Tag: christianity

From Idle to Inspired: Overcome The Temptation of Laziness

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Today was one of those mornings where I woke up feeling like doing absolutely nothing. No motivation, no fire, no sense of urgency. Just… stillness. But not the peaceful kind—the empty kind. And I knew, deep down, this wasn’t just exhaustion. It was laziness. Spiritual laziness. Mental laziness. Physical laziness. The dangerous kind that slowly drains your purpose and clouds your God-given vision. And I’m not okay with that.

I sat in silence, holding my coffee like it had answers. But it didn’t. So I turned to the One who always does. The conviction hit me hard—laziness is sin. Not just a personality trait or a “bad habit.” It’s rebellion in disguise. The Holy Spirit reminded me of Proverbs 13:4: “The soul of the sluggard craves and gets nothing, while the soul of the diligent is richly supplied.” That pierced me. I crave results, change, purpose—but if I don’t move, I don’t receive. Craving without action is futility. And God doesn’t bless futility. He blesses faithfulness.

So I confessed it right there in prayer.
“Father, forgive me. I’ve let laziness creep into my heart like a thief. I’ve made excuses for my inaction and buried my gifts under the weight of comfort. I repent. Not just with words, but with a shift in mindset and behavior. Please help me walk in discipline and diligence. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

It’s easy to talk about big dreams and divine purpose, but faith without works is dead (James 2:17). Laziness kills vision. I’ve seen it in my own life—missed opportunities, last-minute scrambling, dreams that remain only dreams. It’s a spiritual war, and I’m done losing this battle.

This world tells me to “rest,” “take it easy,” “don’t push too hard.” But the Bible tells me to run my race with endurance (Hebrews 12:1), redeem the time (Ephesians 5:16), and work heartily, as for the Lord (Colossians 3:23). So no, I’m not settling for spiritual slumber anymore. I’m choosing holy hustle.

One thing I’ve learned? Overcoming laziness requires structure and surrender. It starts in the Spirit, but it shows up in systems.

I’m setting goals this week—real, actionable ones. Not just “be more productive,” but specific steps like waking up at 6:30 a.m. for quiet time, planning my day the night before, and setting work intervals with intentional breaks. I know myself—I need both discipline and grace.

And I’m going back to Scripture like it’s my lifeline—because it is. 2 Timothy 1:7 reminds me, “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” Laziness is not my portion. Self-control is. Power is. Love is.

And let’s talk about that—self-control. It’s a fruit of the Spirit, not a personality trait. Which means if I’m walking closely with God, I will have the ability to resist laziness. Not because I’m naturally driven, but because He is supernaturally transforming me.

Galatians 5:22-23 is on repeat in my spirit: “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control…” That’s who I want to be. A woman full of fruit—not excuses.

I’ve realized laziness grows in the soil of disconnection. When I neglect prayer, ignore the Word, or skip worship, laziness fills the gap. But when I stay close to Jesus, I’m compelled to move—because His Spirit breathes life into everything.

So I’m committing (again) to spiritual discipline. Morning and night prayers. Worship on my lips, not just in my playlist. Bible open before I open social media. If I’m going to break this cycle, it’s going to be through consistency and obedience.

Also—charity. That’s been on my heart too. Not just working on me, but pouring out. Laziness isn’t just sitting still, it’s living selfishly. So I’m going to serve. Somewhere. Somehow. Whether it’s at church, a shelter, or mentoring someone younger, I refuse to make excuses for not giving back. Love is active.

And here’s the truth: Every single day is a gift. And one day, I’ll give an account to God for how I used it. Did I glorify Him with my time? Or did I bury it in binge-watching, scrolling, and saying “I’ll do it tomorrow”?

That thought humbles me and lights a fire in my soul.

So I declare this: I will not waste the breath God gave me.
I will not sleep on the purpose He planted in me.
I will not call sloth “self-care” when it’s really spiritual apathy.
I was made for more. I will live like it.

Romans 12:11 says, “Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord.” That’s the goal: fervent. Passionate. Awake. Alive.

This life is a vapor. Time is sacred. Laziness is a thief. But God is faithful. And through Him, I can overcome.

