Tag: christianity

Eyes of Grace: How Jesus Saw People

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

This has been one of those weeks where everything felt a little off at first—but then Jesus gently rerouted my heart. He has this quiet way of doing that—no condemnation, no shame. Just truth, soaked in love.

I’ve been praying all week on the truth that Jesus never looked down on others. That sentence alone feels like a whole sermon. It’s simple, but it hits so deep. The more I sit with it, the more I realize how often I do the exact opposite. I size people up. I make assumptions. I mentally categorize people based on what I think I know. Jesus didn’t do that. Not once.

When the Pharisees saw “a woman caught in adultery” (John 8:3–11), Jesus saw a daughter. They wanted to stone her. He stooped down, drew in the dirt, and said, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” One by one, the crowd disappeared. And then Jesus looked at her—not down on her—and said, “Neither do I condemn you… go and sin no more.”

That moment is everything.

Jesus didn’t ignore her sin. He simply looked beyond it. He saw her potential. Her future. He saw her heart—maybe fragile, maybe ashamed—but still full of worth. That’s what I want. That vision. That grace.

Lord, give me eyes like Yours. Help me see people the way You do.

There’s a woman at work I’ve silently judged for months. I hate admitting that. She talks a lot. Her laugh is loud. She flirts with the married guy from HR. And every time I see her, something in me stiffens. I think, “She’s such a mess.”

But today… I swear I heard Jesus whisper: “She’s Mine too.”

And suddenly I thought, What if I’m the only person in her life who can reflect Jesus right now? What if she’s aching to be seen for more than the mask she wears every day?

Romans 5:8 keeps coming to mind: “But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
Not after we cleaned up. Not after we got our act together. While we were still a mess. Jesus loved us then. He loves us still.

And I felt this gentle nudge in my soul: What if you stopped waiting for people to be lovable and just loved them like I do?

That wrecked me in the best way.

I’ve been asking God to help me understand what it really means to be in Christ. Because if my identity is rooted in Him—not in performance, not in opinions, not in sin or shame—then it changes everything. It changes how I see myself. But more than that, it changes how I see others.

2 Corinthians 5:16-17 says:
“So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view… if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”

Jesus didn’t just look at broken people and see brokenness. He looked at them and saw what could be—not in some idealistic way, but in a deeply spiritual, eternal sense.

  • Where others saw a blind man, Jesus saw someone who would worship with new eyes (John 9).
  • Where others saw a crippled man, Jesus saw someone getting up and walking out of shame (John 5).
  • Where others saw a hated tax collector, Jesus saw a future disciple and gospel writer—Matthew.
  • And Zacchaeus? That “wee little man”? Jesus saw a redeemed heart climbing down a tree into grace.

Jesus, You never looked down on anyone—because You saw what we could become in You.
Help me stop labeling people by their past, their mistakes, or even their current choices. Let me see eternal beings, made in Your image, loved beyond comprehension.

Sometimes I forget that the cross was the greatest act of seeing. Jesus looked at a world full of sin and didn’t say, “They’re not worth it.”
Instead, He said: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)

He saw ignorance, not evil. Hurt, not hatred. And still, He chose love.

That makes me think… When I look at someone who’s hurt me or someone I think is “too far gone,” what do I see?

Do I see someone Jesus died for?

Do I see someone who is just as lost as I once was before grace found me?

There’s this prayer I found tucked in my Bible, written in the margin years ago during a small group retreat. It feels relevant again tonight:

“Lord Jesus, give me Your eyes. Let me see the hurting instead of the hardened. Let me hear the cries behind the anger. Let me speak life to dry bones. Let me love beyond what makes sense. In Your name. Amen.”

I’m beginning to realize that when I fail to see others through Jesus’ eyes, it’s usually because I’ve forgotten who I am in Him. If I still think I’m only as valuable as my behavior, my social media, or my productivity—then I’ll judge others by those same shallow standards.

But Jesus flips that. Always.

Colossians 3:12 says:
“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.”

We are chosen, holy, and dearly loved.
And because of that identity, we are called to love others the same way.

Tomorrow, I’m going to challenge myself.

For one day, I want to see and hear through the eyes and ears of Christ. That’s the challenge from my devotion today. And it scares me a little—because I already know I’ll be convicted. But I also know it will change me.

So here’s what I’m praying before I fall asleep tonight:

Jesus,
You never looked down on anyone—not the outcast, the adulterer, the rebel, the doubter, or even the ones who nailed You to the cross. You saw people, not projects. Souls, not labels.

Lord, forgive me for the times I’ve been quick to judge and slow to love. I confess that I’ve looked down on others to feel better about myself. Strip that pride from me. Break it. Replace it with compassion.

Holy Spirit, tomorrow, give me Your eyes. Let me see the barista, the coworker, the person I usually ignore—all through Your lens of eternal value. Let my words reflect the gentleness of Jesus. Let my heart be quick to forgive and slow to assume.

Help me carry Your presence, not just in my words, but in my eyes, in the way I see people.

Thank You for never looking down on me, even when I was at my lowest.
Thank You for always seeing the version of me I couldn’t see yet.

I love You more than anything, Jesus.
Amen.

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Tonight I feel both convicted and comforted. Like God is doing something small but permanent in my heart. I want to walk into tomorrow wide-eyed with grace, looking at every person as someone Jesus is madly in love with. Because they are.

And so am I.

He never looked down on me.
How could I look down on anyone else?

