Colossians 1:9 – Today’s Verse for April 21, 2025 Monday

“For this cause we also, since the day we heard it, do not cease to pray for you, and to desire that ye might be filled with the knowledge of his will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding.“
— Colossians 1:9 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

Paul isn’t praying for comfort or success. He’s asking for something far more dangerous: that we’d be filled with the knowledge of God’s will—with spiritual wisdom and understanding. That kind of clarity wrecks passivity. It opens your eyes to what matters and ruins your appetite for shallow living.

Knowing God’s will isn’t about guessing which job or city or person to choose. It’s about seeing life the way God sees it. It’s spiritual x-ray vision. It means you stop living on autopilot. You start making choices that echo into eternity.

And wisdom? It’s not book-smart or street-smart. It’s Spirit-smart. It knows when to speak, when to shut up, when to give, when to walk away, when to risk everything.

Paul’s prayer is dangerous because if God answers it, you won’t stay the same. You’ll stop surviving and start living on purpose—with joy, grit, and a sense that your life is part of something cosmic.

And honestly? That’s the only way to live.

Personal Prayer

Lord, I don’t just want to drift through life doing what feels right. Fill me with Your will—real, clear, soul-deep direction. I’m tired of guessing and hoping for the best. I want wisdom that cuts through confusion. I want understanding that sees past the surface.

Teach me how to think like You, see like You, live like You. Help me stop wasting energy on things that don’t matter. Make my choices bold, my steps steady, and my heart tuned to what You’re doing.

And when it’s hard—and I know it will be—remind me that I asked for this. I asked to grow. I asked to live on purpose. And You never leave me hanging. Keep guiding me, Lord. I trust You.

In Jesus’ 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.