Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath. — James 1:19 KJV
You know this, my beloved brothers and sisters. Now everyone must be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to anger. — James 1:19 NASB
Reflection
Imagine how different our relationships would be if we truly lived this verse out. If instead of jumping in with our own thoughts, we actually stopped to listen. Not just hear words, but listen—with the kind of patience and understanding that goes beyond the surface. It’s humbling, isn’t it? It takes a lot of self-control to hold back our immediate responses, especially when emotions are running high.
And then there’s the part about being “slow to become angry.” That one hits home for me. How many times have I let irritation get the best of me, only to regret the words I spoke or the way I acted? But God calls us to a higher standard. He’s asking us to pause, to breathe, and to let His peace settle in before we react.
I think that’s the beauty of this verse. It’s not just a rule to follow; it’s an invitation to create space—for God to work in us, for wisdom to guide our words, and for love to shape our responses. It’s a challenge, for sure, but it’s also the key to building deeper, more meaningful connections with those around us.
My Prayer
Heavenly Father, thank You for the wisdom found in Your Word. Help me to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry. Fill my heart with patience and understanding, so that my words reflect Your love and peace.
Teach me to pause and seek Your guidance in every conversation, that I may honor You in how I respond to others. Even in moments of frustration, remind me of Your grace, and let my actions bring glory to You.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
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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.