So today, I fight back.


Not with noise, but with action.
Not with perfection, but with persistence.
Not in my own strength, but with the help of the Holy Spirit.

Let the world sleep—I’ve got work to do. Eternal work.
Let my legacy be one of diligence, not delay.
Let me die empty, not full of untapped potential.

Amen.

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Heaven’s Watch: God’s Angels on Guard

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

My spirit is stirred, and the joy of the Lord is radiating from deep within me. There are days when life feels like a battlefield, when discouragement creeps in like a shadow, and fear taps softly at the door. But today, I feel surrounded—not by dread—but by divine protection. I feel wrapped in the love of God, and yes, I believe with everything in me that God’s angels are our bodyguards….allow me to explain!

Psalm 91:11 says, “For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.” This isn’t just poetic language; it’s a promise, a heavenly reality that we, as children of God, can cling to in faith. I know it sounds bold to say, but I truly believe our lives are not wasted, not overlooked, and certainly not unprotected. God sees us. He loves us. And He sends His angels to walk beside us—not because we deserve it, but because He is good.

Why would God care enough to send angels?

I mean… I’m just a 25-year-old Christianwoman trying to live out her faith with joy and integrity in a world that often mocks or misunderstands both. And yet, He cares. The Bible tells us over and over again how intimately God is involved in our lives. One of my favorite passages is from Luke 12:7: “Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”

I remind myself of this when I start to question, “Why would God guard me?” The truth is, He loves me, and He loves you too. We’re not just dots on a map or faces in a crowd. We are His children, made in His image, and treasured beyond what our human hearts can understand.

Angels: More Than Pretty Decorations

Let’s talk about angels. Not the glittery kind you see on Christmas cards. Not even the ones people hang in their cars like little guardians on a keychain. I’m talking about heavenly warriors, messengers of light, and servants of the Most High God.

Hebrews 1:14 says, “Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation?” That’s us, friends. If you belong to Jesus, you’ve inherited salvation, and angels are part of God’s way of serving and protecting you.

They’re not magical beings doing their own thing. They are under God’s command, acting according to His perfect will. Psalm 103:20 says, “Praise the Lord, you his angels, you mighty ones who do his bidding, who obey his word.”

But what about the Devil quoting Psalm 91?

Let’s be real—Satan loves to twist the Word. In Matthew 4:6, the devil dares to quote Psalm 91 while tempting Jesus. I used to find this terrifying—like, if Satan knows Scripture, how can I ever be sure I’m interpreting it correctly?

But here’s the thing: Jesus didn’t fall for it. He responded with truth and discernment. He didn’t get into an argument or feel confused. He simply said, “It is written: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test’” (Matthew 4:7). Jesus knew the heart of His Father. He wasn’t going to act recklessly just to prove that God’s promises are real.

And neither should we.

Faith isn’t about testing God—it’s about trusting Him, even when things don’t go our way. God’s promises aren’t a formula. They’re not conditions for comfort. They are truths rooted in relationship.

So… what does that mean for us today?

It means that God’s angels guard us in every unseen way. They are behind the “near misses” and the “I don’t know how I made it through that” moments. They are part of the divine orchestra God uses to work all things together for our good (Romans 8:28).

I think of Elijah in 1 Kings 19. He was tired. He was broken. And he wanted to give up. But what did God do? He sent an angel—not with a scolding, but with food and rest. That angel didn’t shame Elijah; he ministered to him. That’s the God we serve. One who meets us in our weakness and provides strength.

Understanding the Role of Angels in Christian Life

God is not passive. He is proactive. He’s not waiting around, wringing His hands. He has angels on assignment. For me. For you.

But listen—let’s get one thing clear. This promise doesn’t mean life is easy or pain-free. If anything, Jesus straight-up told us: “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). He never sugarcoated the journey, and neither will I. Trouble is promised. Pain is real. Spiritual warfare is constant. And still—still—we are covered.

I used to treat God’s protection like a good luck charm. If something went wrong, I thought maybe I hadn’t prayed enough. Maybe I missed my morning devotional and now the consequences were raining down. But that’s not grace. That’s superstition. God isn’t transactional. He’s relational. And when He says He’s given His angels charge over us, He’s not saying “only if you check every religious box.” He’s saying: “Because you are Mine, I will guard you.”

