bible still speaks today. Because I am living proof of its power. It rescued me. It guides me. And it anchors me when the world tries to shake my foundation.

Prayer:

Father, thank You for Your Word. Thank You for its unshakable truth, for its power to heal, convict, and restore. Help me, Lord, to treasure it more deeply and obey it more faithfully. Give me boldness to speak its truth in love, even when it’s unpopular. Open the hearts of those who have not yet received You. May they see the beauty of Your Son, Jesus, and surrender their lives before it’s too late. Let Your Word go forth and not return void, just as You promised in Isaiah 55:11. Amen.

If anyone happens to read this article one day, I want them to know this: There is only one voice that has the final say over life and death, over right and wrong, over what is glorious and what is not. That voice is the voice of God, revealed in His Word.

The invitation is still open. While we have breath in our lungs, we can turn to Him. He is patient, not wanting any to perish, but for all to come to repentance (2 Peter 3:9). But let us not mistake His patience for permissiveness. The day of the Lord will come like a thief.

So to the one reading this who may still be on the fence—don’t wait. Open your heart. Open His Word. He is calling. And His Word will always be the last word.

“Forever, O Lord, Your word is firmly fixed in the heavens.” – Psalm 119:89

When God Whispers: Finding Faith in the Silence

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Today has been quiet. Not the kind of quiet that brings peace, necessarily — more like the kind of quiet that feels like You’re hiding. I don’t want to admit it, but I’ve felt distant from You lately, like I’m calling out into a canyon and all I hear is my own voice echoing back. It scares me.

I keep thinking of Elijah in 1 Kings 19. After the fire, after the earthquake, after the wind… there You were — not in the chaos, but in the still small voice. A whisper.

“And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper.”
— 1 Kings 19:12 (ESV)

I wonder if I’m just too distracted to hear Your whisper.

This morning, I sat with my coffee and tried to read the Word like I usually do. But I’ll be honest — I didn’t get far. My mind kept wandering to everything I feel like I’m missing: direction, clarity, certainty. I want to know what You want from me — with my career, with my singleness, with this sense of waiting I can’t shake.

I know faith isn’t about feelings. I know that. I’ve told myself that a hundred times. But I miss feeling You near.

So I prayed:
“God, if You’re here — please, help me to hear You. Even in the silence. Especially in the silence.”

And right then, I felt a strange peace settle over me. Not loud. Not even warm, really. But steady. Like a whisper I couldn’t quite catch, but I knew was meant for me.

Maybe that’s what faith looks like sometimes — trusting that You’re present even when You don’t speak loud.

I remembered Psalm 46:10:

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

Being still is harder than it sounds. My brain constantly wants answers. Movement. Resolution. But You invite me into stillness. Not just quiet around me, but quiet in me. A heart that isn’t frantic for answers but anchored in You.

Faith, I think, is most real when it has to lean on who You are, not what I can hear or feel.

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
— Hebrews 11:1 (ESV)

I guess I’ve been measuring closeness with You by how “seen” or “heard” I feel. But maybe this is one of those seasons where You’re inviting me deeper — past the emotional highs, into the quiet trust.

Like a relationship that matures. Less fireworks, more foundation.

There’s something beautiful and hard about that.

I walked down to the lake near my apartment this evening. The water was still — not a breeze. Just birdsong and the hum of life going on. I sat on a bench and asked You again: “Are You here?” I didn’t hear a voice. No signs. But my eyes caught this tiny ripple on the surface of the lake — like something beneath moved, unseen, but there.

I don’t know why, but I thought: That’s You. Moving beneath the surface of my life. Quietly. Faithfully. Even when I can’t see it. Even when I forget to notice.

It reminded me of Isaiah 30:15:

“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”

That’s the kind of strength I want. Not the kind that performs or pretends to have it all figured out. But the quiet strength of a heart that trusts You are good — especially when I don’t have the map.

Jesus, I believe You are enough for me in the silence. I don’t need a booming voice or a perfect plan. I just need You. And You’ve promised You’ll never leave.

“And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
— Matthew 28:20 (ESV)

Tonight, I’ll go to bed still not knowing exactly what’s next. Still single. Still unsure about grad school. Still a little worn down. But I will lay my head down in peace — not because the silence is gone, but because You are in it.

You whisper, and that’s enough.

Let me learn to lean in. To trust even when You seem far. To believe that You’re close even when it feels quiet.

A Prayer Before I Sleep:

God,
Thank You for meeting me in the silence.
Even when I can’t feel You, You’re faithful.
Teach me to listen for Your whispers —
Not just in the quiet around me,
But in the stillness of my soul.
Grow my faith in the unseen.
Help me to rest in Your presence —
Not because I have all the answers,
But because I know You hold them.
I love You, even when I don’t understand.
I trust You, even when You whisper.
And I’m Yours, always.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

How Can Anyone Be Okay with Abortions in the year 2025?

