Tag: christianity

When Doing Good Gets Hard

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

The world feels so far from God, so blind to truth. It’s like I’m watching everything I once believed to be sacred get mocked, twisted, and cast aside. Morality is now “hate,” and sin is celebrated as “love.” Sometimes I feel like I’m screaming into the void, trying to shine light in a world that only wants darkness.

I walked downtown today to grab a coffee and journal a bit, hoping I could clear my head and maybe find some peace in nature. But the streets were filled with rainbow flags again. I get it—people feel empowered, seen, heard. But it breaks my heart to see how normalized sin has become. It’s everywhere: on billboards, TV shows, clothing lines, even kids’ cartoons. And no one blinks anymore. What’s wrong is right, and what’s right is “intolerant.” I can’t understand how we’ve fallen this far.

Scripture 1:

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

Lord, is this not exactly what we’re living through?

Prayer 1:
God, I feel like I’m drowning in a world that has forgotten You. Please strengthen my heart. Let me not grow bitter or cold, but filled with Your truth and compassion. Help me to keep standing in Your Word, even when the world calls me hateful. You know my heart, Lord. Keep it pure.

I saw a group of young women my age laughing and taking selfies with signs promoting abortion “rights.” They looked so proud—so confident. I had to look away. The idea of ending life and calling it “freedom” makes me sick. I don’t hate them, Lord. I truly don’t. But I mourn for the babies, and I mourn for the lies these women have been fed. They’ve been told they’re empowered, but they’re only being led deeper into darkness.

Scripture 2:

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you.” – Jeremiah 1:5

Each baby is a soul, a creation of God. How have we come to treat life like a burden instead of a blessing?

Prayer 2:
Father, my heart is broken for the unborn. For every child whose voice was never heard, who never saw sunlight or felt a mother’s embrace. Have mercy on us, Lord. Have mercy on this generation. Open our eyes to the value of life, and help me be a voice of love, not condemnation.

I feel like I’m constantly walking this tightrope—how do I speak truth without sounding cruel? How do I love like Jesus when my beliefs are seen as outdated and oppressive?

Even at church, I feel a shift. Some pastors are watering down the gospel to keep people comfortable. I understand wanting to reach people, but not at the expense of truth. Jesus was never afraid to speak hard truths. He flipped tables. He called sin what it was. But He also loved fiercely. I want to be like that. I have to be like that.

Scripture 3:

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind…” – Romans 12:2

Even if the whole world shifts, I won’t. I can’t.

Prayer 3:
Jesus, help me not to conform. Even when I feel alone, remind me that You were hated too. You stood for truth and love in perfect harmony. Give me boldness to do the same. Let my life reflect You—even if I lose friends, status, or comfort along the way.

Sometimes I wish I lived in a different time—a time when Christian values were the norm and not the exception. But maybe I’m here for a reason. Maybe God placed me in this moment, in this broken world, for a purpose. Maybe I was born for such a time as this.

Scripture 4:

“And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” – Esther 4:14

I don’t feel royal most days. I feel weak and small and tired. But God uses the weak. He always has.

Prayer 4:
Lord, if You can use someone like Esther, You can use me. Let me be a light in this darkness. Let me be salt in a tasteless world. And when I feel like giving up, hold me tighter. You are my strength when I have none.

I think what hurts most is that many people think I’m hateful just because I believe in biblical truth. But my heart aches for this generation. I want people to know they were made for more. That sex isn’t love. That pleasure isn’t purpose. That there is a better way—and His name is Jesus.

I know I’m not perfect. I have my own sins, my own struggles. But I’m forgiven, redeemed, and called to live differently.

Scripture 5:

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.” – Matthew 5:14

I may be small, but I’m not invisible. I can shine. Even if the world doesn’t like it.

Prayer 5:
Jesus, let me be that city on a hill. Let my light shine—not so people see me, but so they see You. Give me courage to speak when I’m scared, to love when I’m angry, to stand when it would be easier to sit down. Help me never give up on Your truth, no matter what the world says.

Tonight, I’m ending this day with both tears and hope.

I know the road ahead won’t be easy. The darkness will keep getting louder. But so will my light. I wasn’t called to be comfortable—I was called to be faithful.

So I’ll keep sharing the gospel. I’ll keep praying for hearts to change. I’ll keep leading by example—quietly, boldly, consistently. Even if it costs me everything.

Jesus gave everything for me.

I can’t give Him any less.

– Amen.

God, Why Am I Always at War?

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I’m so exhausted, Lord. So spiritually tired. I’m angry—not just annoyed, not just inconvenienced—angry. Raging. I feel like I’m walking through life with a bullseye on my back and every demon in hell has permission to aim. Why? Because I belong to You? Because I chose Jesus over comfort? Then where’s the peace You promised?

“Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” – Ephesians 6:17

I read that verse today like it’s supposed to be some magical defense, but if I’m being completely honest, it just made me more frustrated. What the heck is the helmet of salvation supposed to do when my mind feels like a warzone? I feel like I’m drowning in lies, constantly second-guessing if I’m even saved at all. Isn’t the helmet supposed to protect my thoughts?

