Tag: christianity

Blame Ends Here: I’m done pointing fingers!

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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I’ve been feeling convicted lately. Not guilty—convicted. There’s a difference. Guilt just sticks to your soul like mud, but conviction comes from the Holy Spirit and leads you toward cleansing. And right now, I need cleansing. Not just from the obvious sins, but from that sneaky one I’ve been nursing in silence: blame.

You know what I’ve realized, Lord? Blame is a comfort zone. It’s easier to say “She hurt me,” “He triggered me,” “They abandoned me,” than to say, “I chose this response.” Because choosing to be angry, bitter, cold, or petty means I have to face myself. And let’s be real—sometimes I’d rather point the finger outward than take a hard look in the mirror.

Galatians 5:22-23 keeps ringing in my ears:


“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control…”


SELF-CONTROL. Not other-control. Not blame-shifting. Not retaliation. Self. Control. The one fruit I pretend isn’t in the basket when I’m fired up.

Earlier this week I was frustrated with my boss—again. She made this snarky comment about my “slow pace” on a project that I literally prayed through and poured my heart into.

Then I heard that still, small voice: “You’re standing on the outside, but inside you’re stomping your feet.” Just like that kid in time-out, pretending to submit while rebellion boils underneath. That hit hard. I’m not called to passive-aggressiveness or silent rebellion. I’m called to radical, inconvenient obedience.

So here I am, laying it all down. No more blaming her. No more blaming my past, my wounds, my triggers. They’re real, yes. But they don’t get to define my reactions anymore. Only You do, Lord.

I’m reminded of Romans 14:12:
“So then, each of us will give an account of ourselves to God.”


MYSELF. Not my coworkers. Not my parents. Me. And if I’m being honest, my account’s got some chapters I’d rather not read aloud. But You already know them.

You see my heart—and love me anyway. That’s what humbles me most. You see the fake apologies, the grudges disguised as boundaries, the sarcasm hiding my disappointment. And still, You invite me into grace.

Holy Spirit, search me. Please. Rip the roots of bitterness out before they become my identity. I don’t want to be “the girl who was hurt” anymore. I want to be “the woman who was healed and chose joy anyway.”

God, I want to live Galatians 5, not just quote it. I want my love to be genuine, my peace to be unshakable, my kindness to be reflexive, not forced. I don’t want to react like the world—I want to respond like You. Because You never played the blame game, even when You had every right to. Jesus, You were blameless, and yet You bore my blame. And what do I do with that sacrifice? I pick it up and throw it at others, using it as a weapon to justify my own hurt. Forgive me, Lord.

Here’s my prayer tonight:

Father, create in me a clean heart (Psalm 51:10), and renew a right spirit within me. Deliver me from the temptation to justify sin with someone else’s failures. You are the Judge, not me. You are the Redeemer, not me. Teach me to stop blaming and start forgiving. Soften my heart, even toward those who don’t apologize. And when I mess up, give me the humility to repent fully and quickly, not just partially. Holy Spirit, grow Your fruit in me. I surrender my responses, my emotions, my rights. I choose obedience, not offense. I choose peace. In Jesus’ name, amen.

I’m realizing that the blame game is the devil’s favorite playground. He doesn’t need us to sin loudly—he just needs us to keep a bitter scorecard while pretending we’re fine. I refuse to play his game. I’d rather play for the Kingdom.

The more I surrender to God, the more I see how much I’ve tried to manage my own vindication.

But 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.”


That’s hard. So hard. But necessary. Because when I hold on to blame, I’m essentially saying I don’t trust You, God. And that’s not the legacy I want.

I want to be known for releasing, not resenting. For healing, not harboring. For grace, not grudge.

So I’m putting down the gavel. I’m not the judge. I’m not the jury. I’m just a daughter of the King, learning to respond like royalty instead of reacting like a wounded orphan. I’m not perfect—but I’m being perfected. And that’s enough.

If anyone ever reads this entry one day (God help them!), I pray they feel the freedom that comes when you stop blaming and start confessing. It’s like unclenching a fist you didn’t realize was tight. Suddenly, peace can fill your palm.

Ending the blame game doesn’t mean you were never hurt—it means your healing matters more.

I’m done pointing fingers. I’m lifting hands.

The Disruptive Savior: Jesus Violates My Expectations

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Jesus,

Today, You violated my expectations. Again.

And honestly? It wrecked me—in the best way.

I came to You with a plan. A perfect little picture of how I thought You would move. I had it all laid out: the timeline, the method, the outcome. I expected peace in the waiting, healing on my terms, breakthrough in a way that made sense to me.

But You didn’t follow my script. You never do.

And that’s what makes You God.

I used to think that faith meant expecting You to move in a certain way. Now I’m learning that faith is surrendering all my expectations and trusting You to move however You want—even if it’s weird, uncomfortable, or completely opposite of what I had in mind.

Your ways are not my ways. (Isaiah 55:8)

And thank God for that.