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

My heart feels especially heavy today.

I found myself asking, “How can anyone be okay with abortions in the year 2025?” In a time filled with so many resources, awareness, and medical advancement, it deeply saddens me that the value of life—especially in the womb—is still so often overlooked. Every life is a gift from God. Every heartbeat, a sign of His divine workmanship.

Let’s be real, ABORTION is STRAIGHT-UP MURDER! No If’s And’s or But’s About it!

Anyone who says life doesn’t begin at conception is lying to themselves—and deep down, I think they know it.

That might sound harsh, but I truly believe it. It’s not just a political opinion or some religious talking point. It’s truth—scientific, moral, and spiritual. From the moment of conception, something completely new and human begins. A unique DNA, a soul formed by the hand of God. That’s not potential life. That’s life. It may be small, quiet, unseen—but so is a heartbeat in the womb. And yet we know that heartbeat is sacred.

Psalm 139:13-14 comes to mind again, as it always does when I pray about this issue:

“For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

If God is the one doing the knitting, then who are we to say it doesn’t matter? Who are we to pretend nothing sacred is happening? It grieves me to see a world where truth is so often buried under convenience, fear, or personal justification. I don’t believe most people are truly ignorant. I think many just don’t want to face the weight of the truth—that what’s being ended in an abortion is a life. A human life. A child known by God.

But even as I write this, I don’t want to come from a place of judgment. That’s not my place. Only God sees the heart. I don’t know every story or every pain. But I do know this: truth doesn’t stop being truth because it’s uncomfortable. And life doesn’t stop being life because someone is afraid to call it what it is.

So I will keep praying. I will keep speaking up for the unborn. I will keep trusting that God’s truth will break through the noise. And I will try—every day—to live not with anger or pride, but with truth in love.

I turned to God’s Word, and it brought me comfort and conviction:

“For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”
— Psalm 139:13–14

How can such a sacred truth be denied? These verses remind me that God’s fingerprints are on every soul, even before they take their first breath. Life is not an accident—it is a divine intention.

Another verse comes to mind:

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; ensure justice for those being crushed.”
— Proverbs 31:8

God, please help me be brave. Help me stand for life—not just in words, but in action. Let me be someone who shows compassion and grace while never compromising the truth that all life matters, from the very beginning.

A Prayer from My Heart:

Heavenly Father,
I come to You with a heart full of grief and longing. The world feels so far from Your design—so quick to discard what You call sacred. I lift up every unborn child to You, Lord. You see them, You love them, and You know them by name.

I also lift up every woman who feels broken, afraid, or pressured. Please wrap them in Your love. Show them that they are not alone, and that there is always hope and healing in You. Let Your Church rise up with grace and courage—to protect life and care for every soul involved.

Help me to reflect Jesus in how I speak, act, and serve. Let my heart break for what breaks Yours, but let my words always be clothed in compassion and truth.

Reflecting deeply on the sanctity of life and the moral implications of abortion

As a Christian, I believe that every life is precious in God’s eyes, and this conviction leads me to assert that abortions should not be allowed to take place in America, or anywhere in the world. Every life, from conception to natural death, holds intrinsic value and purpose.

Biblical Foundation for the Sanctity of Life

The Bible provides clear guidance on the sanctity of human life. In Psalm 139:13-16, David writes:

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.” (ESV)

This passage underscores the belief that God is intimately involved in the creation of life from the very beginning. The unborn are not unseen or insignificant; they are known and valued by God.

Furthermore, Jeremiah 1:5 states:

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you…” (ESV)

This verse emphasizes that God’s purpose for individuals begins before birth, affirming the inherent dignity of every human life.

The Moral Argument Against Abortion

From a moral standpoint, abortion involves the deliberate termination of an innocent human life. Exodus 20:13 commands:

“You shall not murder.” (ESV)

This directive reflects the principle that taking an innocent life is morally wrong, a view that aligns with the Christian understanding of the sanctity of life.

Additionally, Genesis 9:6 reinforces the value of human life:

“Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed; for God made man in his own image.” (ESV)

This verse highlights the seriousness of taking a human life, as humans are made in the image of God.

Compassionate Support for Women

The Christian community is called to embody Christ’s love by offering practical assistance to women in need. This can include providing resources for prenatal care, offering adoption services, and creating a supportive environment that empowers women to choose life.

Prayer for Life and Compassion

Heavenly Father,

I come before You with a heart full of gratitude for the gift of life. Thank You for knitting each one of us together in our mother’s womb and for knowing us before we were born. I pray for the protection of the unborn and for a society that values every human life.

Lord, I also lift up women facing unplanned pregnancies. Grant them wisdom, courage, and the support they need to make life-affirming decisions. May Your love shine through us as we offer compassion and assistance to those in need.

In Jesus’ name I pray,
Amen.