1 Corinthians 15:19 – Today’s Verse for April 11, 2025 Friday

“If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.“
— 1 Corinthians 15:19 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

If Jesus is just a feel-good add-on to help us cope with bad days, Paul says we’re pitiful. Miserable, even. Because if this whole thing ends at the grave, then what’s the point? Faith turns into wishful thinking. Hope becomes theater. Grace gets reduced to a temporary sedative.

But here’s the thing—our hope isn’t limited to this life. Christ didn’t rise so we could have slightly better Mondays. He rose so death wouldn’t get the last word. Grace isn’t just about surviving the now—it’s about belonging forever. It’s the wild, undeserved truth that because He lives, we don’t just hang on—we rise with Him.

Without resurrection, grace is a bandage. With resurrection, it’s a resurrection plan.

Personal Prayer

Lord Jesus, if all I had was this life, I’d be empty. Chasing peace that slips through my fingers. Holding onto hope that keeps unraveling. But You didn’t stay in the grave. You got up. And because You did, I have more than survival—I have eternal purpose.

Remind me that Your grace isn’t just for now, but forever. Anchor my heart in resurrection hope when life feels heavy. Lift my eyes past what I see, and let my soul rest in what You’ve already finished.

Thank You that I’m not miserable—I’m redeemed. Not lost—I’m Yours. Not guessing—I’m grounded in a living Savior.

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.