Tonight my heart feels tender as I sit down to write. There’s a softness in me, but also a deep ache—a quiet sadness mixed with longing for my fellow Christians to truly trust the Lord. I keep thinking about how often we let fear of other people pull us away from the peace God offers so freely. Scripture speaks so clearly: “Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the LORD is kept safe.” (Proverbs 29:25) I know this truth well, yet I still see so many dear believers weighed down by the worry of what others think, and it stirs something in me—something gentle, but urgent.
Christian Tech Nerd Quick Quiz!
Let’s see who can answer the below question correctly…..
If a woman has an abortion, can she still get into heaven?
Jesus Himself, with such compassion, warned us not to fear those who can only harm the body (Luke 12:4–5). He called us into a deeper kind of courage, the kind rooted not in our own strength but in His everlasting love and authority. When I read those words, I feel Jesus’ tenderness in them—He wasn’t scolding; He was caring for our hearts. And maybe that’s why I feel so moved tonight. When we let fear of people guide our decisions, we drift from the safety He longs to give us. It doesn’t make me angry at anyone; it simply makes me wish we all understood how deeply God wants us to rest in Him.
Sometimes I see friends and believers holding their breath around others, trying to mold themselves to avoid criticism or rejection. My heart aches for them. I understand that struggle more than I’d like to admit. I remember times when I shaped myself around others’ expectations, hoping to avoid judgment. Those were heavy days—days where peace felt distant and fragile. And even now, in certain moments, I still feel that old tug. But then the Holy Spirit gently whispers to my spirit: Trust Me. Look to Me. Don’t give your peace away.
In those moments, I cling to scriptures that have become anchors for my soul. I often repeat Psalm 56:11: “In God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?” These words wrap around me like a soft blanket. They remind me that nothing and no one has the power to pull me out of God’s hands. And when I think about my fellow Christians who feel overwhelmed by the opinions of others, I just want to help them feel the same comfort, the same assurance that God’s love is a safer foundation than anything the world can offer.
What I feel most tonight is compassion. Deep, sincere compassion. Fear is a heavy burden to carry. Wanting to be accepted is a very human desire. And sometimes trusting God feels like stepping onto water—we know He can hold us, but it still takes courage to lift our foot. So when I see believers hesitating or shrinking back, I don’t feel frustrated at them. I feel tenderness toward them. I want to gently encourage them, to whisper, “You don’t have to be afraid. God sees you. God is with you. God will protect you.”
Because I’ve learned that true safety—lasting, unshakeable safety—comes from trusting the Lord, not from pleasing people. When we rest in Him, there’s a calmness that fills our hearts, even when life feels uncertain. And I long for all of us to experience that kind of rest.
Tonight I prayed with a peaceful heaviness in my chest. I asked God to wrap His arms around His children, especially those who feel anxious or unsure. I asked Him to lift the weight of fear from their shoulders and replace it with His gentle strength. I asked Him to help us all remember that His opinion of us is the one that brings life, hope, and freedom. And I prayed that He would keep my own heart soft, trusting, and open to His guidance.
So here is my quiet prayer tonight: Please keep me safe, O LORD, from those who oppose me and would do me harm. Guard my heart from fear and teach me to trust You more deeply. Help my fellow believers feel Your peace and Your nearness. Make our lives beautiful reflections of Your love. Let us walk each day in Your safety. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
May tomorrow bring new strength and a deeper trust in the One who never fails us.
I don’t even know where to begin tonight. My heart feels swollen—full, tender, bruised, burning—and I’m not sure if that’s because I’m angry, or sad, or overwhelmed with gratitude. Maybe it’s all of it at once. Maybe that’s how it is when God is trying to peel away the noise of the day, the demands of the world, and draw me—this stubborn, distracted, restless child—back into His presence.
“Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).
That verse should be tattooed on my forehead at this point. Or maybe on my phone screen. Or on the inside of my eyelids so I see it every time I blink. Because being still does not come naturally to me. It’s like my soul is always pacing, anxious, trying to do everything and fix everything and be everywhere.
But tonight, I felt that tug again—the one that whispers, Come away with Me. And I finally listened.
I don’t know what made me pause. Maybe it was the heaviness I’ve been carrying this week. Maybe it was the argument I had with someone close to me. Maybe it was the way loneliness hit me out of nowhere this afternoon, like a sudden gust of wind that knocks you sideways. Or maybe it was the way Scripture just wouldn’t leave me alone today.
