Tag: what would Jesus do

Wrestling with Doubt as a Christian

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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The weight of the world feels almost unbearable some days. Everything seems flipped. Right is called wrong. Wrong is celebrated. Sin is dressed up in sequins and paraded in the streets, while righteousness is mocked and silenced. I used to think we’d have more time before it got this loud—this twisted—but here we are. And I know You’re not surprised.

“Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness…” — Isaiah 5:20.


Your Word warned us, Lord. And now we are living in the middle of that woe.

Sometimes I just want to scream. Not because I hate people—I don’t. I ache for them. For the blind leading the blind. For the influencers raising a generation on relativism and emotion, not truth. For the silence of the church where there should be a shout. For my own weariness in holding the line.

I feel the tension in my soul every single day. To go along or to speak up. To be silent or to be that “annoying Christian girl” who just has to bring Jesus into everything. But how can I not? He is everything to me. He pulled me from darkness. He healed parts of me no one saw. He made me new. If I deny Him, I deny myself.

But today was hard.

I watched another celebrity mock believers. “Y’all still believe in that sky fairy?” she laughed. Thousands of likes. Thousands of cheers. I cried. Not because I’m weak, but because I know what it’s like to live without hope—and I know what it’s like to meet Jesus. And I want that for them, even if they spit in my face. Even if they call me brainwashed. Because Christ said they’d do all of that.

“If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first.” — John 15:18

Jesus, You knew this would happen. You promised this walk wouldn’t be easy, but You also promised You’d walk with me. I guess that’s what I’m clinging to right now: that I’m not alone, even when it feels like I’m walking upstream in a river of compromise.

It’s hard to hold on when it feels like faith itself is on trial.

Every time I open social media, the battle is louder. The culture says be “politically correct,” while You’ve called us to be morally correct. There’s a war raging, not just around us, but inside of us. The culture war is just a symptom of the deeper spiritual war, and I can feel it tearing at hearts. Mine included.

But Lord, I believe. Even when it’s hard. Even when I don’t feel You the way I used to. Even when my prayers feel like they’re bouncing off the ceiling.

I still believe.

I still believe You are the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6).
I still believe the Bible is Your living, breathing Word (Hebrews 4:12).
I still believe You died and rose again, defeating death and hell (Revelation 1:18).
I still believe the cross is not foolishness, but the power of God (1 Corinthians 1:18).
I still believe You are coming back, and soon.

So help me, Jesus.

Help me keep my eyes on You, not the headlines.
Help me keep my ears tuned to Your voice, not the noise of the crowd.
Help me to stand, even if I’m the last one standing.
Help me to speak when You say “speak,” and be silent when You say “wait.”
Help me to love, even when I’m hated.
And help me to never confuse compassion with compromise.

The world follows Carl Sagan’s voice—”The cosmos is all that is, or ever was, or ever will be.” But I hear Your whisper through the ages: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” — Genesis 1:1.

Sagan saw a godless void. Calvin saw a stage for Your glory. I choose to see what Calvin saw—what You showed us. Creation is Your theater, and we’re living in the final act. I’ve read the end of the script. I know who wins. You do. So I will not be afraid.

But Lord, give me wisdom. There’s so much deception. And it’s subtle. The devil isn’t dumb. He disguises lies as “love.” He paints sin with glitter and slogans like “your truth” and “just be you.” But Your truth is the only truth that saves. And it breaks my heart that so many will miss it because it doesn’t feel good or sound trendy.

Jesus, revive Your Church. Shake us. Wake us up. We were not called to blend in. We were never meant to be lukewarm or “cool.” We are salt and light—meant to sting and shine. Forgive us for choosing comfort over conviction.

I want to be bold, God. But not rude. I want to be loving, but not compromising. I want to reflect You, even when people reject me. Because this world is not my home. I’m not living for likes. I’m living for “Well done.”

So tonight, I lay my weariness before You. I pour out the ache, the confusion, the heartbreak, the loneliness. I give it all to You. And I pick up peace. I pick up faith. I pick up the cross.

Because You’re worth it.

Every tear.
Every rejection.
Every label.
Every loss.

Jesus, You’re worth it.

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When Fear is Faithful

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

This weekend, my heart is heavy and clear all at once.

Heavy, because I still wrestle with fear. Not the kind of fear that reveres God — the kind of fear that distrusts Him. The kind that whispers lies, not holy awe. The kind that tells me if I let go of something I love, He’ll take it and never give it back. The kind that makes God seem like a thief in the night instead of the Good Shepherd.

And yet clear — because I know better. I know Him.

I’ve walked with Him. I’ve cried in His presence. I’ve seen His hand in moments where no one else could’ve pulled me out. I’ve watched prayers come alive in real time. So why is it that when He nudges me to surrender, I panic like a child losing her favorite toy?

I’m a college graduate, living on my own, and still clinging to my childish insecurities when God’s asking me for childlike trust.