That said, protection is not permission to act foolishly. The devil tried that game with Jesus in the wilderness, quoting Psalm 91 out of context: “If You are the Son of God, throw Yourself down… for it is written: ‘He shall give His angels charge over you…’” (Matthew 4:6). And what did Jesus say? “It is written again, ‘You shall not tempt the Lord your God.’” Boom. Truth over manipulation.

Satan knows Scripture. He just doesn’t submit to it.

And that scares me—not because I’m afraid of him, but because I know how easy it is for us humans to do the same. We twist the Word to match our agenda, cherry-pick verses to soothe our sin, and call it faith. But it’s not. That’s counterfeit Christianity. The real thing? It humbles us. It transforms us. It confronts our pride and comforts our soul, both at the same time.

So what do I learn from angels being assigned to me? I learn that God’s love is both ferocious and tender. That He’s not just watching over me—He’s commanding legions to surround me. I’m not alone in my room. I’m not alone in my anxiety. I’m not alone in the fight. That makes me want to shout and fall on my face all at once.

But it also makes me responsible.

Because if I believe this—if I really believe I’m surrounded by heavenly protection—I have no excuse for living in fear. I don’t get to say, “But what if this happens? What if God doesn’t show up?” No. I need to walk like someone who has the King’s army behind her.

I hear the Spirit say, “Daughter, walk in obedience. I’ve got the rest.”

So I will. I’ll go where God sends me—even if it’s dangerous, even if it’s uncomfortable. But I won’t go trying to provoke a miracle just to prove He loves me. That’s not faith. That’s arrogance.

Lord, forgive me for every time I’ve asked You to “show up,” as if You hadn’t already promised to never leave me or forsake me (Hebrews 13:5). Help me walk humbly, live boldly, and trust deeply.

A Prayer from My Heart Today:

Lord, thank You for commanding Your angels to guard me in all my ways. Thank You for loving me so completely that You watch over my soul, my body, and my journey. Help me to trust in Your protection—not just in theory, but in daily life. When fear whispers lies, remind me of the truth in Your Word. Let me walk in confidence, not arrogance—knowing that I am not alone. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Bigger Picture: Why God Doesn’t Waste Our Lives

If God were careless, He wouldn’t command armies of angels to protect His people. If God were indifferent, Jesus wouldn’t have come at all. But He did. He came, lived, died, and rose again—for us.

Ephesians 2:10 says, “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” You and I aren’t wandering through this world by accident. Our lives are woven with purpose, even when we can’t see the full picture.

God is not wasteful. Not with our time, not with our pain, not with our prayers. Even the waiting seasons, the confusing seasons, the wilderness seasons—He uses it all. He sees what we can’t see. And while we walk forward in faith, His angels are guarding us, guiding us, and encouraging us along the way.

Are you still searching for peace?

Friend, if you’re reading this and your heart is aching for something more—please know that Jesus is the answer. He’s not a myth or a religious crutch. He is the way, the truth, and the life (John 14:6).

If you’re ready to invite Him into your life, here’s a prayer you can say. It’s not magic—it’s about your heart. But if you mean it, your life will never be the same:

Lord Jesus, I need You. Thank You for dying on the cross for my sins. I open the door of my life and receive You as my Savior and Lord. Thank You for forgiving my sins and giving me eternal life. Take control of the throne of my life. Make me the kind of person You want me to be. Amen.

And finally…..


God’s angels aren’t just with us in battles—they’re with us in beauty too. They don’t just show up in emergencies; they’re present in the ordinary, quiet moments of everyday life. Why? Because we are deeply, wildly, endlessly loved by a God who never wastes a single life. If you’re breathing today, there is purpose in it. And if you’re walking with Jesus, you are literally being watched over by the armies of heaven. Like—how amazing is that?

It honestly blows my mind that heaven moves on my behalf. Not because I’ve done anything to deserve it, but simply because I belong to Him. I don’t have to hustle for it. I just have to abide.