Especially this one: “Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you.” —James 4:8
God isn’t the one who moves away. I am. Every single time.
So tonight I turned off the lights, closed my bedroom door, and sat on the floor—back against the wall, knees tucked up like a little girl. No music, no phone, no distractions. Just silence. Thick, unfamiliar, almost uncomfortable silence. And it dawned on me like a confession: I don’t know how to be alone with God anymore.
Isn’t that ridiculous? I’m a grown woman. I’m a Christian. I teach others about prayer, I post verses on my Instagram stories, I encourage people to “seek His face”… and yet when I tried to just sit with Him, quietly, intimately, intentionally, I felt like I was fidgeting in the waiting room of my own soul.
Why is this so hard?
I think part of it is anger. Not anger at God, but anger at how everything around me pulls me away from Him. Angry at the constant noise, the expectations, the pressure to keep up, to respond, to maintain connections on apps I don’t even care about. Angry that society applauds busy schedules and crowded calendars but views solitude with God as something odd—something reserved for monks or overly spiritual people who don’t live in the “real world.”
But Jesus lived in the real world. Jesus was busy. Jesus had crowds pressing against Him, disciples needing Him, people chasing Him for miracles. And still, Scripture says: “But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” —Luke 5:16
Often. Not occasionally. Not when He felt like it. Not when He was overwhelmed. Often. If the Son of God needed that silence, that solitude, that “alone with the Father” time—who am I to think I can survive without it?
Tonight I told Him everything. Things I haven’t said out loud. The things I hide behind laughter or “I’m fine” texts or keeping myself busy enough not to feel. I told Him about the ache in my chest that’s been there for months. I told Him about the confusion I feel about my future, the frustration of praying for things that still haven’t moved. I told Him about my impatience, my fear, the relational tensions that make me feel like I’m cracking in places no one can see.
And then I told Him what scares me most: I don’t like being alone with myself, so sometimes I avoid being alone with You.
But instead of shame, He gave me peace. That whisper again. That gentle warmth. That softening of my breathing. It felt like He settled into the room with me—not dramatically, not loudly, but deeply. Quietly. Intimately.
Like He had been there all along, waiting for me to stop running.
I think that’s what the devotional writer meant—those instinctive reactions we all have to danger. Grabbing a child before they fall. Pulling someone away from harm without thinking. Our bodies react automatically because we’ve lived long enough to know: danger demands response.
But oh, how I long for my spirit to be like that. To turn to God just as quickly. Without thought. Without debate. Without hesitation.
To bend my attention His way the moment fear whispers, or anxiety rises, or loneliness creeps in.
Maybe that’s what practice does. Maybe intimacy with God grows the same way instinct does—slowly, quietly, through repetition, through time spent, through discipline that doesn’t feel glamorous or exciting.
I guess I just never realized how little discipline I’ve had in this area.
I value community so much. I love fellowship, gathering with friends, going to church, being part of something bigger than myself. But what good is community if I’m spiritually dry? What good is fellowship when my own soul is panting like David described: “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for You, O God.” —Psalm 42:1
How can I pour out if I haven’t sat still long enough to be filled?
Tonight I prayed a simple prayer—one that tasted like honesty and surrender and longing:
“Father, teach me to be alone with You again. Strip away the distractions. Make me hunger for Your presence. Let silence become sacred to me, not scary. Let solitude become sweet, not strange. I want to know You deeply, truly, personally—not just through sermons or songs or conversations, but through stillness. Draw me into that place where it’s just us. And don’t let me substitute noise for intimacy anymore.”
I felt tears sliding down my face before I even realized I was crying. I guess that’s what happens when the Holy Spirit moves quietly enough to bypass my defense mechanisms.
Then another verse washed over me: “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly…” —Colossians 3:16
Richly. Not barely. Not occasionally. Not when convenient. Richly. You can’t be filled with something you never make time for.
And I think that’s what tonight really exposed: I want the comfort of God without the commitment of solitude. I want His nearness without giving Him my attention.
But real love—real relationship—doesn’t work like that. Not with God. Not with anyone.
So here I am, writing this entry with a heart that is still tender, still humbled, still wanting more. Wanting Him. Wanting that quiet, that peace, that awareness of His presence that doesn’t need a worship band or a sermon or a crisis to trigger it.
