Tag: Gods grace

Pardoned of our Sins: Believers in Christ are Justified by His Grace

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Lord, I don’t know whether I’m more comforted or more angry, more relieved or more exhausted. Maybe it’s both. Maybe this is what faith looks like at twenty-five—raw edges, shaky hands, but a stubborn love for You that refuses to break. Maybe that’s what You’ve been trying to show me all along: that justification isn’t about the perfection I keep trying (and failing) to reach. It’s about You reaching down, pulling me into Your grace, even while I’m still messy, still loud, still angry at the world, still trying to believe that I’m really forgiven.

This morning I kept thinking about what it means that believers in Christ are justified—not later, not after we get our act together, not when we finally live holy enough or pray long enough or feel spiritual enough. But now. Right now. In this moment. In this too-bright room with my chipped lavender nail polish and the heaviness of a long week pressing on my shoulders.

Justified. Pardoned. Cleansed. Freed.

God, I’m trying to wrap my mind around that word, because sometimes I feel so condemned. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never outrun the mistakes I made at nineteen, or twenty-two, or yesterday. Sometimes I feel like the enemy stands over me shouting, “Guilty, guilty, guilty!” and I’m ashamed to admit how often I believe him. But then there’s Romans 8:1 whispering through my doubts: “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” No condemnation. None. Not a little less. Not reduced. Not delayed. Zero.

Why does that truth make me want to cry and scream at the same time?

Maybe because I’m tired of walking around like salvation is something I have to keep earning when Jesus already finished the work. Maybe because grace feels too good—too immediate—to be real. Maybe because I don’t understand a love that strong. Maybe because part of me is still angry that sin has consequences I can’t undo… yet You still say I’m justified.

Lord, You know I don’t want cheap grace. I don’t want to throw Your mercy around like it’s disposable. I don’t want to treat Your sacrifice lightly. But I also don’t want to insult Your love by pretending that forgiveness is too far away for someone like me.

I’ve been thinking about the thief on the cross. How dare he receive the same justification as Paul? How dare he—after a lifetime of choices that likely harmed people, scared people, destroyed something sacred in himself—receive salvation in a single breath, a single moment of faith? Part of me wants to shake him. Another part of me wants to hug him. And then the biggest part of me realizes that I am him—undeserving, but nevertheless justified.

Jesus didn’t say, “Come back when you’re cleaned up.”
He didn’t say, “Let Me see your spiritual résumé first.”
He didn’t say, “Try harder and maybe I’ll consider it.”

No. He said, “Today you will be with Me in paradise.” Today. Right then. Right in the middle of the pain, the consequences, the shame, the nearing death. A moment of faith—and You called him justified.

And God… it makes me angry how beautiful that is. Angry in a way that twists inside my chest because I want to be good enough, and yet You insist I don’t have to be. Angry because grace disarms all my self-reliance. Angry because it means I can’t cling to my guilt like a trophy of my own humility.

But grateful. Deeply, painfully grateful.

I think about Paul—your servant, Your chosen instrument, the man who endured beatings, shipwrecks, hunger, imprisonment, betrayal, and sleepless nights. A man who poured out his life until the last drop was ministry. And You say he wasn’t any more justified than that thief.

What kind of God loves like that? What kind of God levels the ground so fully at the foot of the cross that the hardest worker and the last-second believer stand shoulder-to-shoulder, equally loved, equally washed clean?

My God does.

My Jesus does.

So why is it so hard for me to accept that I’m included in that? Why does justification feel like a gift I can describe but not quite hold without dropping? Why do I keep living like I’m still on trial?

Your Word keeps telling me the verdict has already been spoken. Already. Not someday. Not eventually. Now.

“For I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more.” (Hebrews 8:12)

No more. Forgotten. Buried. Gone.

Lord, why am I still remembering what You’ve already erased?

Last night, and today, when I prayed, I felt this almost physical sense of You saying, “You’re accepted. Today. Not after you straighten your emotions or fix your flaws or stop being angry at the church or stop overthinking everything. Today.”

And I felt my chest unclench a little.