So here’s what I’m holding onto tonight: angels aren’t God’s “Plan B.” They’re part of His perfect plan to protect and guide me. They’re not responding to my commands—they’re obeying His. My job? Trust and obey. Even when it’s confusing. Even when it’s hard. Because the same God who sent angels to guard me also sent Jesus to save me. And if He didn’t hold back His own Son, why would He ever hold back what’s best for me?

So let the world do its thing. Let the storms roll in. I am covered. I am called. I am commissioned by the living God.

And honestly? That makes me want to sing loud, dance wild, and live boldly for His glory!

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.

Echoes of a Prayer: Finding Meaning in the Hail Mary

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Today I sat with a prayer I used to avoid.

I’ve heard it whispered in cathedrals, chanted by rosary beads, and mumbled in funeral homes. The Hail Mary—a prayer that once made me uneasy. Not because of its words, but because of the way others react when you mention it, especially outside of Catholic circles.

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But the truth is… I’m done apologizing for reverence.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…”

This prayer begins with Scripture. Luke 1:28. Gabriel didn’t greet Mary with a casual “Hey.” He called her “full of grace.” That’s not flattery. That’s Heaven’s assessment. And I think that matters. When God chooses someone to carry the Savior, you don’t ignore that person just because it makes your theology uncomfortable.

I was raised in a non-denominational church. We didn’t “do” Mary. We skipped over her after the nativity scene like she was a prop, not a person. And yet… she was the first to say yes to Jesus. Before Peter preached at Pentecost. Before Paul wrote Romans. Before John baptized anybody. It was Mary who said yes to God in the silence of her womb and the scandal of her culture.

I pray the Hail Mary now not because I idolize her—but because I see her courage. I honor her “yes.”

“Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” – Luke 1:38

Mary wasn’t just obedient—she was brave. Brave enough to carry shame in a society that would stone her for premarital pregnancy. Brave enough to raise the Son of God knowing He was born to die. Her yes came with a sword—“a sword will pierce through your own soul also” (Luke 2:35)—and she still gave it.

Obedience is not cheap. It will cost your pride, your comfort, your reputation. And yet we still hesitate to honor the one who bore the cost before us? That’s fear. That’s pride. That’s arrogance masquerading as orthodoxy.

“Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.”

This is Elizabeth speaking in Luke 1:42, under the anointing of the Holy Spirit. It’s praise. It’s prophetic. It’s the Spirit of God acknowledging that Mary’s womb was holy. That her obedience brought forth the Redeemer. Why are we afraid to repeat what Scripture declares?

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Every time I pray the Hail Mary, I think about how inconvenient it was for Mary to obey God. And yet, how quickly I make excuses when God tells me to forgive someone, or to speak truth when it’s uncomfortable. Mary’s story puts me in check. She reminds me that surrender to God always carries a price—but also, an eternal reward.

And maybe that’s why some people resist her. She convicts them without saying a word.

The final part of the prayer—“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death”—that’s the part that usually stirs controversy. “Why pray to Mary?” they ask. But here’s the thing: we’re not praying to Mary like she’s God. We’re asking for her intercession—like I would ask a prayer partner to lift me up.

If I believe the saints are alive in Christ (Romans 8:38-39), if I believe that we’re surrounded by a “great cloud of witnesses” (Hebrews 12:1), then why would I deny the reality that Mary, glorified and reigning with Christ, hears us through the Spirit?

She’s not my Savior—but she carried mine. I won’t worship her, but I will walk in her footsteps of obedience.

Tonight, I prayed the Hail Mary with full sincerity.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…”
And I felt peace—not idolatry, not distance from God—but deep, maternal peace. A peace that reminds me that God uses the humble. That God honors the lowly. That God calls us to impossible things and gives us His grace to do them.

Jesus is the center of this prayer. He always was. Even when we’re saying Mary’s name, the miracle in her womb—the reason she’s “blessed among women”—was Him.

“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory…” – John 1:14

I’m not interested in soft Christianity that avoids anything uncomfortable. I’m not scared to look “too Catholic” if the words I’m saying are soaked in Scripture and full of truth. I’m not here to fit into a denomination. I’m here to know God.

And if a young woman in Nazareth could say yes to God at the cost of everything, then I can too.