Just Him. Just me. Just us.
If I’m honest, I’m still a little angry—angry at how easily I get spiritually scattered. Angry at how the world trivializes solitude. Angry at myself for neglecting the one relationship that matters more than anything. But maybe that anger is the spark God will use to fuel change. Maybe holy frustration is sometimes a gift.
My prayer now is simple:
“Jesus, make being alone with You my instinct. Make Your presence the place my soul runs to first. Let the disciplines that intimidate me become the habits that anchor me. And when distractions tempt me, whisper louder. When I drift, pull me back. When I forget, remind me gently. I want to know You—not just as my Savior, or my Provider, or my Protector—but as the One I sit with, quietly, daily, lovingly, intimately.”
I think I’m beginning to understand something: The more time I spend alone with God, the better I can love people. The more I know His voice, the better I can hear others. The more I rest in Him, the more I can show up fully present in my relationships. And the more His Word settles into me, the more my heart is transformed into a place where His love can breathe.
“In Your presence there is fullness of joy.” —Psalm 16:11
I want that fullness—desperately. Not the surface-level stuff. Not the temporary encouragement of a good worship song. Not the emotional high of a Sunday service. I want the daily, deep, quiet, unshakeable joy that comes from being with Him… even when no one sees, no one applauds, no one knows.
Tonight was a beginning. Not dramatic. Not fireworks. But real. A step toward intimacy I didn’t realize I’d lost. A moment of stillness I didn’t know I needed.
Maybe being alone with God isn’t as mysterious as I’ve made it. Maybe it’s simply surrendering my attention—bending it toward Him again and again until it becomes instinct. Maybe the joy of His presence is waiting in the quiet moments I keep avoiding.
So here is my final prayer before I sleep:
“Lord, keep me close. Teach me silence. Teach me stillness. Teach me to love the quiet moments with You more than the noisy moments with the world. Make me a woman who is not only filled with Your Word but shaped by Your presence. And let my time alone with You be the well from which everything else flows.”
Today, I’m writing this with trembling hands and a heavy heart—not out of fear, but with the kind of spiritual weight that comes when God stirs something deep in your soul. I feel like the Holy Spirit won’t let me move forward until I sit with this truth: obedience is not occasional. It’s a lifestyle. A commitment.
I don’t want to sugarcoat anything. I’m not here to play Christian dress-up or quote Scripture when it feels convenient. I’m here to live it, breathe it, suffer for it if I have to. And lately, God has been confronting me about what I really mean when I say, “Jesus is Lord of my life.”
Because if I truly believe that, how dare I reserve the right to say “yes, but not right now” or “yes, but not in front of them” or “yes, as long as it doesn’t cost me comfort, reputation, or connection.” Who am I kidding?
Luke 6:46 says: “Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say?”
That verse pierced through me today like a sword. It’s Jesus asking a question most of us dodge with spiritual fluff. We love the idea of Him being our Savior—our Provider, our Comforter, our Deliverer. But our Lord? That’s where we hesitate.
And the truth is, Lordship means ownership.
If He owns me—my body, my choices, my time, my future—then obedience is not optional. It’s expected. Not from a place of fear or pressure, but love and honor.
I think of Hebrews 13:5, where God says, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” That’s not a cute quote for a coffee mug. That’s a promise to carry with us when obedience leaves us standing alone. When saying “yes” to God means losing relationships. When obedience costs us popularity, stability, or dreams we once held dear.
And He will ask us to surrender things we value.
Why? Because He’s cruel? No. Because He’s holy. And we can’t carry our idols and His glory at the same time. It’s one or the other.
I’ve had to wrestle with this personally. God recently asked me to walk away from a situation that wasn’t sinful in the eyes of the world—but it was disobedient in the eyes of God. I knew it. Deep down, I knew I had to walk away.
But do you know how hard it is to obey God when everyone around you is choosing convenience over conviction?
That’s when Romans 8:28 anchored me: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
All things. Even heartbreak. Even loneliness. Even the messes that come from doing the right thing.
Sometimes, obedience looks like closing doors you prayed would stay open. Sometimes, it’s deleting the text, walking away from the friend group, or speaking up when silence would be safer. Sometimes, it’s trusting God with your reputation when the world calls you “too intense” or “too Christian.”
But what does too Christian even mean? Last I checked, Christ didn’t go halfway to the Cross.