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Prayer #1:
God, I need You to quiet the noise. Put Your hands over my ears and silence the voices that tell me I’m worthless, faithless, hopeless. Remind me what salvation actually means—because right now, it just feels like another label I don’t live up to.

I’m tired of people preaching like we’re not supposed to struggle with doubt. Like salvation is a one-time prayer and poof, we’re bulletproof. No one talks about the days where you cry yourself to sleep asking God if He still loves you. No one admits that they sometimes wonder if they’re too broken for grace.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” – 2 Timothy 1:7

Then why is my mind so noisy? Why do I feel like I’m stuck in a blender of thoughts that I can’t shut off? If salvation is supposed to protect my mind, how come I still wake up feeling anxious, confused, like I’m failing as a Christian?

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Prayer #2:
Jesus, help me believe that You didn’t save me to abandon me. Help me trust that even in my doubt, You’re still holding me. I want to believe You’re still proud of me, even when I’m a mess.

Today at church, the pastor said the helmet of salvation guards our identity in Christ. I rolled my eyes. If it really did, why is it the first thing that gets attacked? My identity in You feels like it’s under constant assault. One day I believe I’m a child of God, the next day I feel like a fraud. I’m sick of this rollercoaster.

“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” – Romans 8:1

Then why do I feel condemned all the time? I make one mistake and it’s like my brain goes into full panic mode—“You’re not really saved, are you? Real Christians don’t mess up like that.” I hate how easily I forget grace. I hate how quickly I believe the worst about myself.

Prayer #3:
Lord, cover my mind. Not with Pinterest quotes or cute Instagram theology—but with truth. Remind me who I am. Remind me that salvation isn’t about my perfection, but Your persistence. Thank You for chasing me even when I don’t feel worth chasing.

I think I’ve misunderstood the helmet. I thought it was supposed to stop the attacks from coming. But maybe it’s not about that. Maybe it’s about protection in the fight, not from it.

“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.” – Isaiah 26:3

Peace feels like a fairy tale some days. I don’t even know what “perfect peace” looks like. But I want to. God, I want to trust You enough that my thoughts stop spiraling every time something goes wrong. I want a mind that’s steadfast, not scattered.

It’s just… hard. So freaking hard. The people around me think I’m strong because I quote scripture and lead Bible study and show up with a smile. But inside I feel like I’m barely holding on. Nobody sees the nights I scream into my pillow, asking You where You are.

Prayer #4:
God, give me the kind of faith that holds when everything is falling apart. Not the “churchy” kind, but the raw, real kind that fights for truth when everything inside me feels like it’s lying.

I think I finally get what the helmet of salvation really is—it’s not something I put on to look holy. It’s not about appearances. It’s about remembrance. It’s a helmet because I’m in battle. It’s salvation because that’s my anchor. It protects my mind from forgetting who I am and whose I am.

“The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me.” – Psalm 28:7

I don’t feel strong. I feel like glass. But maybe You’re strong in me. Maybe the helmet doesn’t stop the blows, but it keeps them from cracking my skull open. Maybe salvation doesn’t mean I don’t fall—but it means I never fall alone.

Prayer #5:
God, help me to remember that You’ve already won. Even when I feel like I’m losing. Even when my thoughts are chaos and my heart is heavy. Teach me to wear this helmet every day—to cling to the truth that I’m Yours, even when I don’t feel like it.

So yeah, I’m still angry. I’m angry that being saved doesn’t mean being safe from pain. I’m angry that the mind You gave me is also the battlefield the enemy uses the most. But I’m also starting to understand that my anger doesn’t scare You. You already knew this walk wouldn’t be easy. That’s why You gave me armor.

So tomorrow, I’ll wake up, and I’ll put on the helmet of salvation—not as some shiny religious badge, but as a reminder:
I’m still here.
I’m still His.
And I’m still fighting.

Because my mind may be a battlefield—but my Savior is a warrior.

And He doesn’t lose.

Somewhere between heartbreak and holy fire

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I’m writing this with my jaw clenched and tears just sitting there—right at the edge. Not sad tears. Angry tears. Tired tears. This world is so lost, and no one even cares. They laugh at God. They mock His name. They sin boldly like they’re invincible—and they’re proud of it.

I’m only 24, but I feel 100. I see people partying through their pain, “manifesting” instead of praying, worshiping crystals instead of Christ, and saying “universe” when they mean “God”—but they don’t want Him. Not really. They want the blessings, the safety, the peace—but not the Lord of Hosts who brings them.

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And honestly? I’m furious.

“The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.’ They are corrupt, they do abominable deeds; there is none who does good.” — Psalm 14:1

Lord, are You watching this?
Prayer 1: God, I’m begging You—burn away this apathy. Wreck the fake peace these people have. Tear through the arrogance with Your truth. Let the weight of eternity settle on them like thunder. They think it’s a joke. They think they’re safe. They are not safe.

