Tag: faith

Lifting Up Loved Ones: Praying for Those You Love

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Last night, I found myself staring at the ceiling again, heart heavy and mind racing. Not because I’m burdened by my own stuff—but because I can feel the weight of the people I love. Their pain. Their questions. Their wandering. Their silence.

And honestly? It wrecks me.
I don’t want to be the girl who watches people I love slip through life without Jesus. I want to be the one who fights on her knees.

But I had to start with a hard question:
When’s the last time I actually prayed for them? Like really prayed?

Not a “Lord, bless them” kind of prayer, but the kind that pulls heaven down to earth.

God doesn’t need my passive prayers. He wants my passion. My persistence. My boldness. So here I am—learning to pray like I mean it.

1. Pray for God to soften my heart first.

This might be the most uncomfortable step—but it’s the realest one. Before I intercede for others, I have to let God break me. I don’t want to pray from a place of pride, frustration, or spiritual superiority. I want to pray from love. Period.

Lord, give me a burden. That’s an old-school word, I know. But I want it. I want my heart to hurt for what hurts Yours. Break the apathy. Remove the judgment. Let me weep for them. Let me care deeply again.

“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you.” — Ezekiel 36:26

God, make my heart flesh again. Not cold, not passive, not comfortable. Tender. Ready to move at the whisper of Your Spirit.

2. Pray just to talk about Jesus.

This isn’t about crafting the perfect speech or waiting for the ideal moment. This is about boldness. Godly, humble boldness. I don’t want my conversations to stay surface-level forever. I want opportunities to bring up eternity.

“Pray for us… that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ.” — Colossians 4:3

God, open a door. Not just in their schedule, but in their heart. Give me a moment that can’t be explained by anything but divine timing. Give me courage to walk through it when it comes. Let me be ready, not scared.

No more waiting until “the right time.” The right time is now.

3. Pray that the words of Jesus take off like wildfire.

Sometimes I think we forget just how powerful His words are. When Jesus speaks, things shift. Darkness trembles. Chains break. Hope rises. His words don’t need our help—they just need our obedience to speak them.

“Pray that the Master’s Word will simply take off and race through the country to a groundswell of response…” — 2 Thessalonians 3:1 (MSG)

Lord, let Your Word run wild in their lives. Let it chase them down in the quiet moments. Speak to them in dreams. In songs. In conversations they didn’t expect. Let the name of Jesus echo until it becomes undeniable.

4. Pray for God to heal their hearts.

Hurt people hide behind sarcasm, silence, success, or straight-up rebellion. But when someone’s going through a storm, it’s often because God is softening something deep inside.

So instead of judging their mess, I’m learning to pray into their healing.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3

God, bind up their wounds. Speak peace over the chaos. Show them that You’re not afraid of their broken pieces. You’re the God who walks into storms and speaks stillness. Walk into theirs, Lord. Let them feel You.

5. Pray for endurance on my end.

Let’s be honest: it’s exhausting praying for people who seem like they don’t care. It’s frustrating watching them self-destruct while you’re begging heaven for a breakthrough. But I’ve learned this: God doesn’t call me to fix them—He calls me to pray for them.

So I will.

Even when I don’t see it.
Even when they push me away.
Even when it feels pointless.

Because faith doesn’t wait for feelings. It stands. It believes. It persists.

“The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” — James 5:16

So I will pray powerful, effective prayers. Not because I’m perfect. But because I’m His. And I believe He moves when His kids pray like they believe He will.

Lord Jesus,
Thank You for placing these people in my life. I don’t believe in coincidence—I believe in calling. You’ve called me to love them, serve them, and fight for them in prayer. So today, I lift them up to You.

Soften my heart, Lord. Remove pride. Give me a burden that drives me to my knees daily.
Open the doors for conversations about You—real ones, honest ones. Give me boldness to speak and wisdom to listen.

Let Your Word catch fire in their lives. Let it chase them down and wake something up inside them.
Heal their wounds. Calm their storms. Make them whole, even if they don’t know how to ask for it yet.
And when I get tired, remind me that You never give up on me. So I won’t give up on them.

I trust You, Jesus. And I believe You’re already moving.
Amen.

Prayer isn’t a last resort—it’s the first line of battle.
And I refuse to let the people I love walk through life without someone warring for them in prayer.

Even if they never know it, I’ll be the one interceding.
Because that’s what love does.

Safe in God’s Hands: Conquering Fear Through Faith

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

This weekend I faced fear in the mirror. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t shout or shake me. It just stared me down like it had something to prove. And for a split second—just a second—I let it. I let fear have the mic. I let it whisper all its what-ifs and why-nots into the corners of my mind.