So I’m going to keep praying the Hail Mary—not to be edgy, not to be pious, but because I see in it the echoes of God’s glory. Because I want my “yes” to carry weight like hers did. Because I’m learning that God’s story is bigger than our categories.

And because obedience—real, reverent obedience—is always worth it.

God,
Thank You for choosing the humble. Thank You for using Mary as a vessel to bring forth the Savior of the world. Help me never to shrink away from reverence. Teach me to honor what You honor, to love what You love. Give me the courage to say yes, even when it costs me everything.

May I carry Christ within me—not physically like Mary—but spiritually, through obedience, surrender, and bold faith.

I ask for the prayers of those who have gone before me, and I rest in the truth that Christ is always the center of every holy thing.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Grace That Lifts: Rising Again in God’s Strength

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Tonight, my heart is full—raw but full. I sat alone in my room, lights low, music off, and just stared at the ceiling with tears quietly slipping down the side of my face. Not because I felt sorry for myself, but because I realized how close I came to giving up… again.

Giving up on me.

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I don’t always say this out loud, but I’ve spent a good portion of this year silently fighting battles no one could see. And what’s worse? I almost believed the lie that I didn’t have it in me to keep going. Almost. But tonight, I got reminded—Grace doesn’t run out. God’s grace lifts.

You know, I’ve been reading 2 Corinthians 12:9 again and again.

“And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’”

I used to quote that like a bumper sticker when things got hard. But now, I feel it. My weaknesses have exposed me this season. My pride took some hits. My plans didn’t unfold the way I pictured. I lost people. I lost energy. At times, I lost the will to show up as the woman God created me to be.

But I didn’t lose God.

He met me right here—in my mess, my mid-breakdown, my almost-quit point. And He lifted me. Not because I deserved it, but because His grace doesn’t function like man’s approval. His grace is an extension of His love, not my performance.

The enemy has been whispering to me that I’m too behind, too flawed, too tired, too everything. But you know what? I’m calling that out. I’m confronting that lie with some real truth. Because the Word says:

“The righteous may fall seven times, but still get up.” – Proverbs 24:16

That’s ME. I fell. But I got back up. And I’m getting back up again. I’m not done, and I refuse to be counted out just because things didn’t go smoothly.

Let me be real. We talk a lot about fighting spiritual battles—but sometimes the real war is just getting out of bed with purpose, smiling when life feels like it’s in pieces, and choosing to believe that God’s not done with your story. That’s warfare too.

I want to speak directly to the old me and maybe someone reading this one day: Stop treating yourself like a side character in your own life. God didn’t send His Son so you could live in survival mode forever. No. He came to give you life and life more abundantly (John 10:10).

So when you feel like quitting, remind yourself: “You are worth the effort it takes to get to your expected end.” You are worth the fight it takes to stop settling for mediocre just because it’s familiar. Even now—especially now—there’s still hope for you.

Tonight, I prayed differently. Not out of desperation, but out of declaration. I didn’t come to God broken down and hopeless. I came to Him like a daughter who knows her Father loves her too much to let her drown in disappointment.

Here’s what I prayed:


Father, thank You. Thank You for not letting me give up when everything in me screamed to quit. I lift up every person who feels buried under the weight of discouragement, defeat, and silent pain. I pray for the one who can barely open their Bible right now. For the one crying themselves to sleep. For the one who’s surrounded by people but still feels alone.

Lord, Your Word says that Your grace is sufficient. I ask You to make that grace tangible tonight. Wrap them in it like a warm blanket. Let it silence the accusations. Let it bring clarity where confusion reigns. Let it soften the heart that’s gone numb from pain.

Heal their wounded places. Speak peace to their inner storms. Remind them they were never meant to carry it all alone.

Let them see that even in this—You are working all things for their good (Romans 8:28). Help them rise, not in their own strength, but in Yours.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

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I guess what I’m learning is this: Rising again doesn’t mean the fall didn’t hurt. It means you’re stronger than what tried to break you. And God? He’s still writing your story. You’re not disqualified just because it didn’t happen the way you expected.