I scroll through social media and see influencers joking about going to hell—like it’s some kind of edgy club. Do they even know what they’re saying? Do they know what hell really is? The torment? The eternal separation from You, the absence of light, of love, of hope? Do they realize they’re laughing about eternal damnation?

“And if anyone’s name was not found written in the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire.” — Revelation 20:15

Prayer 2: God, don’t let them die like this. Please. Don’t let them die thinking You were a myth. Wake them up. Do whatever it takes—rip their idols out of their hands if You have to. Wreck their comfort zones. Don’t let them stay blind.

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I talk to people I love—friends I grew up with, who used to come to church with me. Now they say “Christianity is toxic” and “God is oppressive.” No, what’s toxic is this world convincing people they can live without the One who created breath. What’s oppressive is sin—chaining people, calling it freedom.

Hell isn’t unfair. It’s not cruel. What’s cruel is knowing the truth and staying silent while people walk into it.

“Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many.” — Matthew 7:13

Prayer 3: Jesus, I need to know You’re still breaking hearts open. That You’re still drawing the lost. Because I feel like I’m screaming into the void and no one hears me. Everyone thinks they’re “spiritual” now. But without You, it’s all empty. Dead. Demonic, even.

Some days, I want to shake people. Scream in their faces. “Wake up! You’re not just ‘going through a phase.’ You’re playing chicken with eternity. You think you have time—but you don’t.” I wish I could show them even one second of what hell looks like. The regret. The finality. The burning knowledge that they rejected grace.

“They will suffer the punishment of eternal destruction, away from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might.” — 2 Thessalonians 1:9

Prayer 4: Father, help me carry this. Help me not to let my anger become pride. You love them more than I ever could. You died for them, even while they mocked You. Make me bold without being bitter. Help me to speak truth with fire and compassion.

I know I sound harsh. Maybe I am. But it’s because I know what’s coming. I know eternity is real. Heaven isn’t a fairy tale. Hell isn’t a metaphor. It’s not some literary device—it’s God’s wrath, forever. And people I love are headed there because they want to be their own gods.

I know I can’t save anyone. Only You can. But I refuse to act like it’s not urgent. I refuse to be lukewarm. I’d rather be hated for speaking truth than be popular for staying silent.

“Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life; whoever does not obey the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God remains on him.” — John 3:36

Prayer 5: Lord, use me as a warning if You must. Let my life shout Your name. Let my words carry eternity. I don’t care if they call me a fanatic, or a freak. I care that they know You. I care that they don’t burn.

There’s this lie going around that a “loving God would never send people to hell.” But they forget: He gave us a way out. He sent His Son. He bled for us. If we choose to reject that—what else is left? Hell isn’t a contradiction of His love—it’s the consequence of refusing it.

I’m writing this because I feel like I’m suffocating. Everyone’s so numb. So casual. And I’m sitting here with fire in my bones and no one wants to hear it. But I’ll keep saying it. I’ll keep praying. Even when I’m exhausted. Even when I’m alone.

Because eternity is coming, and I refuse to pretend otherwise.

Amen.

Only Liars Can’t Admit Abortion is Murder

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

So here’s the TRUTH: if you cannot admit that abortion is murder, then you are either deceived, or you are willfully rebelling against God — plain and simple. And yes, I said murder. I don’t care what kind of soft, shiny, “healthcare” label the world wants to slap on it — abortion is the taking of an innocent life. A baby. A heartbeat. A soul knit by God.

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you.” – Jeremiah 1:5

People treat that verse like a sweet lullaby. But it’s not just poetic. It’s literal. God forms life in the womb. So if someone reaches into that sacred place and ends that life, how is that not murder?

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I’m sick of pretending this is a “gray area.” It’s not. It’s black and white. It’s life or death.

Prayer #1:
God, I need Your help because I’m so angry. I feel this fire in my bones and I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t want to be bitter, but I want to be bold. Teach me how to speak truth with love — not softness, but holiness. Please, help me use my anger righteously, not destructively. Amen.

I saw someone post today — “You’re not really pro-life if you don’t support welfare, open borders, and universal healthcare.” Are you KIDDING me? That is such a cheap trick. Like, sorry I don’t want babies murdered in the womb before we even talk about policy. Saving lives isn’t a political opinion, it’s a moral obligation.

I’m not going to sit here and debate economics with someone who’s okay with a child being torn apart in a womb. Priorities, people.

“Rescue those being led away to death; hold back those staggering toward slaughter.” – Proverbs 24:11

You know what really gets to me? The way Christians — people who claim to love Jesus — twist Scripture to justify this. They say, “Jesus didn’t talk about abortion.” No, but He did talk about loving the least of these. About protecting children. About not shedding innocent blood. He didn’t have to say the word “abortion” — the heart of God is obvious.

Prayer #2:
Jesus, I’m heartbroken at the compromise in the Church. Raise up a generation that fears You more than they fear backlash. Wake up the pastors who are too scared to lose their platform. Let them cry out for the unborn. Give us courage. Give us conviction. Give us clarity. Amen.