But then I remembered who I am.
And more importantly, whose I am.

The Word hit me like a wave straight to my spirit:

“Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” — Isaiah 41:10

That’s not just poetry. That’s truth. That’s a promise.

Fear is a liar, and it loves to dress up like logic. It sneaks in disguised as “being realistic,” “protecting yourself,” or “thinking it through.” But really, it’s just a mask for unbelief. I’m not here to coddle fear anymore. I’m not making a bed for it in my spirit. I serve the Almighty God, and He didn’t give me a spirit of fear.

“For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” — 2 Timothy 1:7 (AMP)

I say this with fire in my chest: If God didn’t give it, I don’t want it. I’m rejecting fear like poison because that’s what it is—it slowly kills joy, hope, peace, and even purpose. And I am DONE letting fear kill anything in me that God has breathed life into.

(TAP HERE TO PRAY WITH ME PLEASE)

Here’s what’s wild though: fear feels real. And maybe that’s the point. Faith isn’t about feelings. It’s about choosing truth over feelings. It’s about standing firm when your knees want to buckle.

I had this moment today…
I was anxious—my heart pounding, palms sweaty, spiraling with thoughts of everything that could go wrong in my life. I could feel fear tightening its grip like a noose. But instead of letting it choke me, I imagined myself curled up in the lap of the Father. Not a distant, angry God—but Abba. A God who wraps His arms around me like a blanket and whispers over me:

“Do not fear, for I am with you…” — Isaiah 41:10 again. Yes, again. Because I need that Word on repeat.

And I felt His love.
Like really felt it.
Not earned, not negotiated. Just freely poured out.

That kind of love doesn’t just comfort—it casts out fear.

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear…” — 1 John 4:18

God’s love doesn’t ignore fear—it evicts it. When I let Him in fully, fear has no legal right to stay. So why am I still renting it a room?

Time to confront this mess.

I love people deeply. But I’m also not afraid to speak boldly. Especially when I see fear running people’s lives. I’ve seen it paralyze dreams, crush marriages, stop ministries before they even begin. That’s not humility—that’s fear wearing a disguise.

God is not calling us to survive our lives. He’s calling us to live them boldly in His power. And that’s not pride—it’s faith.

Jeremiah 29:11 rings out like a battle cry in my soul:

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope.”

If I truly believe that, then fear has no place. Not in my mind, not in my decisions, and definitely not in my future.

So how do we fight fear?

We don’t fight alone.
We don’t fake it till we make it.
We face it with God beside us.
We let His love meet us right in the trembling.

Even when we’re scared, we walk forward. That’s what courage is. As Rick Warren said so perfectly,

“Courage is not the absence of fear; courage is moving ahead in spite of your fear.”

That hit me deep today. I’m not waiting until I feel brave to obey God. I’m just going to obey—and trust that courage will follow.

And when the voice of fear tries to whisper again, I’ll answer it with this:

“The LORD is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?” — Psalm 118:6

Let that be tattooed on my soul.

God’s presence is greater than my panic.
His promises are louder than my anxieties.
And His power? It’s made perfect in my weakness.

If you’re reading this and you’ve never surrendered your life to Christ, I need you to know—He’s not waiting for you to get perfect. He’s waiting to love you now.

Here’s a simple prayer. Pray it with me, even if your voice shakes:

Prayer of Surrender:


Jesus, I’m tired of doing life on my own. I’ve been letting fear lead, and it’s only left me empty. I believe You are the Son of God. I believe You died for me and rose again. I ask You to come into my heart. Be my Lord, be my Savior, be my peace. I surrender my life, my fear, my future—everything—to You. Thank You for loving me. I receive Your love. Amen.

And for those of us already walking with Him—maybe today is the day we finally trust Him like we say we do.

I’m choosing courage. I’m choosing Christ.
Because fear doesn’t get the final word. Faith does.

Echoes of a Prayer: Finding Meaning in the Hail Mary

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Today I sat with a prayer I used to avoid.

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

(CLICK HERE TO PRAY THE HAIL MARY WITH ME PLEASE)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(CLICK ABOVE TO PRAY WITH ME)

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, I prayed the Hail Mary with full sincerity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Grace That Lifts: Rising Again in God’s Strength

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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

Giving up on me.

(CLICK HERE TO PRAY WITH ME)

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

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

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

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

But I didn’t lose God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here’s what I prayed:


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

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

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

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

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

(PLEASE PRAY WITH ME BY CLICKING HERE)

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

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

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

And I believe that’s enough.

