Colossians 3:4 – Today’s Verse for March 10, 2025 Monday

“When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye also appear with him in glory.“
— Colossians 3:4 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

Think about that for a moment—Christ, who is your life. Not just a part of your life. Not just someone you follow. He is your life. That means everything about you is wrapped up in Him. Your purpose, your hope, your future—it’s all found in Jesus.

Right now, life can feel hard. We struggle. We wait. We don’t always see the full picture. But one day, Christ will return. When He does, we won’t just see Him—we’ll share in His glory. That means all the struggles, all the waiting, all the unseen faithfulness will be worth it.

This verse reminds us to live for what lasts. Our real home isn’t here. Our real reward isn’t in this world. When Christ appears, we will finally be who we were made to be—whole, pure, and alive in a way we’ve never known before.

So hold on. Keep your eyes on Jesus. He is your life, and He’s coming soon.

Personal Prayer

Lord Jesus, You are my life. Not just a part of it—all of it. Everything I am and everything I hope for is in You.

Some days, I forget that. I get caught up in the worries of this world. I let fear, stress, and distractions pull me away from the truth. But You remind me that my real home is with You. My future is secure. One day, I will see You as You are, and I will share in Your glory.

Until that day, help me live with my heart set on things above. Keep my eyes on You, not on what is temporary. Give me strength to keep going, even when life feels heavy. Fill me with hope, knowing that You are coming again.

Thank You for loving me. Thank You for being my life. I trust You completely.

In Your name, Jesus, 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.