I keep asking myself — why are people so okay with this? How can they look at an ultrasound, see a heartbeat, see fingers and toes, and still say, “It’s a choice”? That’s not just blindness — that’s rebellion.

“Woe to those who call evil good and good evil.” – Isaiah 5:20

We’re living in those days right now. Where speaking up for the voiceless is “extreme,” but advocating for dismemberment is “compassion.” I feel like I’m screaming into the void. And yeah, maybe I sound harsh. But Jesus flipped tables, didn’t He? There’s a time for tenderness and a time for truth that cuts.

Prayer #3:
Father, give me a heart that breaks for what breaks Yours. Don’t let me grow numb. Don’t let me get cynical. Let me stay tender enough to care, but tough enough to stand. Let me weep for the babies and fight for them too. Keep me close to Your Spirit, always. Amen.

There are days I honestly wonder if I’m crazy. Because I watch people celebrate abortion like it’s a victory — popping champagne and clapping like they’ve done something noble. It makes me sick. I wish I could shake them and say, “Don’t you see what you’re cheering for? Death isn’t liberation. It’s loss.”

And yet, God reminds me — even the ones who support abortion were made in His image. That’s the hard part. Loving the people who support evil without compromising the truth.

“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” – Romans 12:21

Sometimes I want to explode. But other times, I just want to cry. For the millions of children who never got to take their first breath. For the mothers who were lied to. For the Church that went silent.

Prayer #4:
God, I forgive the ones who mock the truth. I don’t understand their hearts, but You do. I trust You to be the Judge. Help me stay focused on obedience, not outcomes. I want to be faithful, not famous. I want to please You, not the world. Amen.

You know what I dream of? A day when abortion clinics are shut down — not by force, but because hearts are changed. A day when children are seen as blessings again, not burdens. A day when women are supported, not exploited by an industry that profits off their fear.

I know it sounds impossible. But with God, nothing is.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute.” – Proverbs 31:8

And I will. Even if it costs me friends. Even if I’m misunderstood. Even if I’m called names. Because babies are worth it. Truth is worth it. God is worth it.

Prayer #5:
Jesus, keep using me. Even when I feel tired. Even when I feel alone. Let my words carry Your fire. Let my life reflect Your heart. And if I mess up — which I will — remind me that grace is still mine. But don’t let me back down. Make me a warrior for life. Amen.

This world may not listen. But I will speak. I will write. I will fight. Because silence is not an option.

So here’s the truth — and I will say it again:
Abortion is murder.
Life is sacred.
God is just.
And if that makes me a problem, so be it.

You ARE NOT Catholic if you support Abortion. You are Just EVIL!

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I’m angry. No, I’m furious. My heart is pounding and my hands are literally shaking as I write this. I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay when I see people—especially people in power—standing up, smiling, quoting Jesus on Sunday, and then turning around and supporting the murder of unborn babies on Monday. Enough is enough.

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Joe Biden. The man claims he’s Catholic. He crosses himself. He shows up to Mass. He talks about faith and compassion and unity. But he’s also one of the most vocal pro-abortion leaders we’ve ever had in this country. How do those two things go together? THEY DON’T.

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

How can you say you’re Christian—follower of Christ, lover of truth, defender of the innocent—and also believe in killing babies? How dare you twist Christianity into some feel-good political identity while standing for the legalized destruction of God’s creation?

Prayer #1:
Lord Jesus, give me the courage to speak truth even when the world hates it. Give me the fire of righteousness that You had when You overturned the tables in the temple. Let me stand unshaken against the hypocrisy around me. Amen.

I’m sick of this lukewarm Christianity that picks and chooses what parts of the Bible to follow like it’s some spiritual buffet. You don’t get to be pro-baby murder and still claim the name of Christ. You don’t. You can’t.

Jesus loved children. He said let them come to Him. He didn’t say, “Let the government fund their murder if it’s inconvenient.”

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you.” – Jeremiah 1:5

Life begins in the womb. That’s not just a religious opinion. That’s biology. That’s truth. That’s God’s Word. And yet here we are, in 2025, still debating whether babies are people. Still watching politicians pretend they’re men of faith while ignoring the most innocent among us.

I watched a clip of Biden the other day talking about how his Catholicism “guides his compassion.” And all I could think was—where is your compassion for the unborn? Where is your compassion for the voiceless? You show more sympathy for “women’s rights” than the right to life itself.

Prayer #2:
God, I’m overwhelmed by the lies being accepted as truth. Help me not grow weary in doing good. Help me be a voice for the voiceless, even when I’m mocked or silenced. Your justice is perfect. Give me strength to wait for it. Amen.

I know I sound harsh. But Jesus wasn’t soft when it came to hypocrisy. He hated it. He didn’t dance around the truth to keep the peace. He called the Pharisees vipers and whitewashed tombs. And today’s political “Christians” who support abortion are no different. You say you’re with Jesus, but you deny His Word.

