Ephesians 4:15 – Today’s Verse for April 19, 2025 Saturday

“But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ:“
— Ephesians 4:15 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

Truth without love can cut like a sword. Love without truth can feel like a lie. But together? They build people up. That’s what this verse is all about—growing up, not just growing old.

God isn’t asking us to be perfect; He’s asking us to be real and kind. Speak honestly, but do it with a heart that wants healing, not just to win the argument. That’s what Jesus did. He told the truth that shook people, but He never used it as a weapon. He used it like a surgeon uses a scalpel—to heal, not to harm.

This kind of maturity doesn’t happen by accident. It takes humility, a soft heart, and the guts to love people even when they’re hard to love. And in that process, we start to look more like Christ—not louder, not sharper, but deeper, gentler, stronger.

That’s what spiritual growth really looks like. Not just knowing the truth. Living it—lovingly.

Personal Prayer

Lord Jesus, teach me how to speak like You—truthful, but always gentle. Help me not to use my words to prove a point, but to bring peace. When I’m tempted to be harsh, remind me that love is louder than volume. When I want to avoid the truth to keep the peace, remind me that love also tells the truth.

Grow me up, Lord. Not just in knowledge, but in kindness. Not just in boldness, but in grace. Shape my heart so it looks more like Yours—patient, wise, and full of mercy. Use my words to heal, not to hurt. Use my life to build, not to break.

Make me mature in the way that matters most—more like You. 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.