I think about the blind man in John 9. You could’ve just said the word and healed him. You have done that before. But instead, You spit in the dirt, made mud, and smeared it on his eyes. That’s not clean. That’s not sanitary. That’s definitely not what anyone was expecting.

“Having said this, He spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. ‘Go,’ He told him, ‘wash in the Pool of Siloam.’ So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.” — John 9:6–7 (NIV)

I mean… really? Mud? Spit?

But that’s the thing. You don’t need to meet our expectations. We’re the ones who need to adjust to Yours.

And You’re not inconsistent. You’re just obedient to the Father’s will. That’s Your only consistency—total surrender to the will of God.

So why do I still act shocked when You move in a way I didn’t expect?

Why do I question Your love just because You didn’t answer how I prayed? Why do I think You’ve abandoned me just because the healing hasn’t come the way I pictured? Why do I think delay means denial?

The truth is, You’ve never failed me. Not once. But sometimes You love me too much to meet the expectations I put on You. Sometimes You intentionally violate my comfort zone to build real faith—not the kind that works when life is cute and convenient, but the kind that stands when nothing makes sense.

That’s the kind of faith I want.

Jesus, confront me. Offend my logic. Violate my false beliefs. Expose every place where I’ve boxed You in.

Because I don’t want a tame God. I want the real You.

I want the Jesus who flips tables.
The Jesus who eats with sinners.
The Jesus who doesn’t fit into any of the categories we try to place You in.
The Jesus who saves with blood, not politics.
The Jesus who washes feet but holds all power.
The Jesus who disrupts my comfort so I’ll depend on grace.

You are not predictable—but You are trustworthy.

And I know I’ve been guilty of trying to domesticate You. I’ve begged You to fit into my plans. I’ve expected blessing without pruning, glory without obedience, and miracles without submission.

But today, I lay that down.

All of it.

I don’t need a Jesus who obeys me—I need to obey You.
I don’t need a Savior who plays by my rules—I need one who saves me from myself.
And You do that. Every day.

So please, Jesus, violate my expectations. Shatter them if You have to.

If You need to spit in the dirt and smear it in my eyes so I can finally see, then do it.

If You need to let me sit in a season of silence so I can hear You clearly again, I’m here for it.

If You need to deny me what I think I want so You can give me what I really need, then so be it.

Because faith isn’t about control. It’s about surrender.
It’s not about understanding every step—it’s about trusting the One who holds the path.

And that’s You.

Lord, forgive me for all the ways I’ve treated You like a vending machine or a wish granter. You’re not here to serve my ego—You came to save my soul.

I don’t want You to just “fix my life.” I want You to transform me.

If that takes discomfort, so be it. If that means dying to my preferences, I’m ready. If that means letting go of everything I thought You would do, I’ll do it.

Because in the end, what I want more than anything… is You.

You alone are worthy.

You alone are holy.

You alone are Lord—not just in theory, but in reality.

So take my expectations, my formulas, my assumptions.
Take my pride, my need for control, my fear of the unknown.
Take it all, Jesus. You can have it.

And in return, give me eyes to see what You’re doing—even if it doesn’t look the way I imagined.

Because that man walked away seeing.

I want that kind of vision.
Not worldly vision.
Not religious tradition.
But real, Spirit-filled sight.

Sight that sees Your hand even in the mud.
Faith that trusts You even when it stings.
Love that stays, even when You move differently than expected.

You are Lord.

Not me.

Amen.

Wrestling with Doubt as a Christian

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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The weight of the world feels almost unbearable some days. Everything seems flipped. Right is called wrong. Wrong is celebrated. Sin is dressed up in sequins and paraded in the streets, while righteousness is mocked and silenced. I used to think we’d have more time before it got this loud—this twisted—but here we are. And I know You’re not surprised.

“Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness…” — Isaiah 5:20.


Your Word warned us, Lord. And now we are living in the middle of that woe.

Sometimes I just want to scream. Not because I hate people—I don’t. I ache for them. For the blind leading the blind. For the influencers raising a generation on relativism and emotion, not truth. For the silence of the church where there should be a shout. For my own weariness in holding the line.

I feel the tension in my soul every single day. To go along or to speak up. To be silent or to be that “annoying Christian girl” who just has to bring Jesus into everything. But how can I not? He is everything to me. He pulled me from darkness. He healed parts of me no one saw. He made me new. If I deny Him, I deny myself.

But today was hard.

I watched another celebrity mock believers. “Y’all still believe in that sky fairy?” she laughed. Thousands of likes. Thousands of cheers. I cried. Not because I’m weak, but because I know what it’s like to live without hope—and I know what it’s like to meet Jesus. And I want that for them, even if they spit in my face. Even if they call me brainwashed. Because Christ said they’d do all of that.

“If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first.” — John 15:18

Jesus, You knew this would happen. You promised this walk wouldn’t be easy, but You also promised You’d walk with me. I guess that’s what I’m clinging to right now: that I’m not alone, even when it feels like I’m walking upstream in a river of compromise.