“You shall not murder.” – Exodus 20:13

That commandment doesn’t come with a footnote: unless the baby is unwanted, inconvenient, or has Down syndrome. Murder is murder. The womb is supposed to be the safest place on earth—and yet it’s become a battlefield. And people like Biden, Kamala, and others are cheerleaders for that violence.

Prayer #3:
Father, break the hearts of those in power. Convict them. Bring them to repentance. Show them the horror of what they support and bring them into the light. Let no life be taken without Your justice rising up. Amen.

I was raised Catholic. I’ve read the Catechism. I’ve read the Bible. I’ve sat in pews listening to homilies about the dignity of life. You CANNOT be Catholic and pro-abortion. It’s a contradiction. It’s a lie. And I refuse to be silent about it just because it makes people uncomfortable.

I keep seeing people on Instagram putting crosses in their bios and then posting “shout your abortion” stories. That’s not Jesus. That’s not Christianity. That’s the enemy dressing up sin to look like empowerment.

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind.” – Romans 12:2

I don’t want to be popular. I don’t want to be politically correct. I want to be faithful. I want to stand before God someday and hear “Well done.” And I won’t hear that if I stay silent while children are being sacrificed on the altar of choice.

And that’s what it is. Modern-day child sacrifice. Just like the Israelites who turned to Molech and let their babies burn, we have become a nation that sacrifices the innocent for convenience, careers, and comfort.

Prayer #4:
Jesus, wake up Your Church. Shake us out of apathy. Let us mourn for the babies. Let us rise up with holy rage and holy compassion. Let us be the hands that rescue and the voices that cry out. Amen.

If that makes me judgmental, so be it. I’m not here to coddle sin. I’m here to love truth. And sometimes love looks like confrontation. Sometimes love says, “You’re wrong.” If Joe Biden—or anyone—truly loved Christ, they’d repent of supporting abortion. They’d fall on their knees and beg for forgiveness.

“Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.” – Matthew 18:6

God is not mocked. There will be judgment. I feel it coming. And honestly, that terrifies me more for the people supporting abortion than for myself. Because when you stand before God, your political party won’t save you. Your reputation won’t save you. Your “Catholic” identity won’t save you.

Only Jesus will. And He doesn’t play games with fake faith.

Prayer #5:
God, I repent for the times I stayed silent. I repent for the moments I chose comfort over conviction. Use me. Use my anger, my voice, my faith, my tears—whatever You need. Just don’t let me waste my life being quiet in a world that’s dying. Amen.

I don’t hate Joe Biden as a person. I truly don’t. I pray for him. I pray he wakes up. I pray he encounters Jesus for real. But I do hate what he stands for. I hate the evil policies. I hate the deception. I hate that babies die while the world claps.

So no, you’re not Catholic if you support abortion. You’re not Christian. You’re not walking with Jesus. Because Jesus doesn’t kill babies. He heals, He loves, He saves.

And I will die on that hill.

Faith and Family: Why Christian Parents Should Think Twice About iPhones

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Lately, I’ve been feeling this heavy burden on my soul about the world our children are growing up in — especially when it comes to technology. As a 24-year-old Christian woman, and someone who hopes to be a mom one day, I can’t help but wonder: Are we really protecting our kids by giving them iPhones? Or are we handing them a door to temptation that can easily pull them away from God?

The temptation I’m most concerned about is pornography. It’s heartbreaking how this evil has crept into the lives of so many young people, and smartphones make it so accessible. I’ve been reading and listening to youth leaders talk about how this addiction is corrupting the hearts and minds of America’s youth. It’s so damaging because it distorts God’s beautiful design for sexuality and love.

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The Bible warns us clearly about guarding our hearts: “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it” (Proverbs 4:23). I feel like handing a child an iPhone without serious safeguards can open their hearts to things they aren’t ready for — things that can cause deep spiritual harm.

I know many parents believe that giving kids phones helps them stay connected and safe. They rely on filters and monitoring apps. But no filter is perfect. The enemy is crafty, and kids can find ways around controls. And even with protections, the very presence of a smartphone tempts their curiosity and distracts their focus from God and real life.

Love sometimes means saying no, even when it’s hard or unpopular. Proverbs 22:6 says, “Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” That means teaching them God’s ways and protecting them until they are strong enough to walk that path themselves. It’s about setting boundaries, not just freedoms.

It’s especially painful to think of Christian children who want to honor God but end up caught in the trap of pornography. The Bible reminds us in 1 Corinthians 10:13, “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out.” But sometimes, the best “way out” is keeping them from being exposed to the temptation in the first place.

I pray for parents today who feel overwhelmed. I know this isn’t easy. The culture is pushing technology into our kids’ hands earlier and earlier. But I believe faith calls us to be different. To be a light in this dark world. To protect our children’s minds, hearts, and souls from what can destroy them.

Ephesians 6:12 tells us, “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” Pornography and digital temptation are part of this spiritual battle. We can’t afford to be naïve.

I want to raise children who know their worth comes from Christ alone — not from likes, followers, or what they see on a screen. Psalm 139:14 says, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful.” I want my future kids to know this deep truth, to walk in purity and confidence rooted in God’s love.