— A Daughter Learning to See Like Jesus

Divine Affection: The Holiness of God’s Love

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I don’t even know how to begin, except to say thank You. Thank You God for Your love.

Thank You God that Your love is not like human love—fleeting, conditional, broken—but that it is holy, steadfast, unshakable, and pure. I’ve been meditating all day on Isaiah 54:10:

“The mountains and the hills may crumble, but My love for you will never end…so says the LORD who loves you.” — Isaiah 54:10 (GNT)

That verse has wrapped around my heart like a blanket. Honestly, I needed it today. I’ve been feeling really stretched in some areas of my life—spiritually, emotionally, and even physically—and I found myself questioning some things. Not questioning You, Lord, but questioning if I’m walking right, if I’m missing something. Sometimes I wonder why things are so hard when I’m trying so hard to follow You.

But You reminded me today that Your love is holy love.

It’s not the kind of love that always feels soft or comfortable. Sometimes it burns. Sometimes it breaks before it builds. Sometimes it wounds before it heals. I’m slowly realizing that holy love doesn’t just comfort—it corrects. It doesn’t just protect—it purifies.

And I guess that’s what You’ve been doing in me lately: purifying. You’re removing idols I didn’t know I had. You’re calling out insecurities that I’ve buried under productivity. You’re showing me that surrender isn’t a one-time prayer but a daily sacrifice. And through all of it, I can feel Your holy love—strong, fierce, yet full of mercy.

“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.” — Psalm 103:13-14 (NIV)

I love that verse so much. I cried when I read it earlier. Sometimes I think I have to be strong for You, like I need to show You how committed I am by pushing through on my own. But You know I’m dust. You’re not asking me to be strong—you’re asking me to be surrendered.

Even when You allow trials—especially when You do—You’re not being cruel. You’re being holy. Your love doesn’t overlook the cancer of sin in me. You fight it, even when I cling to it. And it hurts, Lord. It hurts when You pull things away that I once found identity or comfort in. But I trust You. I trust that Your discipline is not punishment—it’s love.

“The Lord disciplines those he loves, and he punishes everyone he accepts as his child.” — Hebrews 12:6 (NLT)

I read that and I just paused. I looked at my life and said, “Wow, God—you really must love me.” Because You haven’t let me go. Even when I drift. Even when I numb myself with distractions or withdraw because I’m tired. You keep pursuing me. And You keep pruning me.

I heard a sermon the other day that said: “Love that doesn’t confront sin isn’t love—it’s tolerance.” And I know now that You don’t tolerate me, You treasure me. And that’s why You won’t let sin take root in me. You are holy, and Your love is holy too. You love me too much to let me be less than who You created me to be.

And I’m beginning to see that trials are not punishment—they’re invitations. Invitations into deeper trust, deeper dependency, deeper intimacy with You.

“Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men.” — Lamentations 3:32-33 (NIV)

That verse undoes me. You don’t delight in my pain. You’re not standing far off watching me struggle. You’re here. You’re near. You suffer with me. You are Emmanuel, God with me, even in the storm. Maybe especially in the storm.

It’s in the furnace that You refine. It’s in the fire that You reveal. It’s in the crushing that You produce oil. And I don’t want to resist the process anymore. I want to embrace it—even if I don’t understand it fully—because I know You. And I trust Your heart more than I fear the heat.

“The Lord binds up the bruises of his people and heals the wounds he inflicted.” — Isaiah 30:26 (NIV)

That is such a strange verse when I first think about it—You inflict wounds, yet You are also the one who heals them. But I get it now. You’re not causing pain for pain’s sake. You’re a surgeon, not a sadist. You wound to remove infection. You break to reset what was broken in the wrong way. You crush to restore.

Your love is fierce, Father. But it is good. It is not reckless—it is righteous. It is not wild—it is wise. It is not passive—it is powerful. It doesn’t leave me as I am, and for that, I am forever grateful.

I used to want a love that just made me feel safe. Now, I want a love that makes me holy.

“Real love seeks the well-being of the loved one. It warns to prevent more harm. It disciplines to create more growth.”

That’s You. That’s what You’ve been doing all along. And even though it’s been hard, I see the fruit. I see how You’re growing my patience, my humility, my prayer life. I see how You’ve used disappointments to draw me closer to You. I see how You’ve used closed doors to redirect me toward better ones. You’re not being cruel—you’re being kind.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” — James 1:17 (CSB)

You don’t change. Not with my moods, not with my mistakes, not with my questions. Your love stays constant when everything else shifts. Even when the world is loud and my own heart is confused, You remain. And Your love remains. And it’s holy. And it’s healing me.

A Prayer of Response:

Heavenly Father,

Thank You that Your love for me never ends. Thank You that it’s not based on my performance but on Your perfect nature. Thank You that when I fall short, You don’t walk away. Instead, You move closer. Thank You for the trials that lead me back to Your heart. Thank You for the pruning that prepares me for fruitfulness. Thank You that Your love confronts, corrects, and restores.

Lord, help me to trust You in the middle of refinement. When it hurts, remind me that You are near. When I’m tempted to believe that You are distant or angry, whisper again the truth that You are holy, and so is Your love. Help me to welcome Your discipline, knowing it is evidence that I am Your daughter.

Make me more like Jesus. Shape me with Your holy love. I surrender again tonight. Take everything that is not of You, and replace it with truth, with grace, and with fire.