Jesus said in Matthew 18:3, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” And children — real children — trust. They ask questions, yes. They may cry when things change, sure. But they believe their daddy will protect them, feed them, provide for them. Why can’t I?https://youtu.be/VzY6dwn3Z_U

When I look in the mirror, I see a woman who talks a lot about faith but gets nervous when faith is tested. I say God is my Provider, yet I count the cost before I obey. I say God is good, but I hesitate like He’s about to trick me. Let me be real: I still fear that giving Him everything means losing everything.

But is that who He is?

Lord, help me. Remind me You are not a manipulator. You are a Father. A good Father.

I’m ashamed to even admit this fear out loud, but David did it in the Psalms — so maybe it’s not shameful, maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s sacred space when I take my fears to the throne instead of pretending they don’t exist.

Psalm 34:4 says, “I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears.” And I feel that deep. My fears are not always from logic; they’re from wounds. Maybe from childhood. Maybe from bad theology. Maybe from control issues I haven’t even fully admitted yet.

But the fear of the Lord? Now that’s a different story.

The sacred fear of God is freeing. It snaps the chains of every other fear. It breaks idols. It brings clarity. It’s not the fear that makes me hide — it’s the kind that makes me bow.

And if I’m honest, that kind of fear feels more foreign than I want to admit. Most Christians talk about fearing God like it’s a formula to get wisdom, but few live like His majesty could make you tremble and worship at the same time. That’s what I want — not to be afraid of God, but to be in awe of Him.

Because when I fear God rightly, I don’t fear losing control. I surrender it.

When I fear God rightly, I stop clinging to my small plans and start chasing His.

When I fear God rightly, I trust that anything He asks me to lay down is either being upgraded, protected, or purified.

It’s like James 1:17 says, “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” That scripture hits me like a wave. He does not change. I do. My heart shifts. My feelings change. My confidence wavers. But His intentions are always love.

So when I think He’s about to “take something away” from me, what I’m really fearing is His character. And that’s not holy. That’s just me projecting my broken human trust onto a flawless, faithful God.

Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me for thinking You are like man — unpredictable, withholding, hard to please. Forgive me for doubting Your goodness just because I can’t predict Your timing.

What kind of God sends His Son to die for my sin, and then plays games with my destiny?

None. That’s not who You are.

You are consistent. You are kind. You are patient when I panic, and gentle when I wrestle. Your conviction doesn’t crush — it calls me higher. You discipline me not to destroy me but to deliver me. Hebrews 12:6 says, “The Lord disciplines the one He loves.” You only prune what You intend to grow.

So if You’re asking me to hand You the thing in my hand — the relationship, the career dream, the timeline, the idea of how things “should” be — then maybe You’re trying to free me, not hurt me.

Maybe this sacred fear is the beginning of freedom.

And maybe, just maybe, the enemy has been lying to me: telling me fear of God is scary when it’s actually safe. Telling me surrender is loss when it’s really access. Telling me God is withholding when He’s just preparing. I’m done listening to those lies.

God, here I am. I give You my trust again. With open hands. With a heart that still trembles a little, but a soul that says YES. Yes to surrender. Yes to reverence. Yes to fearing You rightly so I don’t fear anything else.

I want to live in awe of You, not anxiety.

Let the sacred fear of the Lord set me free from needing to control my life. I want to trust You like a daughter trusts her Father — with joy, not suspicion.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

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Abortion is Murder: A Lonely Christian Belief in a Loud World

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Tonight, I feel heavy.

I don’t even know where to start. I’ve avoided writing this down for so long, maybe because it feels too raw or because I’m afraid of how it might sound, even to myself. But lately, this has been sitting on my heart like a weight. And I need to pour it out — not for anyone else to see, but for me. Maybe to understand myself better. Maybe to let God work through the honesty of it.

Here it is, plain and simple: I believe abortion is murder.

Even writing that, I feel my chest tighten. Not because I doubt it, but because of what that belief costs me. I don’t say it out loud. I don’t post about it. I don’t argue in comment sections. It’s not that I’m ashamed of what I believe — I just know that in the world I live in, especially among people my age, this belief makes me a target. Or worse, a monster. People I love and respect — friends, classmates, even some from church — think this view is outdated, oppressive, even hateful.

But to me, it’s none of those things. To me, it’s rooted in love.

It comes from a place of reverence for life — all life. The unborn child who hasn’t had a chance to speak, to breathe, to be held. I believe that life starts at conception, that every heartbeat is sacred. I believe that God knits us together in the womb, not as a poetic idea, but as a truth. Psalm 139 has always felt so personal to me — “You knit me together in my mother’s womb.” How could I read that and believe life begins only when it’s convenient?

But it’s not just about the child. It’s about the woman, too. The pain, the pressure, the fear. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be pregnant and scared, unsupported, or alone. And because I can’t imagine it, I try not to judge. I really do. I don’t think women who’ve had abortions are evil. I don’t think they’re murderers in the cruel, criminal sense of the word. I think they’re human — hurting, overwhelmed, and in many cases, lied to about what abortion really is.