Let’s not be the kind of Christians who only testify once we’ve “made it.” Let’s be the ones who share even while we’re still climbing. Because someone needs to know that faith isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s whispered through tears at 2 AM when you choose not to give up.

That’s where I am.
Not perfect.
But still standing.
Still believing.
Still rising—with the grace that lifts.

And I believe that’s enough.

When Fear Falls Silent

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As much as I wrestle with my anxious heart, I am reminded that God’s Word calls me to a higher place—a place where fear falls silent because faith speaks louder.

I can’t help but think about how often we humans live captive to worry. We fret about our health, the future of our families, money, the state of the world, even the smallest things like salt and sugar intake—things we imagine could throw our lives off balance. The truth is, much of this worry is unfounded, a thief stealing our peace and joy.

The Longman Dictionary defines worry as “an uncomfortable feeling in the mind, caused by a mixture of fear and uncertainty.” How true. And yet, worry doesn’t just stay in our minds; it spills over into our bodies, our spirits, and our actions. Dr. Charles Mayo said something that hit me deeply: “I’ve never known a man who died from overwork, but I’ve known many who have died from doubt.” That doubt—that worry—is more deadly than we realize.

So, what am I worrying about today? Honestly, sometimes it’s everything all at once—my family’s health, my job, the world’s instability. But when I bring it all before God, I realize how small those worries are compared to His infinite power and love.

Jesus’s words in Matthew 6:34 keep ringing in my ears: “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” This isn’t just a suggestion; it’s a divine command to release the burdens that we were never meant to carry alone.

I remind myself that worrying about tomorrow is pointless because God alone holds the future. Proverbs 16:9 says, “In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.” How often do I forget this? I make my plans, map out every detail, and then stress when things don’t go as I imagined. But God? He is sovereign. He guides my steps even when I’m unsure which way to turn.

And honestly, there’s enough trouble in today without borrowing from tomorrow’s troubles. I think about people who wake up each day terrified—some cry out, “Good Lord, it’s morning!” while others cheerfully say, “Good morning, Lord!” Which one am I?

I want to be the latter. I want to greet each morning with faith that God is present, that He is in control.

God declares Himself as the eternal “I AM,” a God of the present moment. Too often, I find myself trapped either in regrets about the past or anxieties about the future. But the Apostle Paul encourages me to forget what lies behind and press forward (Philippians 3:13). And when worry threatens to consume me, Paul’s words in Philippians 4:6 give me a lifeline: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”

Prayer is my refuge. When fear screams loudest, I whisper my needs to God, trusting that He hears and cares.

Lord, I come before You now with my fears and worries. You see the turmoil in my heart. I ask for Your peace that surpasses all understanding to guard my heart and mind in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:7). Help me to surrender my anxious thoughts to You, trusting You with my tomorrow and my today. Give me strength to face each moment with courage and faith, knowing You are my refuge and my strength (Psalm 46:1).

I confess that sometimes I let worry control me, stealing the joy You desire for me. Forgive me, Lord, for doubting Your promises and for holding on to fears instead of releasing them into Your hands. Teach me to walk boldly in faith, to confront the lies of fear with the truth of Your Word.

I remember that God is not a distant deity but a loving Father who cares deeply for His children. He reminds me in 1 Peter 5:7, “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” That’s not just comforting—it’s revolutionary. I don’t have to carry my burdens alone.

Sometimes, I think our worry stems from a lack of trust in God’s goodness and timing. But I want to believe that God is good, always. That His plans for me are for peace and not for harm (Jeremiah 29:11). Even when life feels uncertain and scary, God remains my anchor.

I’m learning that to confront worry, I must confront my fears head-on—not by denying them, but by taking them to God and standing firm in His truth. The enemy would love nothing more than to keep me paralyzed in fear. But the Spirit gives me power, love, and self-discipline (2 Timothy 1:7).

So today, I choose faith over fear. I choose to face my worries with a prayerful heart and a confident spirit. I don’t have all the answers, but I have a God who does.

I pray this for everyone who’s burdened with worry, for those who feel defeated and powerless. May you find rest in God’s promises. May you release your fears into His capable hands. And may you wake each morning with the courage to say, “Good morning, Lord.”