And even if the mountains crumble, I will rest in the truth that Your love for me will never end.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Loving God with All Your Heart: What True Devotion Looks Like

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I feel both full and convicted. Full—because You’ve (GOD) been so present in my life lately. Convicted—because I realize there’s so much more of my heart I haven’t truly surrendered to You.

I keep coming back to this verse:

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.”
— Deuteronomy 6:5 (NIV)

All. That word has been echoing in my spirit lately. Not some of my heart. Not most of my soul. Not when it’s convenient. But all. Every part of who I am. Every moment. Every breath. Every hidden corner.

And if I’m honest with myself—painfully honest—I don’t know if I’ve really loved You with all my heart. I love You deeply, passionately, with a reverence that shapes my life. But I also know that sometimes I hold pieces of myself back. I cling to control, pride, comfort, and even fear.

This morning during my quiet time, I asked myself a tough question:
What does true devotion to God actually look like?

It’s not just going to church. It’s not just reading my Bible every morning. It’s not even just avoiding sin.

True devotion looks like love in action. It’s consistent surrender. It’s obedience even when it’s hard. It’s valuing Your voice over everyone else’s—even my own. It’s daily saying: Not my will, Lord, but Yours be done.

“If you love me, keep my commandments.”
— John 14:15 (KJV)

That verse wrecks me. Because it shows that love for You isn’t just emotional—it’s practical. Tangible. Expressed through obedience. You’re not asking me for a warm feeling. You’re asking for my life.

And I want to give it to You. Not just on the days I feel “spiritual,” but on the days I feel messy, distracted, or tired. Because You never asked for perfect—You asked for all.

Lord, teach me what it really means to love You with all my heart. I don’t want to be lukewarm. I don’t want to follow You halfway. I want to burn with devotion for You. I want my life to scream, “Jesus is worth everything.”

You showed me something today during my walk. As I passed this tree, I noticed how deeply its roots had grown into the ground. I felt You whisper, “That’s what I want your love to look like—deep, anchored, unshakable.”

I want roots like that. I don’t want to be the girl whose love withers in the heat of trial. I want to be found faithful, even when no one’s watching. Even when it costs me comfort or approval. Even when You’re asking me to do something I don’t understand.

That’s what loving You with all my heart looks like:
Loving You when I don’t feel You.
Loving You when prayers go unanswered.
Loving You when obedience is painful.
Loving You more than my own desires.

I think about Abraham and how he was willing to sacrifice Isaac. That’s what You call true devotion. That story always stretches me, but it also inspires me. Abraham trusted You so much, he was willing to give up the one thing he loved most. I want a heart like that.

“You shall have no other gods before me.”
— Exodus 20:3 (ESV)

No idols. Not relationships, not comfort, not success, not self. Nothing before You. That’s the challenge of true devotion—it requires an undivided heart. And some days, I realize how much work I still have to do.

Lord, search my heart. Tear down anything that competes with You. I don’t want to say I love You while secretly placing my trust in lesser things.

Right now, I want to offer You this simple, sincere prayer:

Father God,

You are worthy of my whole heart. Forgive me for the times I’ve given You only pieces of myself—when I’ve been half-hearted in worship, distracted in prayer, or hesitant in obedience.

Create in me a clean heart, O God. Renew a right spirit within me. Teach me to love You more deeply, more honestly, more fully. Help me to love You with all my heart, all my soul, all my strength—and not just in theory, but in how I live, speak, and choose each day.

Let my love for You be proven in the quiet places, not just the public ones. Make my heart soft to Your voice, and my feet quick to follow it.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Something I’ve learned lately is that love without discipline doesn’t go very far. That’s why I’ve been asking the Holy Spirit to help me build spiritual habits that reflect devotion—not obligation. It’s not about performing for You. It’s about being near You. Staying close.

So here’s what I’ve been working on:

  • Intentional time with You (not just checking a box)
  • Fasting distractions that pull my heart in different directions
  • Saying yes to uncomfortable obedience—like reaching out to someone I’d rather avoid
  • Choosing purity in how I talk, what I watch, and how I date
  • Praising You first—even before I ask for anything

None of these things earn Your love. But they flow from it. They’re the fruit of a heart that’s in love with You.

True devotion isn’t flashy. It’s steady. It’s showing up every day and saying, “Here I am, Lord. All of me. Again.”

“Blessed are those who keep His testimonies, who seek Him with the whole heart.”
— Psalm 119:2 (NKJV)

With my whole heart. That’s what I want, God. Not half. Not 80%. All.

I know I’ll fall short. I’ll have moments when I waver, when my heart gets pulled by shiny distractions or loud opinions. But even then, I pray You’ll pull me back. Redirect me. Remind me of the cross. Remind me of grace. Because the beautiful thing about loving You is that it’s not about perfection—it’s about pursuit.

And I’m pursuing You, Jesus. Day by day. Thought by thought. Step by step. I want to finish this life having poured it all out for You, with no regrets, no holding back.

So tonight, I’m making a quiet vow:
To love You not just with my words, but with my life.
To love You when no one else sees.
To love You with all my heart—even when it breaks.

Because You are worthy of all of me.

God’s Got This: Resting in His Faithfulness

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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

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

But You reminded me of something powerful today.

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

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”
— Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)

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

That stung.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s who You are, Lord.

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

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

Faith on Display: Is It Meant to Be Shared?