It’s hard to hold on when it feels like faith itself is on trial.

Every time I open social media, the battle is louder. The culture says be “politically correct,” while You’ve called us to be morally correct. There’s a war raging, not just around us, but inside of us. The culture war is just a symptom of the deeper spiritual war, and I can feel it tearing at hearts. Mine included.

But Lord, I believe. Even when it’s hard. Even when I don’t feel You the way I used to. Even when my prayers feel like they’re bouncing off the ceiling.

I still believe.

I still believe You are the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6).
I still believe the Bible is Your living, breathing Word (Hebrews 4:12).
I still believe You died and rose again, defeating death and hell (Revelation 1:18).
I still believe the cross is not foolishness, but the power of God (1 Corinthians 1:18).
I still believe You are coming back, and soon.

So help me, Jesus.

Help me keep my eyes on You, not the headlines.
Help me keep my ears tuned to Your voice, not the noise of the crowd.
Help me to stand, even if I’m the last one standing.
Help me to speak when You say “speak,” and be silent when You say “wait.”
Help me to love, even when I’m hated.
And help me to never confuse compassion with compromise.

The world follows Carl Sagan’s voice—”The cosmos is all that is, or ever was, or ever will be.” But I hear Your whisper through the ages: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” — Genesis 1:1.

Sagan saw a godless void. Calvin saw a stage for Your glory. I choose to see what Calvin saw—what You showed us. Creation is Your theater, and we’re living in the final act. I’ve read the end of the script. I know who wins. You do. So I will not be afraid.

But Lord, give me wisdom. There’s so much deception. And it’s subtle. The devil isn’t dumb. He disguises lies as “love.” He paints sin with glitter and slogans like “your truth” and “just be you.” But Your truth is the only truth that saves. And it breaks my heart that so many will miss it because it doesn’t feel good or sound trendy.

Jesus, revive Your Church. Shake us. Wake us up. We were not called to blend in. We were never meant to be lukewarm or “cool.” We are salt and light—meant to sting and shine. Forgive us for choosing comfort over conviction.

I want to be bold, God. But not rude. I want to be loving, but not compromising. I want to reflect You, even when people reject me. Because this world is not my home. I’m not living for likes. I’m living for “Well done.”

So tonight, I lay my weariness before You. I pour out the ache, the confusion, the heartbreak, the loneliness. I give it all to You. And I pick up peace. I pick up faith. I pick up the cross.

Because You’re worth it.

Every tear.
Every rejection.
Every label.
Every loss.

Jesus, You’re worth it.

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Unshaken: Prayers for Strength in Hard Times

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

(CLICK HERE TO PRAY WITH ME FOR STRENGTH!) Please! I Need Strength Today! After What Happened Today, My Heart is Torn! Everyone’s Heart is Torn! Pray with me!

I know what it feels like to smile in public and crumble in private. I know the weight of feeling like you’re supposed to be “okay” because you’re a Christian, even when everything inside you is screaming for help.

But being a Christian doesn’t mean we don’t struggle. It means we struggle differently. It means we struggle with hope—and that’s what I want to talk about today.

I had a rough morning. If you’re reading this after August 27, 2025, then google that date so you know why I had a horrible morning. I just don’t want to get into it all.

But, I needed strength, as we all do, for whatever the reason may be.

So I whispered, “God, please give me strength.” And it wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t even confident. It was raw and desperate. But He met me there. And I want to share the prayers and verses that helped lift me up. Because if they lifted me today, I believe they can lift someone else, too.

-Prayers for God’s Strength–


“We praise you that nothing is impossible with you… In our weakness, you make us strong.”

This one hit deep. Because I don’t feel strong right now. But strength isn’t something I need to manufacture. It’s something I receive. From Him. That’s why Philippians 4:13 isn’t a motivational quote—it’s a declaration:

“I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

Not because I’m good. Not because I’m capable. But because He is.

-Prayer For When I’m Overwhelmed-

“You have shown me that falling is not always failing.”

This line made me cry. I’ve fallen a lot lately—emotionally, spiritually, even physically. I’ve doubted myself, second-guessed decisions, and sat in the pit of “not enough.” But God reminded me through this prayer that falling doesn’t disqualify me. He picks me up—again and again.

Isaiah 41:10 says:

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you…”

That’s not a suggestion. That’s a promise.

–Prayer For The Strength to Survive–


I felt so convicted praying this over persecuted believers. My stress feels real—but some of our brothers and sisters are dying for this faith. And yet they hold on. It humbled me. It reminded me that God isn’t just enough for small problems—He is enough for the big, life-threatening ones too.

And if He can sustain them in prisons, warzones, and underground churches, He can sustain me right here in my living room, with my messy heart and anxious mind.

–A Prayer in the Storm–


“In turbulent times… You are my strength.”

Whew. I needed that. Because my storm isn’t going away overnight. But God never promised a storm-free life—He promised to be my refuge in the storm.

