Colossians 1:10 – Today’s Verse for April 28, 2025 Monday

“That ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work, and increasing in the knowledge of God;“
— Colossians 1:10 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

God never meant for faith to stay locked inside our heads. Walking with Him means living in a way that shows it—bearing fruit, growing, becoming the kind of people heaven cheers for. It’s not about looking religious or winning moral trophies. It’s about the daily grind of kindness, patience, quiet courage, and real joy when nobody’s watching.

The more we know God, the more everything else gets sharper. Decisions get cleaner. Love gets stronger. Purpose stops feeling like a word we chase and starts feeling like the air we breathe. We don’t have to force fruit to grow on a tree — it just happens when the tree is rooted right. Same with us. Stay close to Him, and the life He dreams for us can’t help but start showing up.

If you’re tired of striving, maybe today’s the day to shift gears. Less forcing, more flowing. Less chasing, more trusting. God’s not asking for polished performance. He’s asking for a real walk, one honest, imperfect, surrendered step at a time.

Personal Prayer

Father, teach me how to walk in a way that makes You smile. Let my life be full of the kind of fruit that feeds others—patience when it’s hard, kindness when it’s costly, faith when it feels foolish. Help me not just know about You, but know You, so that every step I take leads closer to Your heart.

Grow me, God. Quietly, steadily, in the places nobody else sees. Make my roots deep, my spirit strong, and my love real. I don’t want to live just to be good—I want to live to know You and reflect You. Shape me, prune me, carry me. I’m all Yours.

In Jesus’ 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.