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Last night I sat in the corner booth of a cute little mom and pop coffee shop with my Bible open, my journal beside me, and a peppermint tea in hand—just like every Wednesday pretty much. But something about last night felt… different. Not in a dramatic or supernatural way, just a subtle stirring in my spirit that I couldn’t ignore.

There was a girl sitting two tables down. She looked about my age, maybe a little younger. Alone. Earbuds in, but she wasn’t really focused on her phone. She glanced at my Bible more than once. Not judging—more like curious.

I felt this nudge in my spirit—one I’ve felt before and honestly, too often ignored.

“Say something. Smile. Ask her if she wants to talk or pray.”

But I didn’t.

I froze. I told myself, “Maybe she doesn’t want to be bothered,” or “She probably thinks I’m weird.” And then, like a coward, I packed up and left early.

God, I’m sorry. Truly.

I’ve been thinking about this question for weeks now: Is my faith meant to be shared? And the answer is always yes. A loud, resounding yes. But I still hesitate.

Why?

I guess I don’t want to come off as “that girl”—the one who forces faith into every conversation. But then again… why shouldn’t I be that girl if I truly believe this is life-saving truth?

Romans 1:16 says, “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes.”

Am I ashamed? I don’t think so. But maybe I act like I am sometimes. That hurts to write out.

When I really sit with the thought, I think I’m more afraid of rejection than I am of disobedience. That’s heavy.

But Jesus never called us to comfort. He said, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23).

Denying myself includes denying that fear. That worry about awkwardness. That instinct to self-protect.

I think about the early church—how they risked everything to share the gospel. Not just reputation, but their very lives. And me? I can’t even risk an awkward moment in a coffee shop?

Lord, forgive me for my silence.

I remember reading 1 Peter 3:15—“Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” But it doesn’t stop there. It says to do this “with gentleness and respect.”

So maybe it’s not about being loud or invasive. It’s about being available. Present. Willing.

What would it look like if I made it a point to be more intentional? Not to push Jesus on people, but to present Him—in how I speak, how I love, how I show up in everyday moments?

Honestly, it’s easy to talk about Jesus when I’m with other Christians. At church, youth group, Bible study—we’re all speaking the same language. But outside those circles, I shrink. And that’s something I desperately want to change.

I don’t want a compartmentalized faith.

I want a faith that overflows. One that people can see and feel, even without a word—but especially with one.

Jesus said in Matthew 5:14-16:
“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden… let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”

What good is a light if I’m constantly hiding it under the weight of my own insecurity?

I don’t have all the answers. I’m still figuring out what it looks like to live a bold faith in a quiet, unassuming world. But I know this: I don’t want to live a life that keeps Jesus a secret.

So tonight, I’m praying this prayer.

A Prayer for Boldness and Compassion

Father,
You see every part of me—the parts that want to shout Your name from the rooftops, and the parts that whisper when I should speak boldly. I thank You that You’re patient with me. That You don’t condemn me for my hesitations, but gently invite me deeper.

Lord, give me courage. Not the kind the world gives, but the holy, Spirit-filled kind that can only come from You. The courage to speak when it’s uncomfortable. To offer a word, a smile, a prayer—even when I don’t know how it will be received.

Let me never be ashamed of the Gospel, because I know it’s the power of salvation. Remind me that sharing You isn’t about perfection or performance—it’s about love. Help me love people enough to risk my own pride.

And Lord, make me sensitive. Let me listen well. Let me follow Your nudges. Let me be a light—not a spotlight, not a floodlight—just a gentle, warm flame that points to You.

I surrender my fear, my image, my comfort. Use me, Lord. Not someday. Not when I feel ready. But now.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

So that’s where I was last night. A mix of conviction, hope, and longing. I don’t want to be silent anymore. My faith isn’t just mine—it’s a gift meant to be shared.

Next Wednesday, I’ll go back to that same coffee shop. Maybe she’ll be there again. Maybe she won’t. But either way, I’ll be ready this time.

And even if I’m not, God will be.

Please Lord, redeem California And protect this country from Gavin Newsom

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd


I am so frustrated right now. I can hardly focus on anything else but this heavy, burning weight in my heart about what’s happening in California—and what could happen to this entire country if people don’t wake up. I just need to pour it all out here, because I can’t yell it from the rooftops the way I want to, and I’m honestly too angry to speak to people about it without it turning into a fight. So I’m going to give it to You, Lord, raw and real.

Click Here to Watch How Disgraceful Gavin Newsom Really Is

Scripture #1 – Psalm 94:16
“Who will rise up for me against the wicked? Who will take a stand for me against evildoers?”
Lord, I feel like this verse is my whole mood lately. Who is standing up against the wicked policies in California? Who’s fighting for the unborn? For the children? For families who just want to raise their kids without the government shoving perversion, confusion, and chaos into their homes? I’m begging You to raise up leaders in California who love You, who fear You, and who will stand up against Gavin Newsom and everything he represents.

Prayer #1
Father God, I pray right now for the people of California. Open their eyes. Tear the veil off their faces. Show them what’s really happening. Give them wisdom to vote out Gavin Newsom. Let truth pierce through the deception and emotional manipulation. Raise up godly voices with courage. Silence the voices of confusion and darkness. Amen.

I look at what California has become under Newsom, and it makes me sick. Literal sanctuary for abortion—even pushing for full-term and post-birth killing. Schools hiding gender transitions from parents. Drag shows for kids. Skyrocketing crime. Taxes. Fires. Homelessness. People fleeing the state because they can’t take it anymore. And what does Gavin do? Smile for the cameras and pretend it’s all part of some glorious progressive utopia. It’s delusional. It’s evil.

