everyday evangelism – The Christian Tech-Nerd

Today has been heavy, and I don’t say that lightly. Not in a “woke up on the wrong side of the bed” kind of way, but heavy like I’m carrying weights that don’t even belong to me. I guess that’s what happens when your heart is so open to the brokenness around you. You start to feel the ache of others. And let me tell you—there’s so much ache in the world right now.

It’s not like I ever really forget how hard life can be, but some weeks just shove it in your face. This week has been one of those. I can’t stop seeing the pain behind people’s eyes, the tension in their smiles. It’s like God gave me a special lens this week to see what’s usually hidden. A spiritual x-ray vision, maybe.

Family members are dealing with health scares and secrets too deep to share. Friends are grieving—one just lost her mom, and another had her heart broken by someone who promised forever. Financial stress is drowning some people I love. Others are still battling wounds from relationships that never healed right. And what do I even say to all that?

I used to feel helpless in moments like these. Like my compassion wasn’t enough, and my words were falling flat. But God’s been teaching me something powerful: it’s not always about fixing it. Sometimes it’s about showing up, really showing up.

Romans 12:15 tells us, “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” That verse is such a simple call, but it’s deeply confrontational if we’re honest. It’s asking us to feel with people—to step into their joy and their pain without rushing it or sanitizing it with shallow encouragement.

So, what can we really do when we can’t fix things? I’m learning there are three simple things that carry eternal weight.

I felt prompted to text my old college roommate two days ago. We haven’t talked in months—life gets busy, right? But God wouldn’t let her off my heart. So I did. Just a simple message: “Hey, I was thinking of you today. How are you really doing?” She called me crying. Her father had just gone into the hospital. She hadn’t told many people yet.

God doesn’t prompt us randomly. If someone is on your heart, act on it. Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 says, “Two are better than one… If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.” But how can we help anyone up if we don’t see that they’ve fallen?

I want to be the kind of woman who doesn’t just say “I’ll pray for you” and move on. I want to check in, be present, hold space for the hard stuff.

It sounds ridiculous at first, right? But a genuine smile is a ministry all its own.

I was in the grocery store yesterday, and the cashier looked exhausted. You know the kind of tired that has nothing to do with lack of sleep and everything to do with life just being too much? That kind. I smiled, met her eyes, and said, “Thank you for being here today.” She paused, blinked, and said, “That just made my whole morning.”

We’re not called to be flashy or loud with our faith 24/7, but we are called to let Christ shine through us. Matthew 5:16 reminds us, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

Sometimes that light looks like a smile that says, “I see you. You matter.”

This is the foundation of everything.

Prayer is not passive—it’s powerful. James 5:16 says, “The effective, fervent prayer of a righteous person avails much.” I cling to that. Even when I feel like my words are weak or my faith feels shaky. Prayer still matters.

When we pray, we’re stepping into the gap for others. We’re saying, “God, I don’t have the answers, but You do. Show up. Intervene. Heal.” It’s the most loving thing we can do, especially when we feel powerless.

I’ve learned that when I start praying for someone else, God often works in me just as much. He softens my heart, refines my attitude, and teaches me patience and empathy.

So here’s my challenge to myself—and to you, if you’re reading this one day:
Make a difference in someone’s day. Not because it earns you favor with God. Not because it’ll fix their problems. But because Jesus cared deeply about people, and if we’re walking with Him, we should too.

Let me leave this here as a prayer I wrote tonight, hoping it helps me focus on what matters:

God,

Thank You for giving me a heart that feels deeply. Thank You for showing me the pain in others—not so I can carry it all, but so I can love them well.
Help me to never grow numb to suffering. Help me to smile when someone needs joy, to reach out when someone feels forgotten, and to pray with faith even when I can’t see the outcome.

Let me be a vessel for Your compassion. Let my presence make a difference, even in small ways. Remind me that no act of kindness is wasted in Your Kingdom.
In Jesus’ powerful name, Amen.

Tomorrow, I’ll try again. I’ll smile even if I’m tired. I’ll text the person I’m thinking of instead of just thinking. I’ll pray like I believe it changes everything.

Because it does.

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.

Tag: everyday evangelism

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