A Prayer for Every Need: The Our Father Is The Perfect Prayer

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on how we approach prayer, and honestly, it’s been a bit of a struggle. I know, I know, that’s not the kind of thing you’d expect me to admit, but here we are. I guess I’m wondering—does anyone else feel like they pray the hardest when things are falling apart? Maybe it’s not even something major, but those times when you’re tossing and turning in bed, too tired to sleep, too restless to relax. Or the times when everything seems fine on the surface, but deep down, you’re carrying a weight you can’t quite shake. Is that when your most fervent prayer comes too? When you don’t know what to say but know you need God more than anything?

I’m guilty of not always knowing how to pray. Even after all this time, I still feel like I’m fumbling for the right words sometimes. I’ve got good intentions—good heart—but my mind just goes blank. I can sit there and talk to God like He’s right there beside me, and still, I get caught up in the silence, wondering if I’ve said the right things, or if I’ve said enough.

Maybe that’s something you’ve struggled with too. Maybe you’ve set aside time to pray, but then, when the time comes, you find yourself with nothing to say. Your mind wanders, and the words seem to escape you. I know I’m not the only one who has experienced this. Heck, even Jesus’ disciples struggled with this! They came to Him asking, “Lord, teach us how to pray.” (Luke 11:1). If they needed help, who am I to think I’ve got it all figured out?

That’s when I turn to what Jesus taught in Matthew 6. I think it’s such a beautiful, straightforward reminder of what prayer really is. Jesus didn’t just leave us to figure it out on our own. He gave us a model, a guide. And it’s one of the simplest yet most powerful prayers ever spoken.

Matthew 6:9-13 tells us:

“Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come,
your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us today our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
as we also forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from the evil one.”

I don’t know about you, but I find so much comfort in those words. They’re the words of Jesus—God’s own Son—given to us as a blueprint for how to connect with the Father. And what gets me is that even though we’ve heard it a thousand times in church or at family dinners, the more I sit with it, the more I realize how perfect this prayer truly is.

I’ve come to see that this prayer, the Our Father, is a model for my prayer. It’s not just something we recite in groups or before meals. It’s personal. It’s a conversation with God. Every single line is full of meaning, and it shows us how to align our hearts with His will.

Let’s break it down:

  1. Our Father in heaven – He is our Father. Not just a Father, but our personal Father. There’s intimacy here. He is close. He cares. He hears us. And He’s in heaven, ruling and reigning, but still fully present with us.
  2. Hallowed be your name – His name is holy. This is a moment of reverence, where we acknowledge the power, majesty, and sanctity of who God is. It’s a recognition that He is far beyond us, and yet, He chooses to be with us.
  3. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven – This is where I have to check my heart. How often do I pray for His will to be done over my own? If I’m being honest, sometimes I’d rather have my own plans fulfilled. But Jesus reminds me that His Kingdom, His way of doing things, is what truly matters. It’s about surrendering control. It’s about saying, “God, I want what You want.” It’s a prayer for the world to be made right, and for me to live in line with that.
  4. Give us today our daily bread – Simple, isn’t it? It’s not asking for an abundance, just for what we need today. This is a reminder to trust God every single day, to rely on Him for provision. It’s humbling. It’s saying, “God, I need You today, and tomorrow, and the next day.”
  5. And forgive us our trespasses, as we also forgive those who trespass against us – This one stings, doesn’t it? It’s so much easier to ask God to forgive us than it is to forgive others. But that’s the thing. The forgiveness we receive is the same forgiveness we are called to extend. It’s a sobering reminder that grace isn’t just for me, it’s for everyone.
  6. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one – This is where I have to pray with real honesty. I know I can’t make it through life on my own. I need God’s help to avoid sin, to stay on the path of righteousness. It’s a plea for His protection. A plea for strength when we face the trials and temptations of this world.

There it is. The perfect prayer. Simple yet profound. Jesus knew exactly what we needed to pray. Not a bunch of empty words or mindless repetition, but a prayer that brings us back to the heart of God. A prayer that grounds us in His presence. It covers everything: worship, submission, provision, forgiveness, and deliverance.

If you’re like me and often feel like you’re stammering in your prayers, let the Our Father guide you. It’s not just something you recite by memory. It’s a framework for how we live in relationship with God. Sometimes, when I have nothing left to say, I just repeat these words, and in that, I find peace.

God knows exactly what we need, even before we ask (Matthew 6:8). And yet, He still invites us to pray. That’s grace. So when you don’t know what to say, pray the Our Father. Let it be your breath when your spirit is dry.