So maybe the loving choice for Christian parents is to delay giving iPhones, or to choose strict rules about their use. It might mean uncomfortable conversations and extra effort. But isn’t that what love calls us to? Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 that love is patient and kind, it does not envy or boast, it is not proud or rude. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. That sounds like what parenting should be.

10 iPhone Deeds that Lead You to The Devil

While the iPhone itself isn’t evil, the way we use it can either draw us closer to God or lead us away. It’s a tool that demands wisdom, discipline, and prayerful boundaries. May we seek God’s guidance daily to use technology in ways that honor Him, not open doors to the devil.

  1. Temptation Through Easy Access to Sin
    The iPhone gives instant access to pornography, inappropriate content, and worldly influences that can corrupt our hearts (James 1:14-15).
  2. Distracts From Prayer and Bible Study
    It’s easy to waste precious time scrolling, which steals moments that could be spent growing closer to God (Psalm 119:105).
  3. Feeds Pride and Comparison
    Social media often stokes envy and pride as we compare ourselves to others, tempting us to forget our identity in Christ (Galatians 6:4-5).
  4. Encourages Gossip and Judgment
    Texting and social media can spread harmful words, breaking the command to build others up (Ephesians 4:29).
  5. Promotes Instant Gratification
    The iPhone trains us to want everything quickly, which can fuel impatience and lack of self-control (Galatians 5:22-23).
  6. Erodes Real Relationships
    Face-to-face connection suffers, weakening God’s design for community and fellowship (Hebrews 10:24-25).
  7. Increases Anxiety and Fear
    Constant notifications can lead to worry and fear, distracting us from trusting God’s peace (Philippians 4:6-7).
  8. Blocks God’s Voice
    Noise from the phone drowns out God’s still, small voice when we fail to unplug and listen (1 Kings 19:11-12).
  9. Invites Idolatry
    When we depend more on our phones than on God, it becomes a form of idolatry (Exodus 20:3).
  10. Hinders Spiritual Growth
    Overuse can stunt our spiritual maturity by replacing God’s Word and fellowship with screens (2 Peter 3:18).

This isn’t about fear, but about faith. Faith that God’s ways are best, even when the world pulls us toward convenience or popularity. Faith that He will help us protect our children’s hearts.

I pray God will give parents courage to say no to the world’s temptations and yes to His holy path. That families will pray together, talk openly, and build strong foundations on Christ.

In the end, I trust God’s perfect design for family and love. The road may be hard, but His grace is sufficient. “The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me” (Psalm 28:7).

I want to be a mom who walks in that trust — who makes choices based on faith, not fear or cultural pressure. Who shields her children from what can destroy, while leading them to the One who saves.

Thank you, God, for your wisdom and mercy. Please help me prepare well for the day I get to raise children in your truth.

Sacred Heartbeats: Lifting the Unborn in Prayer

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Tonight my prayers felt heavier than usual — not for myself, not for things I need or long for, but for those who haven’t yet had a voice. The unborn. The hidden. The fragile lives forming in silence while the world spins on, mostly unaware.

I sat with my Bible open on my lap, candles lit, just listening. The ache in my heart grew still and sharp — that kind of quiet pain that feels almost holy. I knew I needed to bring this burden to God. Not in anger, not in despair, but in prayer.

“For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb.” (Psalm 139:13)

That verse always pulls something deep from me. The way David writes it — knit me together — reminds me that every child, no matter how small, is not an accident. Not a clump of cells. Not a mistake. A soul. A story. A being fully known by God before ever being known by the world.

So I started praying.

I prayed for the babies — those quietly growing, week by week, their hearts beating faster than anyone hears, their fingers forming, their spirits already alive to the One who made them. I prayed that they would be protected. That somehow, someway, their lives would be preserved. I asked God to send angels to guard them, to soften hearts, to change decisions before it’s too late.

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.” (Jeremiah 1:5)

That verse keeps coming back to me. Every time I think about the unborn, I remember: God knows them. Not in theory. In spirit. In fullness. That truth is too powerful to ignore. They may be unseen by most of the world, but they are known deeply by their Creator.

Next, I prayed for the mothers — especially the ones who are scared. The ones who feel alone or unprepared. The women being pressured or shamed or lied to. I can’t imagine the weight of that moment, standing between fear and life. But I know God sees them. And I believe He aches with them.

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” (Psalm 46:1)

I prayed that these women would feel His presence in the stillness. That they would hear His voice whispering, “You can do this. I will be with you.” That people would come around them — real people, with compassion and courage — to support them in love, not just opinions.

I also prayed for women who have already had abortions. This is always the hardest part for me to write or talk about, because it’s so delicate. I don’t want to speak over their pain or minimize their stories. I just know that God’s mercy runs deeper than our deepest regrets. That His grace is for every woman — including the ones who feel like they can never be forgiven.

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us… and purify us from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9)

Forgiveness isn’t a theory to me. It’s the whole reason I’m still standing. I prayed that women who carry guilt would meet Jesus as He truly is — gentle, strong, full of compassion. I prayed that they would feel His arms around them, not His finger pointing at them. I asked God to pour healing into their wounds, and to help the Church reflect His heart better — with grace, not shame.