And what’s worse is that he thinks he deserves to be President. President of the United States?!? God, I can’t even stomach the thought.

Scripture #2 – Isaiah 5:20
“Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness…”
Yes, Lord. That’s exactly what’s happening. They’re painting sin as virtue. They’re labeling righteousness as bigotry. And this man is leading the charge with his fake smile and soft voice, acting like he’s some moral hero when he’s literally spitting on Your Word and leading people astray.

Prayer #2
Jesus, I pray You would block Gavin Newsom from ever becoming President. Shut every door. Let the plans of the wicked be exposed and fall apart. Guard our nation from even entertaining the idea. Don’t let charisma or polished words deceive people. Give voters discernment. Give us courage to say “No.” We don’t need another puppet of darkness in the White House. Amen.

I know anger isn’t supposed to rule me. I’m not proud of how intense this is, but how can I not feel furious? He uses religion when it benefits him—quoting Jesus to justify killing babies. Quoting scripture to support policies that break Your commandments. It’s blasphemy. And people eat it up because it’s coated in political correctness and “tolerance.”

Scripture #3 – Proverbs 29:2
“When the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice: but when the wicked rule, the people mourn.”
That’s what California is doing—mourning. Silently, loudly, desperately. People are mourning their neighborhoods, their safety, their faith, their families, their very sanity under the weight of wicked leadership.

Prayer #3
God, raise up righteous leaders. We need bold men and women who are rooted in Your truth and not afraid to speak it. I pray for local elections, school boards, governors—let there be a holy uprising of people who are not ashamed of the Gospel. And may California, of all places, be a place where revival breaks out—not just spiritually, but politically and morally. Amen.

Sometimes I wonder if anyone else my age even cares. Most of them are either totally brainwashed or too afraid to say anything because it’s “unpopular.” But silence is complicity. And I’m not staying silent. I won’t. If that means losing friends, fine. If that means being the “crazy Christian girl” in the group chat, so be it. I care more about pleasing God than fitting in.

Scripture #4 – Galatians 1:10
“Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.”
That hits hard. I am a servant of Christ. I will speak truth, even when it costs me. Even if I’m mocked or labeled “intolerant.” Jesus wasn’t crucified for being politically correct. He was crucified for being right.

Prayer #4
Jesus, give me the boldness to speak the truth in love. Help me to not be ruled by anger, but to let it drive me toward action. Give me grace and clarity. Let my words reflect Your heart, even when I’m confronting darkness. And help others my age to rise up too. Light a fire in this generation. Amen.

I keep praying for California. It’s where so much influence comes from—media, tech, culture. If it stays under corrupt leadership, the rest of the nation suffers. And Gavin Newsom is a huge part of the problem. He’s not just a symptom—he’s a driver. A slick, dangerous one.

Scripture #5 – Ephesians 5:11
“Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them.”
I will not pretend like he’s just “a different opinion.” This is about life and death, truth and lies, freedom and oppression. I will expose the lies. And I’ll keep praying that others will too.

Prayer #5
God, expose Gavin Newsom for who he truly is. Let the media spin fall flat. Let people see the spiritual truth behind his policies. Don’t let deception win. And please—PLEASE—do not let this man ever become President. Protect this country. Wake us up before it’s too late. In Jesus’ powerful name, Amen.

I know You’re in control, Lord. That gives me peace, even when I feel overwhelmed. I trust You. I do. I just needed to vent. To process. To cry out. Because I don’t want to see America fall deeper into darkness. I don’t want my future kids growing up in a nation run by leaders who mock Your design.

Please, Lord… redeem California. And protect this country from Gavin Newsom.

Evil Los Angeles Rioters: 4 Prayers for America’s Police Officers

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I saw another clip today—more fires, more screaming, more broken glass and broken people. It’s all happening in Los Angeles again, and other cities too. I feel this awful weight in my chest, like I’m watching the heart of our country bleed out in slow motion. I just want to run somewhere quiet and safe, where the world isn’t upside down.

But most of all, I just keep thinking about the police officers—those men and women who go into the chaos every single day with a badge on their chest and targets on their backs. God, help them.

It feels like no one is praying for them anymore. Or maybe they are, but not loud enough. The world is shouting with so much anger that I wonder if our quiet prayers even get heard. But I have to believe they do. I have to.

Tonight, I prayed harder than I have in weeks. Not for myself, or even for peace in general—but specifically for every police officer in this country. The good ones. The tired ones. The scared ones. The brave ones. The ones who still show up even when they’re hated for just putting on the uniform.

I wrote down five prayers to keep in my Bible, and maybe I’ll print them and put them in my car or post them somewhere. Maybe someone else needs to pray them too.

Prayer 1: For Divine Protection
Dear Lord, please place Your heavenly protection around every police officer tonight. Whether they’re on duty in Los Angeles or in a quiet rural town, cover them with Your shield. Let no weapon formed against them prosper. Hold them close when they walk into danger, and guide their steps away from traps set by evil. Let them come home to their families safely. Please, Father, be their armor.

Prayer 2: For Peace in the Midst of Chaos
God, bring peace into the hearts of officers who are facing hostile crowds and terrifying situations. Let them feel Your presence in the noise. When bricks are thrown, when sirens scream, when their hands shake from adrenaline, remind them that they are never alone. Be their calm, their stillness in the storm. Let them breathe You in when everything around them feels like it’s falling apart.