“But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength…” – Isaiah 40:31

That’s the kind of strength I need. Not hyped-up energy. Not fake positivity. Renewed strength. Strength that lets me wait well.

I’m not the kind of Christian who sugarcoats. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend that quoting a few verses makes all my anxiety disappear. But I will tell you what does happen: my perspective changes. My posture shifts. My faith wakes up.

And I begin to remember that my feelings are real—but they’re not in charge. God is.

–Prayer For the Weary–


“Lord, I need You.”
Honestly, that could be my life motto. I need Him to help me sort through the chaos—internal and external. I need His Spirit to guide me through every “I don’t know what I’m doing” moment. And I’m tired of trying to be strong on my own.

–A Prayer for God’s Power–


“Help us not to underestimate You in our praying.”

Let that line marinate for a second. How many of us pray like God is small? Like He might help… if He’s not too busy? Nah. He’s the King of the Universe. He is not overwhelmed by my mess. He’s not afraid of my questions. He invites me to pray big prayers—and believe He’s big enough to answer them.

–Prayer For Guidance and Strength–


Right now, I need both. I need God to direct my steps and give me the energy to walk them out. It’s not enough to know the way—I need Him to walk it with me. And He does.

“Be strong and courageous… for the Lord your God goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” – Deuteronomy 31:6

If you’re living without prayer—you’re living on fumes.


If you’re trying to be strong without God—you’re building your house on sand.

I love you too much not to say that. The world teaches us to be “self-made,” but Christianity calls us to be Spirit-led. That means putting down the fake strength and picking up His supernatural strength.


Every prayer I shared today isn’t just a “nice thought.” It’s a weapon.
A weapon for your warfare.
A weapon for your weariness.
A weapon for your tomorrow.

You’re not too far gone. You’re not too broken. You’re not too weak.
You’re right where God can show up—and show off.

So pray. Even if your voice shakes. Even if all you can say is “God, help me.” He hears. He answers. And He strengthens.

Unshaken.

Double Vision: Seeing God Clearly

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Today I write with a heart full of conviction and a mind freshly awakened by God’s truth. I’ve been walking with the Lord long enough to know better—and yet He’s so loving, so gentle, so precise in His correction that I can’t help but love Him more even in the middle of being exposed. There’s something about when the Holy Spirit shines His light on a part of me that’s not aligned with the will of God. It stings, yes—but it’s also freeing. Like truth that pulls you out of a fog you didn’t realize you were in.

The Lord has whispered to me before about being double-minded. I remember the first time vividly. It felt like a gut-punch cloaked in love. I was offended. Not outright angry at God—but internally, I wrestled. I remember thinking, “Lord, surely not I?” I was sure I was sold out. My lips said it, my actions (on the surface) looked like it. I went to church, I prayed, I gave, I served. What more could He want?

But God doesn’t look at the outward appearance. “The Lord looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7)

And He saw mine.

My heart wasn’t fully surrendered. There were pockets—hidden closets—where I still sat on the throne. Where I wanted my way, my comfort, my attention, my timing. When things didn’t go the way I had hoped or planned, I grumbled inside. When people didn’t respond to me the way I wanted, I felt unseen. And isn’t that telling?

I’ve come to realize how subtle double-mindedness can be. It doesn’t always look like blatant rebellion. It can come wrapped in spiritual language, masked as maturity, or covered in Christian performance. But God knows. The double mind is divided—half surrendered, half striving. Half trusting, half controlling. Half focused on Him, half secretly asking, “But what about me?”

James 1:8 says, “A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.” And girl, that shook me. Unstable. Even though I smiled through it, I knew I had been living with a mind split between trust and self-protection. I said I trusted God, but when life pressed in—when I felt overlooked, rejected, or disappointed—what came out was telling. Bitterness. Jealousy. Entitlement. Not always outwardly, but inwardly for sure.

Just last week, I had a moment. I was about to meet up with someone, and I felt this urge to be seen—to say something clever, or deep, or “impressive.” I wanted them to notice me. Like a child jumping up and down shouting, “Look at me! Look at what I can do!” But before I spoke, the Holy Spirit gently interrupted.

He said, “Give that thought to Me.”

And I did.

I paused. I breathed. I surrendered that moment—not because I’m holy, but because I’m learning to recognize when it’s about me instead of about Him.

And when I gave it to Jesus, peace came. The striving stopped. The ego sat down. And somehow—miraculously—it felt easier to just be present, to listen, to respond with wisdom that wasn’t mine. The person asked me a question, and I could sense that Jesus answered through me. Not in some dramatic, super-spiritual way—but with a quiet confidence that didn’t demand attention.

That’s what humility looks like when God births it in you. And trust me, it’s not something I naturally possess.

The world screams: “Promote yourself. Assert yourself. Take up space.” But Jesus says, “Deny yourself, take up your cross daily, and follow Me.” (Luke 9:23)

That’s the paradox of the Kingdom.