God, You are good. Your will is perfect. Help me to trust You more, to forgive more, and to follow You with all my heart. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Please Click on any of the Images below and PRAY with me!

Anxious Thoughts, Anchored in Christian Faith

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Tonight, Friday, I had one of those conversations that lingers long after the words have left the air. You know the kind — where someone says something so casually, but it hits a deep nerve because you know there’s truth behind it, even if it’s not the truth that should lead.

My friend looked at me and said, “Sometimes you just can’t help it. Worry is just… part of life.”

And I get it. I do. I’ve been there. I am there.

Bills. Future. Relationships. Health. The “what ifs” that creep in when you’re brushing your teeth or folding laundry. It feels almost irresponsible not to worry sometimes, doesn’t it? Like worry is our way of preparing or protecting ourselves. Like if we don’t think through every possible bad scenario, we’re being naive.

But here’s the problem. That mindset doesn’t align with what God says. At all.

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything: tell God your needs and don’t forget to thank Him for His answers.” — Philippians 4:6 (TLB)

That’s literally a command. Don’t worry. Not about some things. Not about most things. About anything.

I wanted to tell my friend right then and there — with love but also firmness — “Sis, that’s a lie straight from the pit. Worry might feel natural, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. And it sure doesn’t mean it’s godly.”

Because here’s the thing: God doesn’t give us a standard without a solution. He’s not cold or distant. He doesn’t just throw “Don’t worry” at us and leave us alone with our anxious minds. He gives us a whole formula.

Let me break it down again for myself — because girl, I need this tattooed on my heart:

Step 1: Pray about everything.
If it matters to me, it matters to Him. Whether it’s the results of a biopsy or just the fact that I’m scared I’ll be single forever… He cares. So I have to open my mouth and speak. Not stress in silence. PRAY.

Step 2: Tell God your needs.
Don’t just beg. Be honest. Be specific. It’s okay to say, “Lord, I need clarity. I need strength. I need provision. I need peace.” This is not a burden to Him. This is relationship.

Step 3: Thank Him for His answers.
This one is the hardest when anxiety clouds my view. But God calls me to thank Him before I see the result. To say “Thank You” while the bank account is still low, while the test results are still pending, while the future is still blurry. That’s faith. That’s surrender.

And THEN… comes the promise. And this part blows my mind every time I read it.

“If you do this you will experience God’s peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand. His peace will keep your thoughts and your hearts quiet and at rest as you trust in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 4:7 (TLB)

God’s peace isn’t logical. It’s not based on the situation improving. It’s based on HIM.

I’ve tasted that peace before — in moments when everything around me screamed panic, and yet inside, I was still. Not because I had it all figured out, but because I knew He did.

Tonight, I’m choosing that peace again.

I’m laying my anxious thoughts before God. The ones about where I’ll be next year. The ones about whether my life is measuring up to some invisible Christian-woman standard. The ones about how people perceive me — if they think I’m “too much,” too serious, too spiritual, too opinionated. I give it all to the One who made me and already knows how my story ends.

Father God,
You said not to worry. And I confess that I do. I’ve let anxiety become my default setting, and I’ve excused it as just being “realistic.” But You’ve called me to something higher — to trust, to pray, to thank You even when the answer hasn’t arrived yet.

So I bring it all to You. Every fear. Every need. Every unknown. You are my anchor, and You are steady. I believe that as I trust You, You are already working behind the scenes.

Teach me to trust more and fear less. Let Your peace, the peace that confuses the world, flood my mind and heart tonight. Quiet every racing thought. Speak louder than my fears.

In Jesus’ Name,
Amen.

It still amazes me,how countercultural this gospel is. The world says, “Worry is normal. Anxiety is part of life.” But God says, “Not for My child.”

And while I still feel things deeply — I’m a feeler through and through — I no longer let my emotions rule me. I choose faith. I choose obedience. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

I’m not passive about this anymore. I’m not soft about worry. I fight it. I confront it. Not just for me, but for every sister watching me walk this journey.

Because if God says peace is possible, I’m going to live like it’s true.

Screenshot

When Fear Falls Silent

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

The Complete Blessing: From Spirit to Flesh

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.


Divine Whispers and Heavenly Kisses

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

Some of Your kisses this summer came wrapped in grief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let me never confuse the mundane for meaningless.

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

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

Let me live like I know that.

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

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

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

You are Emmanuel—God with us.

Even here. Even now.

Lord Jesus,


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


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


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


In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Blame Ends Here: I’m done pointing fingers!

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Here’s my prayer tonight:

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

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

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

But Romans 12:19 says….

“Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.”


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

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

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

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

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

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