Then I prayed for the people in power — leaders, lawmakers, counselors, doctors. That they would see the unborn as God sees them. That their decisions would be shaped by truth, not pressure. That they would remember the weight of every life and feel conviction where needed.

And lastly, I prayed for myself.

That I would not let my heart grow numb in a world that’s constantly desensitizing us to death and dehumanization. That I would never turn away just because it’s easier. That I would love both the unborn and the born — the child and the mother. That my words would be filled with truth, but seasoned with grace.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves… defend the rights of the poor and needy.” (Proverbs 31:8–9)

I may not be able to do everything. But I can pray. I can give. I can support women who choose life. I can listen. I can love. And when the time is right, I can speak.

Sometimes I wonder what I’ll do if this belief costs me friendships. Or silence in a room where everyone assumes I think the way they do. But then I remember — Jesus didn’t call us to comfort. He called us to truth. And love. Always love.

There’s so much I don’t understand about this world. About why so many babies don’t get a chance. About why so many women feel they have no other option. But I trust the One who sees the full picture. I trust the One who holds every life — seen and unseen — in His hands.

So I’ll keep praying. Even when no one sees. Even when it hurts. Even when the answers don’t come in the way I hope.

Because I believe it matters.

And I believe they matter — every single one.

Women Belong in The Kitchen: Embracing My God-Given Role in a World on the Brink

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The kettle is whistling and the bread just came out of the oven. The warmth of the stove wraps around me like a blanket, and the quiet is a comfort — not a curse. The world outside may be in chaos, but in here, peace still reigns. Not because I have it all figured out, but because I know who holds the future.

Even though I live alone for now — no husband, no children — I live as if they’re already part of my life. Because one day, if the Lord wills, they will be.

“Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.”
— Psalm 37:4

And I do desire marriage. I desire to serve a husband. To raise children in truth. To be a keeper of the home who is clothed in strength and dignity — not caught in the world’s confusion about what it means to be a woman.

I don’t see the kitchen as a prison. I see it as a place of preparation and power. It’s where I practice serving, sacrificing, and sustaining life. Even now — even just for myself — I treat every meal I prepare, every space I tend, every routine I build, as an offering. Because this is not about me. It’s about being faithful in the waiting.

“She rises while it is yet night and provides food for her household.”
— Proverbs 31:15

I want to be ready when God calls me into marriage — not just emotionally or spiritually, but practically. I want to know how to feed, nurture, support, and follow my future husband with grace and strength. And I want to raise children who know truth from lies, who see joy in discipline and purpose in obedience.

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

The world is falling apart. The news grows darker every day. And while people stock up on weapons and solar panels, I’m stocking up on wisdom, discipline, and love. Because survival is about more than having a pantry full of food. It’s about knowing how to create peace in a storm — and that starts in the home.

So yes, I belong in the kitchen. Not because I have to — but because I choose to be a woman who nurtures life. It’s where I’ll minister to my family. It’s where I’ll teach lessons, dry tears, fill empty bellies, and pray over every plate.

“The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down.”
— Proverbs 14:1

I’m not foolish. I know what’s coming. And I want to be ready in spirit and skill when the world expects women to be helpless and hopeless.

Prayer
Father, thank You for creating me with purpose. Thank You for showing me that womanhood is not weakness, but strength of a different kind — softer, deeper, and holy. Help me to become the kind of wife who blesses her husband all the days of his life. Make me diligent in this season of waiting — to work, learn, and worship in private, unseen ways. Let this home be a training ground for the life You’re preparing me for. Amen.

Sometimes I think of my future husband. I wonder what he’s doing tonight. Maybe he’s chopping firewood or reading the Word by lamplight like I am. Maybe he’s praying for a woman who will walk beside him without questioning his leadership or trying to take it from him.

I pray I’ll be the answer to that prayer.

“Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church…”
— Ephesians 5:22–23

That verse is not a burden to me. It’s a comfort. I want a husband I can trust to lead — and I want to be the kind of woman he can trust to follow without resistance. Because that kind of order isn’t outdated. It’s biblical. It brings peace, not confusion.

And I know the world rolls its eyes at women like me. They think we’re brainwashed, repressed, afraid. But I’ve never felt more free. Free from the pressure to compete, to climb, to prove myself by the world’s standards. I know who I am — and whose I am.

“Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”
— Proverbs 31:30

So tonight, I light my candles. I pray over my future table. I fold my laundry with care and organize my shelves because this is my calling. Even now, without a husband to serve or children to raise, I am living the life of a God-honoring woman in training.

Prayer
Lord, prepare me to be a wife and mother who walks in wisdom, patience, and deep love. Teach me to lay down selfish ambition and pick up quiet faithfulness. Let me serve now with joy, knowing that You see everything done in secret. Bless my future husband, wherever he is tonight. Strengthen him to lead. Teach him to love. And when the time is right, bring us together in Your perfect plan. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

This is enough for tonight. The stew is cooling and the world is still turning. But my heart is full. Because even in this quiet season, I know I’m becoming exactly the kind of woman I was made to be.