I’m not here to be glorified. I’m here to glorify Him. I’m not here to be known. I’m here to make Him known. That’s the shift I’m learning to live out—not perfectly, but intentionally.

And here’s what’s wild—when I lose myself in Him, I find more peace than I ever did trying to make people notice me. When I humble myself, He really does lift me up, in the ways that actually matter. (James 4:10)

That’s why I want to keep coming closer. Not because I’ve mastered it. Not because I’ve figured it all out. But because His nearness is my good. (Psalm 73:28)

I long for His presence—not as a reward for good behavior, but as my daily necessity. I want to abide, not just visit. I want to live in the safety of full surrender. Because when I really submit every thought, every ambition, every desire to Him—that’s where I find peace. That’s where I find clarity.

Jesus said, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” (Matthew 5:8)

And that’s what I want—to see God clearly. No more double vision. No more blurry faith. Just Jesus, front and center, and everything else falling in line behind Him.

So here’s my prayer today:

Father God,

You know me. Fully. And still, You love me deeply. Thank You for Your patience and correction. Forgive me for the ways I’ve been divided—saying I trust You while still clutching control. I surrender again, even the hidden things.

Lord Jesus, be the only King on the throne of my heart. Let no desire rise above You. Help me to see when pride creeps in, and teach me to choose humility—not to be overlooked, but to make You unmistakably visible.

Holy Spirit, make me sensitive to Your whispers. Remind me when I start performing. Teach me to rest in who I am in You, not who I’m trying to be for others.

Draw me nearer, God. I want to see You clearly—with a single heart, a single mind, and a single focus: Your glory.

Amen.

When Faith Feels Fragile

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I promise to be honest in everything I write. Sometimes, when I open my eyes to this world, my faith feels fragile—like it’s walking on a tightrope stretched thin over a canyon of confusion and chaos. The moral compass everyone once seemed to respect is spinning wildly, and I’m left clinging to the only anchor that’s ever truly steady: God. It’s like the whole culture has flipped upside down. Right is suddenly wrong, and wrong parades itself as right. How do you stay steady when the ground beneath you keeps shifting like sand?

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I’m reminded of 2 Timothy 3:12-13, which says, “Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted, while evil people and impostors will go from bad to worse, deceiving and being deceived.” That’s exactly where we are—deception reigning, and confusion swallowing truth. The world screams, “Be politically correct!” while the Bible quietly but firmly demands, “Be morally correct.” The culture war we’re seeing? It’s not just politics on steroids—it’s a reflection of a deeper, spiritual battle raging inside hearts and souls.

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There’s a line I keep thinking about from Carl Sagan, an atheist who had a huge influence back in the ’80s. His show was iconic, and his motto was chilling: “The cosmos is all that is, or ever was, or ever will be.” No God. No Creator. Just random chance and time stretched infinitely. I feel this is the root of the moral decay—if the cosmos is just a cosmic accident, why should anyone care about absolute right or wrong? But John Calvin offers a completely opposite, beautiful truth: “The cosmos is God’s theater to show His glory.” Our world isn’t a meaningless accident; it’s a stage where God reveals Himself. That changes everything.

The God who made the stars also gave us His Word, a map for how to live—morally, spiritually, and eternally. It’s hard to stand firm when so many voices shout lies, but the Bible is clear: the message of the cross sounds foolish to those lost in sin (1 Corinthians 1:18), but to us who believe, it’s the very power of God saving and transforming us.

I won’t lie—some days I want to scream at the injustice, the godlessness, the blatant rebellion against God’s truth. But I also have to be careful. The battle is not against flesh and blood but against spiritual forces (Ephesians 6:12). The culture war we see out there is really the outward reflection of the war within every believer’s heart. Sometimes I feel it in my own soul—questions, doubts, the temptation to just blend in, to avoid confrontation, to stay silent. But silence is not an option. I feel God nudging me to be bold.

Prayer has become my lifeline. I cling to Psalm 25:4-5, “Show me your ways, Lord, teach me your paths. Guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior.” I pray every morning for strength to keep my eyes fixed on Jesus and not on the chaos swirling around me. Because if I look at the world, I’ll be overwhelmed. But if I fix my gaze on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith, I find peace (Hebrews 12:2).

I pray for courage to speak truth in love, even when it’s unpopular. The world is desperate for that kind of courage. People are hungry for light, even if they don’t realize it. It’s easy to feel small, powerless, and defeated, but God reminds me in Isaiah 40:31, “But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” That’s a promise I hold onto tightly.

I also pray for those who don’t believe, who mock, who call the cross foolish. Lord, open their eyes to Your truth. Help them see that without You, life is empty, purposeless, and fleeting. And I ask God to keep me humble, compassionate, and steadfast—never confrontational for the sake of being harsh, but always confrontational for the sake of truth and love.

It’s tempting sometimes to get discouraged. The world’s values seem upside down, and people mock those who stand for biblical truths. But I’ve read the last chapters of this story—Revelation 21:4 promises, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.” The God who began the story has the final word. Evil won’t win. Darkness won’t prevail.

