1 Corinthians 15:24 – Today’s Verse for April 17, 2025 Thursday

“Then cometh the end, when he shall have delivered up the kingdom to God, even the Father; when he shall have put down all rule and all authority and power.“
— 1 Corinthians 15:24 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

This verse pulls back the curtain and shows us how the story ends. Jesus doesn’t just save us and disappear—He finishes what He started. He crushes every enemy, dismantles every false power, and hands the kingdom back to the Father, completely restored.

It’s not chaos at the finish line. It’s order. Victory. A King wrapping up history, not with a whisper, but with a final act of divine authority. And the wild part? We’re not bystanders. We’re part of the kingdom He fought for.

All the brokenness we see—the injustice, the prideful systems, the powers that hurt instead of heal—He’s not ignoring them. He’s taking them down. And when it’s all done, He won’t cling to the crown. He gives it all back to the Father, like a Son saying, “It’s done. Everything You gave Me—I’ve returned it whole.” That’s grace in motion.

Personal Prayer

Lord Jesus, You are the King who doesn’t just reign — You restore. When I feel overwhelmed by the mess of this world, remind me that You are not done. You are breaking down every corrupt power, every twisted system, every force that fights against Your goodness.

Give me the courage to live like someone who knows how the story ends — with You victorious, handing everything back to the Father in perfect peace. Help me not to chase control, but to trust in the One who holds the end in His hands. Use me as part of Your kingdom now, even in small ways, until the day You return it all back in glory.

In Your 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.