Fear will fall silent—not because it disappears—but because faith speaks louder.

Amen.

The Complete Blessing: From Spirit to Flesh

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Lord, it’s just me — raw, real, and reaching. I feel so much stirring in my spirit that I can’t just sit with it anymore. I have to write it out, wrestle with it, pray through it, speak life over myself. You’ve been pressing 1 Thessalonians 5:23-24 into my heart so deeply, it’s like it’s tattooed on my bones:

“May God Himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul, and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful, and He will do it.”

I read that and my heart screams, YES, LORD. DO IT! But also, God, how? How do You make me whole — spirit, soul, and body — when life feels like it’s constantly pulling me apart?

I don’t want to be a half-built house anymore, Holy Spirit. I want to be made blameless. Not just in my outward appearance or religious rituals, but truly, deeply, wholly sanctified. This isn’t about perfectionism — this is about purification.

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Let’s start with my spirit. That part of me that cries out for You when words fail, that part of me You breathed into life, the part of me that knows Your voice even when my emotions lie. You said in Ephesians 3:16 that we are “strengthened with power through His Spirit in your inner being.” Jesus, I need that strength right now. I’m not here to perform or pretend. I’m here because my spirit wants more of You. It aches when I grieve You. It gets buried when I let my flesh take the lead. But it is yours, fully and eternally. Breathe new fire in me. Fill me with the hunger that moves mountains.

And Lord, if there are parts of my spirit that are crushed — and honestly, there are — please, please come close like You promised in Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” I need You near. No one else will do. Heal those broken inner places, not so I can feel good, but so I can be whole and walk worthy of Your call.

My soul? She’s a mess sometimes. She’s emotional, sensitive, reactive — but she’s also vibrant, creative, and expressive. She carries the songs I sing, the tears I cry, the joy I radiate. But she gets overwhelmed. She tries to control things that belong in Your hands. She feels everything deeply, and sometimes the pain of the world pierces her too deeply.

Lord, You said You restore our soul (Psalm 23:3). I’m holding You to that promise. Renew her. Teach her to surrender. Show her that she doesn’t have to lead; she just has to follow the spirit that follows Your Spirit. Help her get in divine alignment. I bless my soul to come under the leadership of the Holy Spirit. No more hijacking peace. No more feeding fear. Soul, be still and know that He is God.

And my body? This temple that gets overlooked unless it’s in pain or gaining weight or feeling tired? I’ve spoken so harshly to her, Lord. I’ve treated her like a workhorse instead of the sacred vessel she is. Forgive me. I bless my body to come alive in Your glory. I speak healing over her, strength into her bones, and freedom into her movements.

My body lifts hands in worship. She dances, cries, embraces, kneels. She doesn’t just carry me — she carries Your Spirit, Your purpose, Your presence. I bless her to be whole, strong, and healthy. I speak to every cell, every system, every hidden trauma — be sanctified, be healed, be whole in Jesus’ name.

This isn’t about self-help or some aesthetic “healing journey.” This is about sanctification — deep, holy, through-and-through alignment with the God of peace. It’s about being kept blameless — not because I’m flawless, but because You’re faithful. You’re the One who does the work, Lord. You will do it.

You didn’t call me to salvation only to abandon me in sanctification. You didn’t save my spirit to leave my soul and body in chaos. You’re after every part of me, and I say yes. Yes, Jesus. Sanctify me. Spirit, soul, and body. I’m not hiding any part from You.

Where I’ve let trauma speak louder than truth — silence it.
Where I’ve let exhaustion speak louder than purpose — revive me.
Where I’ve let bitterness poison my soul — cleanse me.

Take the whole of me, Lord. Make it holy. Make it whole.

And God, help me to be bold with others about this. I’m tired of surface-level Christianity. I’m not interested in cute faith or lukewarm prayers. I want to see chains break, strongholds fall, spirits awaken. I want to look people in the eye and say, “He can heal you — all of you. Spirit, soul, and body.” I want to speak with holy fire and radical compassion, not just comfort but confrontation. Not because I’m better — but because I know the One who makes us whole. I know He can do it. Because He’s doing it in me.