I don’t know how to fully believe it yet, but I want to.

There’s this image I keep thinking about—this ladder You’ve lowered down from heaven into the vineyard. The one the old preacher talked about. The one that says Your acceptance is how we enter the vineyard, not the fruit we grow once we’re inside. And it comforts me, but it also stings, because I keep trying to climb the ladder with handfuls of fruit I’ve forced myself to produce, as if You need proof of my sincerity. As if You need me to justify myself, when justification is Your work alone.

Father, teach me to accept being accepted.

Teach me to live like someone who’s truly pardoned. Teach me to stop digging up the graves of sins You already buried.

I want to stand before You the way justified people do—with both humility and confidence. With both repentance and joy. With both surrender and assurance. You didn’t die to give me a halfway salvation. You didn’t resurrect so I could stay chained to the idea that I have to save myself daily.

Lord, free me from this self-condemnation. Free me from the lie that Your grace is fragile or conditional. Free me from believing that every mistake pushes me further from Your heart when You yourself said You remember my sins no more.

I feel so small lately—but maybe that’s okay. Justification means Your love is big enough to cover the places where I fail. It means I get to breathe again. It means the courtroom is empty, the gavel has fallen, and the Judge has declared me righteous because of Jesus, not because of my performance.

So here is my prayer, God—raw, trembling, but honest:

“Lord Jesus, thank You for justifying me by Your blood. Thank You that I stand before You without condemnation. Thank You for pardoning my sins fully, immediately, eternally. Teach my heart to believe what my mind knows is true. Tear down every fear that tells me I must earn what You freely give. Help me walk in the freedom You purchased. Help me trust that Your grace is stronger than my guilt and more present than my failures. I surrender my shame to You. Make me whole.”

Amen.

And yet… there’s still this fire inside me. Anger at sin. Anger at the enemy. Anger at the lies that try to steal what You’ve already promised. Anger at myself for being so easily deceived. But maybe that anger is holy too. Maybe it’s what pushes me toward the cross. Maybe it’s what reminds me of how desperately I need You every hour.

Justification isn’t a feeling. It’s a fact. A declaration. A spiritual reality that doesn’t bend with my emotions. And Lord, I need that constancy. I need a truth that doesn’t crack when I do.

Lord, I choose to trust You.

Today I am accepted.
Today I am forgiven.
Today I am Yours.

And that is enough.

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.

“Christians Are Selfish”

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

A lot of Christians in my church have talked to me about the same subject

People accuse them of being selfish for trying to reach Heaven.

They say that they follow God’s Will simply for their own personal benefit.

Instead of becoming defensive, let’s try to stand from the accusers’ point of view.

Doing everything in our power to go to Heaven might seem like selfish behavior to atheists.

If our primary concern is our own salvation, then we are not living out Christ’s commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves.

We might become so focused on ourselves that we neglect to show love and compassion to those around us who are also in need of God’s grace.

In this sense, trying to live forever can indeed be selfish.

But is that accusation fair?

From our perspective, the desire to reach Heaven is simply a natural response to the love and grace that God has bestowed upon us.

It is not about personal gain, but about living to serve and glorify God.

In that way, following God’s Will could be considered the ultimate expression of selflessness.

So, which is it? Is trying to reach Heaven selfish or selfless?

The answer, I believe, lies in the heart behind the motivation.

If our motivation is rooted in a deep love for God and a desire to support the less fortunate, then it’s pure and right.

We are seeking to align our will with God’s Will, not because we want to gain salvation or escape punishment, but because we want to grow closer to Him.

However, if our motivation is solely to escape hell or gain entry into heaven, then it is selfish.

We are reducing God to a means to an end, using Him as a tool to achieve our own ends rather than loving Him for who He is. 

And that is not right.

That is why we have to be certain of our motivations before we try to glorify God.

Let us examine our hearts and our motives for following God’s will.

Let us seek to love God and others because of the goodness in our hearts, minds, and souls.

And let our desire to reach Heaven be rooted in that love.

What Scripture says about selflessness.

May God grant us the grace to follow Him with pure hearts and selfless motives.