That truth doesn’t mean we sit back and do nothing. No, it means we fight—with prayer, with love, with boldness, and with faith. It means being a light in the darkness, no matter how small that light seems. Because one small light can pierce the deepest night.

So, today, even though my faith feels fragile, I choose to stand. I choose to believe God more than the lies of this world. I choose to be morally correct, even when the world screams otherwise. I choose to fight the good fight of faith (1 Timothy 6:12), knowing the victory is already won.

Lord, help me never forget that You are the unshakable Rock beneath my feet. Keep my eyes on You, not on the shifting opinions of the world. Give me boldness to speak truth with love and compassion. Strengthen my heart when it feels weak. Remind me daily that Your glory is the ultimate purpose of this life and this world.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

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Grace That Never Lets Go

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Lord,

I’m wrestling with something deep—and I know You already see it all. I don’t want to pretend, even on this Christian blog of mine. You know my heart, every thought before I even think it (Psalm 139:1–4). So here it is, raw:

I believe in Your love more than I believe in the ground under my feet… but sometimes, I still doubt it.

Why?

Why is it that I’ve sung “Jesus loves me this I know” since I could talk, and still sometimes I wake up wondering if I’ve blown it too many times to still be in Your favor? I recite “For God so loved the world…” (John 3:16) and I KNOW You sent Jesus because You loved me, not because I’m good—but my flesh still asks, “Do I really deserve this kind of love?”

I’m not writing this out of some dramatic emotional spiral. I’m just being honest with myself—and with You. I think a lot of us Christians carry this quiet ache. This quiet insecurity. We walk around singing about Your love but we struggle to feel it.

CLICK HERE TO LEARN THIS MORNING PRAYER TO START YOUR DAY

And I’m just done with pretending. I want to confront it. I want to expose it, call it out, and speak TRUTH over it.

Lie #1: If God loves me, I won’t suffer.
Ugh. This one is toxic. Subtle. Sneaky. And completely false. You never said that if You loved me, You’d shield me from every pain. You actually promised the opposite:

“In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” – John 16:33

You’re not absent when I’m hurting—you’re closest in those moments. You didn’t promise protection from pain; You promised purpose in pain. You’re more invested in my eternity than in my temporary comfort. That humbles me. That confronts me.

Lie #2: I don’t deserve God’s love.
True. I don’t. None of us do. But that’s the beauty of grace. You’ve never loved me based on what I do or how I perform. You love me because I’m Yours. Because You made me, called me, and redeemed me.

“Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ.” – Romans 8:17

God, I am Your daughter. Your beloved. Even on the days I mess up, fall short, speak harshly, or want to quit everything and hide. Your love is steadfast. It doesn’t fluctuate based on my mood or my performance. How freeing is that? You love me just as much on my worst day as on my best.

But I still fall into striving. Still feel like I have to earn it. Like I’ve gotta “be better” to be worthy of Your favor.

No more. I’m choosing to rest in Your truth, not my insecurity.

Lie #3: I don’t feel God’s love.
I’ve realized feelings lie. They are temporary, unreliable, and deeply influenced by sleep, hormones, weather, food… everything. Feelings are not fact. What I fill my mind with shapes how I feel. And if I’m not filling it with Your Word, I’m going to end up parched and emotionally disoriented.

“Feelings follow thinking.”

God, help me to renew my mind with truth (Romans 12:2). Help me to dwell in Your Word. Not just read it, but soak in it. Let it rewire my inner narrative. Let it tune my heart to the rhythm of Your steadfast love.

Because You are love. And You never change.

Truth Bomb: My heart needs tuning.

Sometimes I’m like a dry stone sitting in a river of Your presence, unable to absorb it because I’m not postured to receive. I’ve let cynicism, bitterness, comparison, or just plain distraction coat my heart in spiritual numbness.

But…

“But the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, to those who keep his covenant and remember to do his commandments.” – Psalm 103:17

Your love is constant. Everlasting. But for me to experience it fully, I need to fear You (honor You), obey You, and remember Your commands—not as a way to earn Your love but to open myself to it.

So today, I confess all the noise I’ve let crowd my soul. The scrolling. The comparison. The busyness. The pride. The self-pity.

Tune my heart, Lord.

Tear down the lies I’ve believed. Silence the voice that tells me You’ve forgotten me. That I’m not enough. That I’ve messed it up.

Your love is not weak.
It’s not inconsistent.
It’s not petty.
It’s not based on emotion.
It’s not earned.
It’s not manipulated.
It’s not gone.

Your love is steadfast. Firm. Steady. Resilient. Generous. Eternal.

And I believe that. Even when I don’t feel it. Even when my life feels like a question mark. Even when the prayers go unanswered and the doors stay closed.

You are still love. And I am still loved.

So tonight, I rest in this:

“The Lord appeared to us in the past, saying: ‘I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.’” – Jeremiah 31:3

Amen.

