Philemon 1:6 – Today’s Verse for April 22, 2025 Tuesday

“That the communication of thy faith may become effectual by the acknowledging of every good thing which is in you in Christ Jesus.“
— Philemon 1:6 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

Here’s the wild thing: Paul isn’t asking Philemon to preach louder or serve more. He’s praying that Philemon shares his faith in a way that unlocks something in him. That’s the twist. When we give our faith away—when we love someone hard, forgive someone stubborn, or show up when it’s inconvenient—we start seeing what’s actually been living inside us this whole time. Christ in us. Not just a belief. A living, breathing presence.

And here’s the fun part—faith isn’t meant to sit quietly on a shelf. It gets stronger when we pass it around. Like bread. Or stories. Or laughter.

So the next time you’re wondering how to grow spiritually, don’t overthink it. Look someone in the eye, extend grace, tell them what Christ has done in your mess. In doing that, you’ll see more clearly what He’s still doing in you.

Personal Prayer

Lord Jesus, thank You for the faith You’ve placed in me. Sometimes I forget it’s not just for me to hold—it’s meant to be shared. Help me open my mouth when it’s easier to stay quiet. Help me live with courage when I’d rather play it safe. Let the way I love, forgive, and serve show others who You really are.

Make my faith come alive—not just in private prayers, but in real moments with real people. And as I give it away, remind me of every good thing You’ve already placed inside me. You are the gift, and I want to live like I know it.

In Your 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.