Prayer 3: For Moral Strength and Discernment
Father, give officers the strength to do what is right even when it’s hard. Let them be just, wise, and merciful. Help them discern truth in a world full of lies and deception. May they reflect Your light in dark places, and make decisions with courage and integrity. Lord, we know not every officer is perfect, but help them strive to be righteous in every moment.

Prayer 4: For Their Families
Lord, please bless the families who say goodbye every morning not knowing if they’ll say hello again. Comfort the wives, husbands, parents, and children who wait by the door or the phone. Give them peace that surpasses understanding. Let them feel Your arms wrapped around them when anxiety creeps in. Protect not just the officers—but everyone who loves them.

Sometimes I feel silly writing things like this down, like maybe people would roll their eyes if they knew how much I care. But I do. I care so much it hurts. And I think part of that is because I’ve seen the other side. I’ve had friends in law enforcement. I’ve prayed with them, cried with them, and once even went to a funeral for one of them. He was only 30. Shot trying to help someone who was being robbed.

People don’t see that side. They see uniforms and headlines. They forget the tears. They forget that officers have hearts, that they go home and kiss their kids goodnight just like everyone else. And now, in this season of riots and rage, it feels like we’ve stopped listening. We’ve let hate be louder than hope.

But I won’t stop praying. Even if I’m the only one in my circle who does. Even if people think it’s old-fashioned or naive. I believe that prayer moves mountains. I believe that Jesus walks with our police officers, especially in the middle of the fire. And if no one else will say their names in prayer—I will.

So tonight, as my candles flicker and the wind blows outside, I lift every officer’s name up to heaven. The ones I know, and the ones I don’t. The ones who feel invisible. The ones who are barely holding on. The ones who still believe in protecting and serving, even when it costs everything.

Lord, hold them close. Don’t let go of them.

And maybe—just maybe—heal us too.

Jehovah-Jireh: Relax and Never Forget That God is Always in Control

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

This was a very difficult post for me to write, although it may not seem like it while reading, but this is my 5th draft, and I’m still not sure if it’s as polished as I hoped it would be, but I started writing this a few weeks ago, and have decided to hit “PUBLISH”. I do hope it’s worthy of your eyes. God bless!

Please enjoy………

If you were to ask me which name of God means the most to me, I wouldn’t even hesitate. Without a doubt, it’s Jehovah-Jireh — “The Lord Will Provide.” It’s one of those names that has become deeply personal over the years. Not just a theological concept or something I read about once in a devotional, but a truth that I’ve had to cling to through real-life moments of fear, uncertainty, and waiting.

The first time this name shows up in Scripture is in Genesis 22, and honestly, every time I read that story, it hits a little different. It’s the one where God tells Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son, Isaac — the very child God had promised him. Like, imagine that. You finally get the promise you’ve waited years and years for, and now God asks you to lay it on the altar? That’s intense.

So Abraham and Isaac climb up Mount Moriah. And somewhere along the way, Isaac notices something’s off. He looks around and goes, “Hey Dad, we’ve got the fire and the wood, but where’s the lamb for the burnt offering?” (Genesis 22:7). And Abraham, in what I imagine was a mix of steady faith and a trembling heart, answers, “God will provide for Himself the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.”

Spoiler alert (but also Bible history): just as Abraham is about to sacrifice Isaac, God stops him. An angel of the Lord calls out to him, and Abraham looks up to see a ram caught in a nearby thicket. God had already placed that ram there — ahead of time, before Abraham or Isaac even started their climb. Abraham ends up naming that place Jehovah-Jireh, saying, “On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided” (Genesis 22:14).

That phrase — Jehovah-Jireh — literally means “The Lord will provide,” but there’s something deeper in the original Hebrew. It carries the idea of seeing ahead of time. God doesn’t just provide in the moment; He sees your need before you even know you have one. He’s already made a way. He’s already put the ram in the thicket.

That gets me every time.

Because here’s the thing: life is hard. I’m 24, and while I’m still learning and growing (a lot!), I’ve already been through enough to know that life rarely goes according to plan. The economy is wild. Friendships change. Health scares show up out of nowhere. Doors close without warning. Sometimes it feels like everything is spinning, and I’m doing my best to hold it all together with coffee, prayer, and a halfway decent Spotify worship playlist.

But in the middle of all that chaos, I come back to Jehovah-Jireh. I come back to the God who provides — the God who sees me and knows what I need, even when I don’t know how to ask for it.

If I’m being honest, one of my biggest struggles is control. I like to have a plan. I like to know what’s next. I’m that girl with the color-coded planner, the backup plans, and the contingency ideas just in case things don’t go perfectly. Letting go and trusting in God does come naturally for me, but trusting in others does not. It’s like getting on an airplane and handing over control to a pilot I’ve never met. I have no idea what they’re doing, how they’re navigating, or what turbulence is coming — but I have to trust they’ll get me safely to my destination.

That’s what walking with God is like. He sees the storm clouds before we even feel the raindrops. He knows which paths are dangerous and which ones will grow us. And He knows exactly when to bring the ram into view.

I’ve had seasons where provision looked like a last-minute job offer I didn’t expect. Other times, it was a friend texting at just the right moment to pray with me. I’ve seen God provide financially when I didn’t know how I’d pay rent. I’ve seen Him provide peace that didn’t make sense and guidance when I felt totally lost.