Even on the days I feel like I’m falling apart, You’re putting me together. So tonight, I rest in the truth that You are faithful. You are working. You will complete what You started. And when You come back, I’ll be found blameless — not because of me, but because of You.

Amen.


Divine Whispers and Heavenly Kisses

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Sometimes, Lord, I sit in the stillness and it feels like the whole summer rushed at me like cold waves. End of summer always does that to me—brings a weightiness, a holy heaviness that presses into my soul. It’s not depression, not sadness really… just a kind of holy pause. A contemplative ache. A yearning to know—have I made a difference? Did I obey You when it counted? Have I pleased Your heart? Was I a good steward of the time, the breath, the resources, and the people You placed in my life?

Truth be told, I’ve been hit hard this year. Not always in ways that showed up on the surface, but in my soul. You know that, Lord. You saw me.

I look back, and I can’t deny: there were kisses from heaven.

Some were soft, gentle…Others were fierce, disguised as fire.

Scripture tells me in Romans 8:28 that “all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” Not all things feel good. But I’m finally realizing—they’re working for my good.

Even when my best friend called to tell me the doctors found something wrong with her dad. Even when I felt like the bottom dropped out and I didn’t know how to pray. I did pray. Weak prayers. Ugly prayers. Honest prayers. And You still showed up. The diagnosis wasn’t what we hoped, but it also wasn’t what we feared. And somehow, in all of it, we felt You closer than we had in years.

God, this year, I have seen You in the quiet places.

You kissed me with that unexpected job interview when I thought I was completely overlooked.


You kissed me through the laughter of my little niece who said, “Jesus makes me giggle.”
You kissed me with peace in the waiting.


You kissed me with confrontation, too—calling me out when I was slipping into compromise, using people-pleasing as a poor excuse for silence.

I don’t always like how You love me, Lord. But I know it’s love all the same. Hebrews 12:6 says, “For the Lord disciplines those He loves, and He punishes each one He accepts as His child.” You don’t coddle me. You grow me. You stretch me. And it hurts. But thank You for not letting me stay the same.

Some of Your kisses this summer came wrapped in grief.

My best friend’s heartbreak broke me, too. Not being there for her physically, not being able to hold her while she cried… that haunted me for all of June. But then… the dream. That dream You gave me where I saw her happy, light all around her. I woke up crying, Lord. That was You. That was Your way of saying, “I’ve got her. I’ve got you too.”

Jesus, help me live with thanksgiving in my bones. Let me not be so busy doing that I forget to be. To be aware. To be grateful. To be present to the soft whispers You’re always sending—those “you are Mine” reminders.

I want to walk into the fall with eyes wide open. Watching. Listening. Surrendered.

Your Word says in James 1:17, “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.” Even the hard things that become good things—those are gifts, too.

So I’ll take time today. I’ll reflect. I’ll let the tears fall if they need to. I’ll praise You in the remembering. I’ll shout thank You even for the almosts—the doors You closed, the relationships You protected me from, the battles I didn’t have to fight because You stood in front of me.

You kissed me, God, in ways I didn’t deserve. You kissed me in discipline. You kissed me in favor. You kissed me in loss. You kissed me in surprise. You kissed me in the storm—and in the calm after.

Let me never confuse the mundane for meaningless.

A friend’s text. A sunrise with colors I can’t name. The fact that my lungs still breathe and my legs still carry me. The ability to worship You freely. To speak Your name without fear.

These are heaven’s kisses. Every one of them.

Let me live like I know that.

Let me love like I’ve been kissed by God.

Let me fight for joy. Let me confront lies with truth. Let me stay soft in a world trying to harden me. Let me never forget what You’ve done.

Because You are worthy. You are holy. You are here.

You are Emmanuel—God with us.

Even here. Even now.

Lord Jesus,


Thank You for the beauty in brokenness.
Thank You for every whisper, every kiss, every form of love You’ve shown me—whether soft or sharp.


I give You this past year.
The joys, the wounds, the growth, the grace.
And I invite You into every moment of the year to come.
Teach me to recognize Your kisses.


Let my soul be quick to say “thank You”
And let my life be a reflection of Your goodness.


In Jesus’ name, Amen.