“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.”
— Galatians 5:22-23 KJV
Reflection on Today's Verse
Each one of these traits is relational. Notice that? You can’t really be loving, patient, or gentle in isolation. They all require other people—real, flawed, often irritating people. And maybe that’s the point. It’s God’s little cosmic joke to teach us love, joy, and patience by throwing us in with the very people (and situations!) that test these traits to their core.
So, if you’re looking at this list and feeling more like a spiritual citrus than a “fruit of the Spirit” orchard, take heart. The fruits grow over time, and God’s Spirit is a persistent gardener. Every little step of faith, every small act of kindness, even the tiniest bit of patience in line at the grocery store, waters those seeds. And before you know it, you’ll start seeing fruit where you thought only weeds could grow.
Now, excuse me while I go find my “joy” under the couch cushions… again.
Personal Prayer
Heavenly Father, thank You for these fruits that I know come only from You—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. I confess how often I fall short and let my own weaknesses get in the way of these beautiful qualities You want to grow in me.
I ask, Spirit, that You cultivate these fruits in my heart, not just for my sake but so I can better reflect Your love to those around me. Help me to be patient when it feels impossible, kind when it’s undeserved, and gentle when I feel anything but gentle. May my life show Your peace and joy, even in hard moments, so others can see Your work in me and know that it’s You, not me, bringing these changes.
Lord, keep me close to You, so these fruits grow naturally and abundantly. Help me trust in Your timing and surrender my need for control. Thank You for Your patience with me and for working in me, even when I can’t see it. In Your name, I pray. Amen.
Author
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.