Provision isn’t always flashy. Sometimes it’s quiet — a small shift in your heart, a whisper of hope, a sense that even though you don’t have the full answer yet, you’re not alone. Jehovah-Jireh shows up in the details, in the waiting, and even in the heartbreak.

We tend to think that provision always means getting what we want — the dream job, the healing, the breakthrough. But sometimes, God provides in the not yet. Sometimes, His provision is the strength to endure. The grace to wait well. The peace that doesn’t come from circumstances, but from knowing He’s near.

God is never surprised. Like, ever. Nothing catches Him off guard. That test result? He saw it coming. That sudden layoff? He already had a plan. That friendship that fell apart? He knows what it means, and He knows how to heal you. He’s not distant. He’s not panicking. He’s not playing catch-up.

He is Jehovah-Jireh.

So here’s what I’m learning to do (imperfectly, but intentionally): I’m learning to take my hands off the wheel. I’m learning to stop trying to run the show and instead, trust that God is already ahead of me. I don’t have to manipulate things into working out. I don’t have to stress myself sick trying to make sure everything goes perfectly. My job is obedience and trust. His job is provision and timing.

If you’re in a season where you don’t see the ram yet — where you’re climbing the mountain and you’re tired and confused and wondering what in the world God is doing — take heart. He’s not late. He hasn’t forgotten you. The thicket is closer than you think.

Maybe the provision won’t look like what you expected. Maybe it’ll stretch your faith and require more waiting than you planned for. But you can trust that God will provide. Because it’s not just what He does — it’s who He is.

So today, even if your world feels unstable and your heart feels heavy, remember the God of Abraham. Remember the God who sees in advance. Remember Jehovah-Jireh.

And take a deep breath — He’s already gone ahead of you.

Beyond the Offense: Walking in Grace Every Day

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I’ve been thinking a lot about grace — not just the kind God gives me (which is endless and overwhelming), but the kind I struggle to give others.

It hit me today while I was standing in line at the grocery store. The cashier was moving slowly, visibly flustered, and my first reaction was frustration. My thoughts weren’t kind. I didn’t say anything harsh out loud, but inside… I was not gracious. And I’ve been carrying that moment around with me all day. Not because it was huge, but because it revealed something in me.

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I want to be someone who extends grace. But if I’m honest, I’m quick to criticize and slow to encourage. I spot flaws faster than I celebrate growth in others.

“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” – Ephesians 4:32 (NIV)

This verse has been tugging at my heart all week. God has shown me so much mercy — and I didn’t earn a bit of it. So why is it so hard for me to pass it on? Why do I expect people to be perfect, when I know I’m not?

Prayer 1:


Jesus, help me reflect You. Not just in what I say I believe, but in how I treat people. Make me someone who notices the good, who gives the benefit of the doubt, who’s patient with others the way You’re endlessly patient with me.

I’ve especially noticed how easy it is to be hard on the people closest to me. I snap at my siblings when they annoy me. I judge my friends for choices I don’t agree with. I get irritated when my parents repeat themselves or when my coworker is late — again. And yet, God doesn’t deal with me like that.

“The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.” – Psalm 103:8 (NIV)

I read that and think: How can I possibly mirror that kind of love? But then I remember — it’s not something I can manufacture on my own. It’s the Holy Spirit in me. Without Him, I’m just stuck in my old ways.

Prayer 2:
Holy Spirit, please shape me. Soften the parts of me that are harsh, impatient, and critical. Create in me a heart that is gentle and gracious. I want to grow, even if it means being uncomfortable.

I know I’m not alone in this. Our whole culture encourages us to “speak our truth,” to be brutally honest, to point out what’s wrong in everyone else. But I’m starting to see that sometimes the bravest thing is to hold back criticism, and instead speak words that build others up.

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up, according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” – Ephesians 4:29 (NIV)

I feel convicted reading that. How often do my words actually build others up? Not as often as they should. I gossip sometimes, even if I call it venting. I speak in sarcasm and call it humor. I critique my church instead of praying for it. I highlight what’s lacking instead of celebrating what God is doing.

Prayer 3:
Father, forgive me for using my words carelessly. Help me be someone who speaks life, who encourages more than critiques. Let my mouth be an instrument of grace — not just with friends, but even with strangers.

What’s crazy is that I know grace works. I’ve experienced it. There have been times when I’ve failed, and instead of condemnation, I received love and understanding. Those moments changed me more than any lecture ever could.

So why don’t I lead with grace more often? Maybe it’s pride. Maybe I think people should know better. But then I think of Jesus — how He washed feet, how He forgave from the cross, how He invited sinners to eat with Him.

“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:8 (NIV)

He didn’t wait for us to clean up. He loved us right where we were. That humbles me. Because I don’t deserve that kind of love — and yet, I’ve received it every single day.

Prayer 4:
Jesus, make me more like You. Help me stop measuring others by standards I can’t even meet myself. Fill me with compassion. Let Your grace flow through me — not just to me.

I think one of the hardest things is learning to forgive people who don’t apologize, or who don’t even realize they hurt me. But I’ve learned that holding onto offense doesn’t protect me — it poisons me. Grace, on the other hand, frees me.

“Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” – Colossians 3:13 (NIV)

That’s the standard. Forgive as the Lord forgave me. And how did He forgive me? Fully. Freely. Forever.

