spiritual reflection – The Christian Tech-Nerd

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?

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.

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

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

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

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

So I started praying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And lastly, I prayed for myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because I believe it matters.

And I believe they matter — every single one.

Tag: spiritual reflection

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