1 Corinthians 2:9 – Today’s Verse for May 10, 2025 Saturday

“But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.“
— 1 Corinthians 2:9 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

Let’s be honest—most of us think we’ve got a decent imagination. We dream big, hope hard, and plan like we know what’s coming. But God is always ten steps ahead, quietly laughing in love at how small our biggest dreams really are.

This verse isn’t about someday-in-heaven only. It’s about right now too. God’s goodness isn’t just waiting in the clouds—it’s weaving through the mess, the waiting, and even the letdowns. What He’s preparing for you? It’s beyond the reach of your senses, your logic, even your Pinterest vision board.

You might feel unseen, unheard, forgotten. But your love for Him doesn’t vanish in the dark. He sees it. He’s building something for you that can’t be Googled, copied, or rushed. It’s tailor-made—overflowing, undeserved, and better than you dared to hope for.

Grace means even when you don’t feel ready, He is.

Personal Prayer

Lord, I can’t see what You’re doing behind the scenes, but I trust You’re working for my good. Even when my hope feels small, remind me that Your plans are bigger than anything I could imagine.

Thank You for loving me enough to prepare more than I deserve. Help me stay faithful, even in the waiting. Open my heart to receive the beauty I haven’t seen yet.

In Jesus mighty name I pray, Amen.

Author

Alona
Alona Smith writes like she sketches—quick strokes, bold colors, no eraser. She ran a small-town art studio before VerseForTheDay invited her to swap charcoal for chapters, yet paint still flecks her keyboard. Dawn finds her barefoot on the porch, swirling watercolors across a travel Bible, letting sunrise seep into the margins. Neighbors wave as she bikes to the farmers’ market, basket rattling with sunflowers and Psalms scribbled on kraft-paper price tags.Alona trusts that Scripture behaves like clay: press your palms in, and a vessel appears where empty air once lived. Afternoon workshops with foster teens prove the point; they mold hope into coffee mugs, then watch steam carry it forward.Diplomas? Only framed sketches of hands lifted in worship. Awards? A dog-eared gratitude list taped to her fridge. Open her reflections when cynicism scratches—she’ll slide a brush into your grip and show you light hiding in the smear of everyday color.