That’s why I can’t be halfway with Him.
Here’s the thing: partial obedience is still disobedience. Delayed obedience is disobedience. Conditional obedience is disobedience.
We don’t get to pick and choose. It’s either all in, or we’re playing church.
And I’m done playing church.
I’m done saying, “God, I’ll obey if…” or “I’ll obey when…” I want to be found faithful even when it’s dark, even when I’m scared, even when the outcome is unclear.
I want to be the kind of woman who obeys God with tears streaming down her face, with shaky hands and a surrendered heart, trusting that His way is better—even when it breaks mine.
1 Samuel 15:22 says, “To obey is better than sacrifice.” God isn’t impressed by how many Bible studies I attend, or how eloquently I can talk about faith. He’s looking at the posture of my heart. Am I willing to obey Him when no one’s clapping, when it’s inconvenient, when it costs me everything?
Because that’s when obedience becomes real.
Jesus said in John 14:15, “If you love me, keep my commandments.”
This isn’t about legalism. It’s about love.
I obey because I love Him. I love Him more than my comfort. More than my image. More than my timeline or dreams.
And tonight, I want to say this out loud as a prayer:
Lord, forgive me for the times I’ve obeyed selectively. For the moments I negotiated with You as if You owe me options. You are not a consultant; You are King. Help me to walk in radical obedience—even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it costs me everything I thought I needed. I trust that what You ask of me is always for my good, even if I can’t see it yet. Make me the kind of woman who follows You without compromise. I want to live for Your glory, not my gain. In Jesus’ name, amen.
So here I am. A 25-year-old woman who doesn’t have it all figured out, but knows one thing for sure:
I’d rather be rejected by the world in obedience to God than accepted by the world in rebellion against Him.
And if obedience means I walk alone sometimes, I’ll still choose it.
Because I am committed.
Not halfway. Not occasionally. But fully, completely, and passionately—
More than ever before I feel God’s presence like a warm light wrapping around my soul—just comforting enough to remind me I’m not alone. I’ve been thinking deeply about something a new friend said at small group over the weekend: “God’s guardrails are more than just a list.” How true that is! The Ten Commandments—they’re not rules meant to chain me; they’re loving boundaries from a Father who wants the best for me.
When I first encountered the Ten Commandments as a kid, I thought of them as a little pile of “thou shalt nots,” like rules that threatened punishment if broken. But over the last few years—especially now at 24—I’m discovering they’re liberating guardrails. Ironically, these boundaries don’t limit me; they protect me. They keep me grounded in truth, love, and purpose.
📖 “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” —2 Timothy 1:7. This tells me He didn’t give those commandments to scare me. He gave them so I could walk in confidence, rooted in His love, free from fear of “messing up.”
💕 Commandment by Commandment: How They Guide Me
“You shall have no other gods before me.” — It’s a daily reminder that when I idolize my career ambitions, relationships, or even comfort, I’m drifting away from Him. I pray: “Lord, You alone are worthy of my highest devotion. Teach me to keep You at the center.”
“You shall not make for yourself a carved image…” — In this age of comparison on Instagram and TikTok, it’s easy to idolize trends, aesthetic, or image. I whisper: “Help me focus on who I am in You, not what I look like to others.”
“You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.” — I catch myself sometimes saying God’s name in frustration. I repent: “Father, forgive my careless words. Let my tongue speak life and honor.”
“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” — Oh, how I struggle with rest! My heart races at the thought of doing nothing. But Sabbath reminds me that rest is holy and necessary. “God, grant me peace in stillness and remind me You are enough.”
“Honor your father and your mother.” — This one has softened me. My parents have taught me so much about faith and grace. I pray: “Thank You for them. Help me honor them in word, deed, and heart.”
“You shall not murder.” — It’s about more than physical harm—it’s about words. I’ve let frustration boil into bitterness. “Lord, guard my heart and my words; let me speak life, forgiveness, and grace.”
“You shall not commit adultery.” — My future spouse deserves holiness. I guard my eyes, my thoughts, my purity—heart, mind, and body. “Keep my mind pure and my heart faithful, Lord.”
“You shall not steal.” — It’s more than property—what about time, attention, honor? Do I “steal” someone’s right to feel seen? “Give me a generous heart, not a selfish one.”
“You shall not bear false witness.” — Gossip is insidious. “Help me speak truth in love and defend those who can’t defend themselves.”