Still, in my heart, I can’t pretend it’s not the taking of a life. I’ve tried to sit with other perspectives. I’ve read, I’ve listened, I’ve prayed. But nothing has moved me from this belief. And maybe that’s because it’s not just a thought — it’s a conviction. Something spiritual. Something God has written on my soul in a way that no amount of social pressure can erase.

Sometimes I wonder what I would do if I were the one facing an unplanned pregnancy. Would my convictions hold? Would I have the courage to carry the child, even if I felt alone or ashamed? I like to think I would. I hope I never have to find out. But I pray that if I ever do, God would give me the strength to choose life — not just in theory, but in practice.

Being single and 24, I’m not in the middle of this issue the way some women are. I’m on the outside, watching the debates, listening to the shouts from both sides. And it’s so loud. So divisive. I feel like if I spoke up, I’d be dismissed or attacked. So I stay silent. And in that silence, I start to feel alone.

Even in church, people tread lightly around this topic. It’s become “too political,” too messy. And I get it — it is messy. But should we really go silent just because it’s controversial? Didn’t Jesus speak truth when it was dangerous, when it cost Him everything?

I don’t want to be hateful. I never want my belief to come across as judgment. I want it to come across as love. I want people to know that I care not just about the unborn child but also about the mother — her heart, her healing, her eternity. If she’s gone through it, I want her to know there’s grace. If she’s considering it, I want her to know there are other ways. I want to be part of the solution — to love better, support more, help create a world where no woman feels like abortion is her only choice.

But all I have right now is this belief, this quiet conviction that I carry with me in rooms where I can’t say it out loud. It’s lonely. But I remind myself that Jesus walked a lonely road, too. And that being faithful doesn’t always mean being popular. Sometimes it means standing still when the world rushes past you in the opposite direction.

So tonight, I choose to be honest with myself. I choose not to bury this part of me. I won’t scream it at the world, but I won’t pretend it’s not real either. God gave me this heart — soft, but strong. Quiet, but unshakable. And He sees me, even when no one else does.

If I lose people over this belief, so be it. If I stay silent to preserve peace, I’ll make sure it’s never out of fear, but out of wisdom. Either way, I know who I serve. I know who made me. And I know that in His eyes, every life — born or unborn — matters deeply.

Including mine.

A Prayer for Newborn Babies

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the precious gift of new life. Each newborn child is a miracle — formed by Your hands, known by Your heart, and created with divine purpose. You said in Your Word, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you” (Jeremiah 1:5), and today we praise You for the beautiful lives You are bringing into the world.

Lord, we lift up every newborn baby into Your care. Wrap them in Your protection, cover them in Your peace, and surround them with love. Let their bodies grow strong, their minds be filled with peace, and their hearts always be open to Your presence. From their very first breath, may they be held in the warmth of Your grace.

We pray for wisdom and strength for every parent and caregiver. May they be filled with patience, tenderness, and courage as they nurture and guide these tiny lives. Help them to love selflessly, lead with humility, and rely on You daily. May their homes be full of laughter, learning, and the light of Christ.

Jesus, You welcomed children with open arms. Let these little ones grow to know You, trust You, and walk in Your truth. May they become strong in spirit, rich in kindness, and bold in faith. And even when the world feels uncertain, may they always find their identity and security in You.

We entrust every newborn baby to Your unfailing love — the same love that never changes, never ends, and never lets go.

In Jesus’ holy name we pray,
Amen.

How “Turning The Other Cheek” Can Keep Your Heart Healthy

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

It’s a teaching everyone’s heard before

“If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also.“ (Luke 6:29)

This simple, yet profound saying can have incredible benefits if we truly understand what it means.

More specifically, it can contribute to the well-being of our hearts.

You will see how in a minute.

No matter where we look nowadays, we are bombarded with situations that evoke negative emotions.

An offensive comment, a misunderstanding, an argument, the list goes on.

Responding to these situations with anger and resentment can seem natural.

But what most people don’t realize is that getting angry does more harm than good.

Scientists have found that individuals who frequently experience anger are more prone to heart disease.

Anger induces physiological stress, raising blood pressure, accelerating heart rate, and triggering inflammation.

In other words, anger places a heavier burden on the heart.

This is why people who can’t control their emotions experience frequent strokes.

How does “turning the other cheek” factor into this?

When we choose to let go of our anger and resentment, to “turn the other cheek,” we essentially reduce the harmful impact of these negative emotions on our systems. 

We reduce our stress levels, blood pressure, and decrease inflammation.

The more I reflect on this, the more it makes sense.

Jesus taught us to turn the other cheek not just for the sake of our spiritual health, but also for our physical well-being.

He truly wants what’s good for us in every aspect of our existence.

Does this mean we should let others walk over us? Of course not. We must stand firm in our convictions and uphold what is right.

However, it means that we should strive to react to provocations with a spirit of forgiveness, rather than anger and resentment.

We should trust in God to handle our battles and take care of our hearts, both physically and spiritually.

So, the next time you find yourself in a stressful situation, remember the wisdom of Jesus’s teaching to turn the other cheek. 

Your heart will thank you for it.