Psalm 37:28 – Today’s Verse for April 16, 2025 Wednesday

“For the Lord loveth judgment, and forsaketh not his saints; they are preserved for ever: but the seed of the wicked shall be cut off.“
— Psalm 37:28 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

God isn’t watching from a distance—He’s deeply invested. He sees injustice, feels every unfair blow, and still chooses to stand by those who stay faithful. Not the perfect ones. Not the impressive ones. The faithful ones. The ones who keep showing up, even when life keeps knocking them down.

His justice isn’t cold or delayed. It’s patient. He’s not in a hurry to prove a point. He’s in it for redemption. While the world flips its loyalty every five minutes, God doesn’t budge. He holds onto His people like a lighthouse in a storm—unshaken, lit, waiting.

So if you’re feeling forgotten, left behind, or invisible to heaven—don’t trust your feelings. Trust the One who says He will not forsake you. Because He won’t.

Personal Prayer

Lord, You see what’s fair. You see what’s not. And You still choose to stand by me when I feel like giving up. Thank You for loving justice—not just in the world, but in my messy, everyday life.

I’m not always strong. I get tired. I question. I stumble. But You never walk away. You promise You won’t forsake the faithful—even when we’re barely holding on.

Help me stay faithful, even when it’s hard. Remind me that You’re near when life feels unfair. Anchor me in Your love, not my emotions. I trust You to make things right, in Your time, in Your way. And while I wait, I’ll keep walking with You.

In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen. (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12)

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.