“You shall not covet.” — That ache in my chest when I scroll and feel less-than? That’s covetousness. “Lord, cultivate contentment in me. Teach me to delight in Your provision.”
🌺 Guardrails or Gateways?
This morning, I was running late and my heart thundered in my chest—fear, worry, frustration. My to-do list rolled on. And then I caught the whisper: “Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10). In that moment I realized, the guardrails aren’t barriers; they’re gateways. The guardrails offer a route back to Him when I’ve drifted into chaos. They invite me into shelter.
When I honor the Sabbath, I actually find joy in rest. When I guard my speech, I build up others. These commandments protect me from self-destruction and evil influences.
🙏 Prayer of the Heart
Heavenly Father, I thank You that You are not distant or cold. You are a loving Father who set these commandments to guide my heart, not condemn it. When I was younger, I saw them as burdens. Now, I’m seeing them through the lens of redemption and transformation. Please:
Root me in Your love and not in fear.
Illuminate the times I drift without realizing it.
Guard my heart from idols—money, approval, even my own agenda.
Help me offer rest to my soul and mercy to others.
Shape my speech to be truth-laden and life-giving.
Give me contentment so covetousness has no foothold.
Thank You that Jesus fulfilled the law and that in Him, I don’t walk in condemnation. Instead, I walk in grace. When I fail, I remember “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us…” (1 John 1:9).
✨ Real-Life Glimmers
This week, I saw the power of the commandments in real life.
At work, when gossip bubbled up, I chose to change the subject. My coworker thanked me later—it felt like a mini-mission moment.
In a friendship, I offered a listening ear rather than advice. Took the commandment against taking from someone else’s time personally.
Internally, I noticed less comparison when I devoted ten minutes of prayer each morning. It’s subtle, but oh, so sweet.
It’s like each commandment is a little lamp lighting my path. They’re not legal chains—they’re kind directions that help me walk with clarity.
💞 My Prayer for You
If you’re reading this and wondering, “Do I really need these ancient rules?” I’d say yes—because they’re not ancient limits, but divine love letters. In a world that tells us to define our own truths, the commandments are like a Compass pointing us back to our Creator.
I pray that you find freedom in each guardrail:
Let the first two commandments remind you who you are in Christ and who God is—evoking awe, worship, and alignment.
Let the middle commandments shape your rhythms: rest in Him and honor family.
Let the last ones guide your ethics: how you speak, act, love, desire.
💌 Nighttime Prayer
Lord Jesus, You are the fulfillment of the law. At night, when the world quiets down, You whisper rest to my soul. Help me to rest not from work but in You. Remind me that I am not defined by my performance or perfection. You see me, You love me—even when I fall short. Thank You for sending Your Spirit to convict, guide, and empower me. May I live tomorrow tethered to Your truth. No cultural trend, no fear, no strife can unmoor me when You are my anchor.
“The Lord will guide you always; He will satisfy your needs in a sun‑scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well‑watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.” —Isaiah 58:11
With all that I am and all that I will become, I place my trust in You. I want Your commandments to be written on my heart (Jeremiah 31:33), not out of obligation, but out of love.
Amen.
🌙 Final Thought
As a 24-year-old who stumbles, dreams, hopes, and seeks, the Ten Commandments aren’t obsolete—they’re so relevant. They guard the digital spaces where I dwell, the relationships I treasure, and the dreams I chase. They’re not just a list—they’re a lifeline.
So tonight, I tuck into bed, whispering, “Goodnight, Lord. Thank You for Your guardrails. Keep me grounded—and free—in You.” And I rest with that sweet sense of being deeply, truly, unconditionally loved.
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.
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.
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).
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).
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).
Encourages Gossip and Judgment Texting and social media can spread harmful words, breaking the command to build others up (Ephesians 4:29).
Promotes Instant Gratification The iPhone trains us to want everything quickly, which can fuel impatience and lack of self-control (Galatians 5:22-23).
Erodes Real Relationships Face-to-face connection suffers, weakening God’s design for community and fellowship (Hebrews 10:24-25).
Increases Anxiety and Fear Constant notifications can lead to worry and fear, distracting us from trusting God’s peace (Philippians 4:6-7).
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).
Invites Idolatry When we depend more on our phones than on God, it becomes a form of idolatry (Exodus 20:3).
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.
The Christian Tech-Nerd 