1 Corinthians 3:6-7 – Today’s Verse for April 26, 2025 Saturday

“I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase. So then neither is he that planteth any thing, neither he that watereth; but God that giveth the increase.“
— 1 Corinthians 3:6-7 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

We fuss over who did what, who gets credit, whose ministry is really bearing fruit. Meanwhile, God’s over there chuckling, holding the only watering can that actually matters.

You could plant the perfect seed. You could water it with holy tears and organic, fair-trade compost. But if God doesn’t make it grow? Forget it. That’s humbling, isn’t it? And also kind of freeing. You’re not the miracle worker—you’re just holding a shovel.

So work hard, sure. But maybe stop stressing over results like they’re your Yelp reviews. The harvest was never yours to control. God’s got this. (And honestly, He’s way better at it.)

Personal Prayer

Lord, You’re the one who makes things grow—not me. I plant seeds, I water them, but sometimes I act like I’m the one who controls the harvest. Forgive me for stressing over what only You can do.

Help me work faithfully, but without the weight of thinking it all depends on me. When I start measuring success like it’s my job, remind me: You’re the miracle in the middle of all my effort.

Take my small offerings—my planting, my watering—and do what only You can. Let me trust Your timing, Your way, Your growth.

In Your 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.