Prayer 5:
Lord, give me the strength to forgive when it’s hard. When people don’t say sorry. When they don’t change. When I’m tempted to hold a grudge. I want to live light and free — not weighed down by bitterness.

Tonight, as I sit with all of this, I feel a holy discomfort. God is stretching me. But it’s not out of guilt — it’s out of love. He’s inviting me into a new way of living. A way marked by grace. Not just receiving it, but extending it.

So tomorrow, I want to try again. I want to be slower to speak and quicker to understand. I want to catch myself before I criticize. I want to look for the good. And when I mess up — because I will — I’ll lean into His grace once again.

He’s not asking me to be perfect. He’s asking me to be surrendered.

Parenthood, Not Gay Pride: Children Deserve a Mom and Dad

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I’m so mad I can barely think straight. I don’t even want to write right now, but I feel like I have to. If I don’t pour this out to God, I might explode.

Everywhere I turn — social media, news, even some churches — they’re pushing this idea that any kind of family is okay. That love is love. That it doesn’t matter if a child has a mom and a dad, or two dads, or two moms, or who even knows what else. And I know I’m supposed to be kind and tolerant, but when I see God’s design being flipped upside down, it stirs something in me that I can’t ignore.

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I feel alone sometimes in what I believe. Like if I open my mouth and say what’s on my heart, I’ll be labeled a bigot or hateful. But I’m not hateful. I care. That’s why it makes me so angry — because kids are being robbed of something sacred. They need both a mother and a father. That’s how God made it.

“So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.” – Genesis 1:27 (NKJV)

I believe this down to my bones. God made man and woman on purpose. It wasn’t random. It was intentional. Masculinity and femininity reflect different aspects of God’s character. And a child raised by both a mom and a dad gets the chance to learn from both — to be nurtured and challenged, comforted and protected. That balance matters.

—

Lord, I’m angry right now. But underneath that anger is grief. I feel like the world is calling evil good and good evil. Please help me respond with both truth and grace. Give me boldness, but also wisdom. Don’t let my frustration become sin. Help me speak Your truth in love.

—

Today I saw a video of two men adopting a baby. The comments were full of applause — people calling them brave, calling it beautiful. I couldn’t help but feel sick to my stomach. Not because I hate them — I don’t. I actually feel sad for them. But also sad for the baby. That child will never know the warmth of a mother’s embrace. And we’re supposed to just smile and say “love is love”? I can’t.

“Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; who put darkness for light, and light for darkness…” – Isaiah 5:20

I want to scream. I want to ask people — don’t you see what’s happening? This isn’t just about opinions. This is about children’s lives. This is about foundational truths. This is about God’s order being traded in for chaos.

But when I speak up, I get told I’m judgmental. That Jesus would accept everyone. And yes, He did welcome everyone, but He also told them to go and sin no more. He never compromised truth just to keep the peace.

—

Jesus, help me love like You. You never backed down from truth, and You never stopped loving. That’s the kind of boldness I want — one rooted in Your Spirit. I don’t want to be self-righteous, but I also refuse to go silent. Give me courage to speak when it’s uncomfortable. Help me stand for children and for Your design, even if the world hates me for it.

—

I don’t hate gay people. I don’t wish them harm. But I’m tired of being forced to say that their version of family is equal to what God created. It’s not. I won’t pretend that it is. Not because I’m mean — but because I believe God’s way is best.

“Have you not read that He who made them at the beginning ‘made them male and female,’ and said, ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife’?” – Matthew 19:4-5

Jesus said that. Not Paul, not Moses — Jesus. That’s all the confirmation I need. Marriage is between a man and a woman. And children deserve to grow up under that covenant, not some modern substitute.

—

God, I confess that I’ve been afraid to talk about this. I don’t want to lose friends. I don’t want to be mocked or misunderstood. But I also don’t want to betray You by going silent. Please give me strength. Let my convictions come from Your Word, not my emotions. And let my emotions be sanctified by truth.

—

I think part of my anger comes from fear, if I’m honest. I wonder what kind of world I’ll raise my future children in. Will they be taught that biology doesn’t matter? That two dads are the same as a mom and a dad? That feelings define reality?

It terrifies me. I don’t want my kids growing up in a world that erases God’s fingerprints from creation.

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

But how can we train children in the way of the Lord if we’re teaching them lies from the start? That their mother is optional? That their father is replaceable? God help us.

—

Father, protect the next generation. Raise up moms and dads who will fight for their families, who will model Your love, who won’t compromise. And for those children who grow up without both parents, bring healing. Be their Father. Be their hope. But let us never stop upholding Your design, even when culture tries to rewrite it.

—

I cried earlier. Just sat in my car and cried because I feel so heavy with this. I don’t want to be angry. I want to be hopeful. But I can’t pretend everything’s fine when it’s not.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” – John 10:10

That’s what keeps me going. Jesus came to restore what was broken. That includes families. That includes our culture. That includes me.

—

Jesus, bring revival. Let truth rise up again in this land. Let churches stop watering down Your Word just to avoid controversy. Let us not be ashamed of the gospel — not in our homes, not in public, not anywhere. Help me love fiercely, but also stand firmly. You are truth, and I won’t trade You for comfort.

—

I’m still angry. But I think now I’m also a little more grounded. I needed this time with God. I needed to write this all down — the fire, the fear, the frustration. I may be 24, but I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime already trying to make sense of a world that doesn’t want truth.

But I still believe. I still trust His plan. And I will not stay silent.