And when the time comes — when God brings my family — I won’t just be ready. I’ll be grateful.

When God Whispers: Finding Faith in the Silence

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I remembered Psalm 46:10:

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

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

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

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

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

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

There’s something beautiful and hard about that.

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

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

It reminded me of Isaiah 30:15:

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

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

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

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

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

You whisper, and that’s enough.

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

A Prayer Before I Sleep:

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

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

What Atheists Miss About the Power of Grace

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Dear Heavenly Father,

Tonight, I found myself thinking about forgiveness—not the kind that’s easy or expected, but the deep, hard kind that stretches our hearts beyond what feels humanly possible. The kind Jesus spoke about so often, and the kind so many people in today’s world seem to misunderstand or overlook entirely.

There’s an old saying I’ve heard more than once: “Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” It’s powerful, and painfully true.

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I see it all the time around me—people who are hurting and don’t know how to heal. People who’ve been wronged, abandoned, betrayed, or deeply wounded, and instead of processing the pain and laying it before the Lord, they hold it tightly, like it’s somehow protecting them. But in reality, it’s just making them more bitter, more broken, and more distant from the peace they’re actually craving.

What some atheists—or really, anyone outside the hope of Christ—don’t often realize is that forgiveness isn’t about letting the offender off the hook. It’s about freeing your own heart from the chains of resentment. Jesus didn’t teach us to forgive because it’s the easy or logical thing to do. He taught us to forgive because it’s the divine thing to do.

Matthew 6:14-15 couldn’t be clearer:
“For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”

That’s not just a suggestion—it’s a call to action, a command rooted in the very heart of the gospel. After all, the entire message of salvation is based on forgiveness. Christ died not just to show us love, but to offer us forgiveness, even though we didn’t deserve it.

Lord, soften my heart when I want to harden it. Remind me that I have been forgiven so much more than I’ve ever been asked to forgive. Help me not to forget the cross when I’m tempted to withhold grace.

Forgiveness is hard. I won’t pretend otherwise. Sometimes it means choosing to release pain even when the person who caused it hasn’t apologized. Sometimes it means extending grace when you feel like you’re still bleeding from the wound.

But there’s healing in the obedience.

Studies—even secular ones—have shown that forgiving others can actually lower blood pressure, reduce stress, improve sleep, boost the immune system, and decrease anxiety and depression. Isn’t that amazing? Even science can’t help but testify to the power of what God designed.

But forgiveness doesn’t always come naturally. So how do we actually do it?

First, we pray.

Jesus tells us in Matthew 5:44, “But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”
That sounds almost impossible until you try it. Because something sacred happens when you start praying for the person who hurt you. You stop seeing them as just the villain in your story, and you start seeing them through God’s eyes—a broken person, just like you, in need of grace.

Father, I lift up the people who have hurt me. I don’t always understand why they did what they did, but You do. And I trust You to heal the broken places in both of us. Soften their heart, and mine too. Help me to release this burden into Your hands.

Second, we build forgiveness into our daily walk with Christ. Forgiveness isn’t just an event—it’s a lifestyle. You don’t just forgive once and forget. You forgive over and over, even when the hurt resurfaces. You choose it like you choose to follow Jesus: day after day, moment by moment.

It takes practice, patience, and God’s power.

We’re not meant to do it alone. That’s why community matters so much. When we share our struggles with other believers, we’re reminded that we’re not weak—we’re human. And in that shared humanity, we find strength, encouragement, and accountability.

James 5:16 reminds us, “Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.”
There is healing when we’re honest, and freedom when we walk with others who are chasing the same Christ-like heart.

And let’s be real—resentment doesn’t just affect us spiritually. It spills into everything: our relationships, our physical health, our mood, our energy, and even how we view God. If we’re not careful, bitterness can become an idol we nurse instead of a wound we surrender.

But when we forgive, we reclaim peace. When we release others from the prison of our resentment, we actually walk out of that prison ourselves.

Lord, teach me to be a forgiving woman—not out of obligation, but out of love for You. Let forgiveness become part of my character. Let it shape my words, my thoughts, my prayers. And when it feels too big for me to do alone, remind me that Your Spirit is my helper.

Forgiveness is hard, yes—but it’s worth every ounce of effort. It’s not about forgetting or pretending nothing happened. It’s about choosing not to carry the weight anymore. It’s about choosing obedience, even when it hurts. And it’s about trusting that God is the ultimate Judge and Healer.

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 means we don’t have to make things right—we just have to do what’s righteous.

So tonight, I choose to forgive. Not because it feels good. Not because they said sorry. Not even because I feel strong.
But because Jesus forgave me.
Because I want to walk in freedom.
Because I want peace that only He can give.

And because holding on to bitterness just isn’t worth missing out on the beauty of grace.

With a healing heart,
A Daughter of Grace Learning to Forgive 💛

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