Click here to Uplift Your Spirit with these Short Morning Prayers!

Mornings with God: My Favorite Morning Prayers to Uplift Your Spirit

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Prayer isn’t about fancy words or having it all together—it’s just about being with God. And the more I do it, the more realize how much I need it.

Why Is Prayer So Important?

Honestly, prayer changes everything. It’s not just a routine or something we check off our to-do list—it’s how we connect with God, reset our focus, and get spiritually ready for whatever the day throws at us. Here’s what I’ve learned:

1. Praise Shifts Our Perspective
When I take time to thank God and just sit in awe of who He is, it shifts my mindset. Gratitude reminds me that He’s been faithful before, and He’ll be faithful again. Starting the day with praise puts my heart in a place of peace and joy—and that makes such a difference.

2. It Prepares Us for the Hard Stuff
Life isn’t always easy. We all face things that can shake us. But when I pray and ask God to help me before those tough moments even happen, I feel more grounded. It’s like putting on spiritual armor. Instead of reacting out of fear or stress, I can respond knowing He’s right there with me.

3. Prayer Helps Us Stand Strong Against Temptation
We all have struggles and weak spots. I’ve learned that being real with God about those areas—and asking Him for strength—makes such a difference. He doesn’t expect us to be perfect, but He does want to help us grow and choose better.

4. It Gives Us Boldness and Confidence
God opens doors all the time—little moments to love others, encourage someone, or step into something new. When I pray for confidence and clarity, I’m more likely to say yes to those opportunities instead of letting fear win. With Him, I know I’m not doing it alone.

Click here to Uplift Your Spirit with these Short Morning Prayers!

Divine Plot Twist: God’s Way of Turning Things Around

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Yesterday was one of those days where everything felt like it was falling apart, and yet, somehow, I still heard the Holy Spirit whisper: “I’m not finished yet.” And I believe Him. I really do. Even if it feels like it’s too late in the natural. Even if it seems like the damage is done, and there’s no way forward. I know better. I know the glory of God.

But being honest? It looked impossible yesterday. I caught myself staring at a situation in my life that’s been spiraling for months—something I thought would work out by now, something I prayed over, cried about, trusted for—and nothing. Still broken. Still barren. Still… not what I imagined.

I felt that lump in my throat rise up again. That familiar whisper from the enemy: “It’s too late now.”
But God.


Romans 8:28 says, “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. Not just the pretty parts. Not just the wins. But the mess, the shame, the silence, the heartbreak, the failures—even the things that feel too far gone.

Today, I’m choosing to confront this unbelief in my heart. I’m not pretending like I’m okay when I’m not. That’s not faith. That’s denial. And I’m done hiding my disappointments in the back of the closet, like God doesn’t already see them. He sees it all. And still, He chooses to redeem.

God, I believe You can turn this around. I believe it, even when I don’t feel it. I believe it, even when the timeline has passed and the doors seem shut. You are not bound by time, space, or circumstances. You step into the grave and call forth life. You still roll stones away.

John 11:40 says, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

Sometimes I forget how much You love showing up when the situation looks dead. Like with Lazarus. Everyone else was weeping. Everyone else had given up. But You walked straight into that moment with resurrection power.

That’s who You are.

I’ve got a “Lazarus situation” in my life right now, Lord. It’s past the point of fixing, humanly speaking. But I believe You specialize in the impossible. And I’m not asking You to sprinkle fairy dust over my problems—I’m asking You to show Your glory in a way that only You can. Do what no therapy session, no paycheck, no person could ever do. Turn it around for Your glory.

Isaiah 43:19 says, “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”

If You can make rivers in the desert, You can make a miracle out of this.

There’s a fire in me today—not anger, but holy frustration. I’m not mad at You, God. I’m mad at the lies I’ve believed about You. Mad at how often I shrink Your power down to fit inside the limits of what I can see and understand. I’m done doing that. You are GOD. There is no one like You.

So here I am—heart wide open. If it takes me crying again, I’ll cry. If it takes me praying the same prayer again, I’ll pray it. If it takes waiting longer, I’ll wait. But I’m not giving up. Because You haven’t given up on me.

Genesis 50:20 says, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”

That part—“God intended it for good”—is ringing in my soul tonight. He can take what the enemy meant for evil and flip it. That means nothing is wasted. That means no pain is pointless. That means God can use even this.

Jesus, if this trial leads to a deeper testimony, I say yes. If this battle ends up blessing someone else down the road, I say yes. If this detour is really divine, I say yes.

But I ask, Lord—redeem it. Don’t just heal me—use me. Use my broken pieces to build something beautiful. Use my silence to create a louder song. Use this dark chapter to illuminate Your light.

Father, in the name of Jesus, I pray with full confidence: breathe life into what seems dead. Reverse what looks irreversible. Heal what feels hopeless. Shift what’s stuck. And give me the faith to stand, even while I wait.

Remind my soul that You are still moving. Even when the door closes. Even when the test comes back positive. Even when the person walks away. Even when it all looks like it’s over.

