Ephesians 2:10 – Today’s Verse for May 23, 2025 Friday

“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.“
—  Ephesians 2:10 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

We are God’s workmanship—His custom creation—crafted in Christ for a reason: to walk in the good works He prepared before we even got here. That’s not just a poetic line. It means your existence isn’t an accident. You’re not some spiritual side project God forgot to clean up. You’re intentional. You’re a masterpiece with a mission.

And that mission? It’s not about proving yourself, earning points, or living under pressure. Grace already handled that. Now you just get to walk it out—step by step, with Him. Every kindness, every act of love, every choice to forgive, to speak truth, to stay faithful when it’s easier to quit—that’s you stepping into the good works God already lined up. It’s like walking a path that was paved for your feet alone.

You don’t have to hustle your way into purpose. You just have to show up with a willing heart and trust that He’s already built the road.

Personal Prayer

Father, thank You for making me on purpose—for designing me with care and calling me Your workmanship. Sometimes I forget that I’m not just drifting through life. You’ve already prepared the path for me, and I don’t need to force or fake my way into purpose.

Help me walk in the good works You’ve set before me. Not out of fear, but from grace. Not to earn Your love, but because I already have it. Open my eyes to the people I’m meant to serve today. Give me courage when I doubt, and joy in the small things that matter more than I realize.

I trust that even on the messy days, You’re still working through me. Keep reminding me that I’m Yours—and that’s enough.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Author

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    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.