God, I trust You to turn it around. You’re not late. You’re strategic. You’re setting the stage. And I believe that when You move, it won’t just be good—it’ll be glorious.

So I’ll keep praising You now, in the middle. I’ll keep writing these prayers with tear-stained pages. I’ll keep holding on. Because I know who You are. And I know how You work.

What the enemy meant for harm—You’re going to use for GOOD.

So tonight, I rest in that truth. Not because I understand everything… but because I trust the One who does.

Amen.

Click here to Uplift Your Spirit with these Short Morning Prayers!

Caught in the Clutches of Moral Filth

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

It’s 1:37 AM and I’m wide awake, not because of caffeine or anxiety, but because I can feel Your Spirit wrestling with mine. You’re convicting me. You’re calling me to rise—not just as a believer, but as a woman who dares to confront the rot that is becoming “normal” in our culture.

I looked around today and felt sick. Not because the world is broken (I already know that)—but because Your people are getting comfortable in the filth. We’re not just “in the world”; we’re soaking in it. Marinating in it. Entertained by it. Desensitized by it. And then we have the audacity to say, “God feels distant.”

Isn’t it true?

When we find ourselves caught in the clutches of moral filth, when our hearts are numb from bingeing what You hate, when we start excusing sin because it’s trending—we find Your Word boring. Irrelevant. Too slow. Too old-fashioned. Too convicting.

But Your Word says something different:

“Therefore, get rid of all moral filth and the evil that is so prevalent and humbly accept the word planted in you, which can save you.” — James 1:21

Moral filth is prevalent. It’s everywhere. And Satan is crafty. He doesn’t just tempt us to sin blatantly—he numbs us so we no longer feel the conviction. He hardens us with a thousand small compromises. “It’s just a show.” “It’s just a joke.” “It’s not that deep.”

But it is that deep.

Because every time I scroll past something that grieves You and don’t feel grieved, that’s a sign my heart is crusting over. Every time I defend what You’ve called sin, that’s not progress—that’s decay.

Lord, You said:

“Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness.” — Isaiah 5:20

Are we not living in those days right now?

I have friends—beautiful, creative, kind people—who claim Your name but walk in compromise. And I’m not talking about struggling. We all fall short. I do too. But there’s a difference between struggling and surrendering to the world. Between conviction and convenience. Between repentance and rebellion.

And I’ve kept quiet for too long. I’ve let things slide because I didn’t want to be “that girl”—the one who’s always talking about sin and repentance and righteousness. The one who’s “too intense.” The one who makes everyone uncomfortable. But Jesus, You didn’t die to make me comfortable. You died to make me holy.

Forgive me for letting silence win where truth should’ve been spoken.

I feel You pressing this into my spirit:

“If we deliberately keep on sinning after we have received the knowledge of the truth, no sacrifice for sins is left.” — Hebrews 10:26

That verse chills me. It’s not about messing up—it’s about hardening. About knowing truth and choosing the filth instead. It’s about hearts that stop listening. Minds that stop repenting. Eyes that stop seeing.

But here’s the miracle: even then, Your Spirit doesn’t give up on us.

Even when our hearts are hardened by sin, You move. You pursue. You whisper and shout. You send people and Scriptures and moments that cut deep—not to harm us, but to heal us. Like a surgeon, You take the scalpel of Your Word and do heart surgery.

“For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword… it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” — Hebrews 4:12

I’ve felt that cut. That painful, holy cut that exposes everything fake in me. You don’t just deal with symptoms—you go to the root. To the ugly. To the unspoken compromise. And somehow, instead of shaming me, You invite me to change. Real change. Deeper than behavior. Deeper than guilt. A transformation from the inside out.

Holy Spirit, keep cutting. Keep doing surgery on this heart of mine. I don’t want surface-level Christianity. I want to bleed truth and breathe holiness. I want to look at the filth of this world and not desire it. I want to hunger for Your Word like my soul is starving—because without it, I am.

Tonight, I pray not just for myself but for my generation. For those who claim You but are drowning in the noise of this world. For those who feel nothing when they sin. For those who are more shaped by TikTok than Scripture. Call us out, God. Ruin us for comfort. Wreck us for normal.

Give us hearts that hate what You hate and love what You love. Not just because we’re “supposed to,” but because we’ve seen the beauty of holiness and the horror of sin. And we choose You. Again and again and again.

Father, protect us from shallow faith. From casual compromise. From moral numbness disguised as grace. Let Your Word come alive in us—not just as a book, but as a burning fire that cannot be quenched.

Tonight I recommit my eyes, my mind, my hands, my words, and my witness to You. I will not flirt with filth. I will not laugh at what grieves You. I will not be silent while my friends slide toward spiritual death. I will speak—even if it costs me comfort, likes, or relationships.

Because You are worth everything.

Search me, O God. Expose the hidden filth in me. Cleanse me. Break me. Build me back with truth.

In Jesus’ mighty name, Amen.