1 Corinthians 15:24 – Today’s Verse for April 23, 2025 Wednesday

“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 is the kind of mic drop moment Paul was known for. Jesus isn’t just wrapping things up—He’s finishing the mission with absolute finality. Every power, every system that ever tried to rival God? Gone. Erased. He doesn’t negotiate with darkness; He crushes it. And when it’s all done, He hands everything back to the Father, like a champion laying down His crown.

This isn’t defeat. It’s divine closure. It’s the King of Kings returning home, not with bruises, but with victory in His hands and love still on His face. That’s who we follow—not a halfway Savior, but the One who finishes what He starts, even the end of the world.

And that same Jesus is holding your life together. If He can destroy cosmic powers, He can definitely handle your Monday.

Personal Prayer

Lord Jesus, You are the finisher. The One who doesn’t leave battles halfway won. You don’t just fight for us—you win for us. When I feel overwhelmed by things that seem too big to handle, remind me that You’ve already crushed far greater powers than these.

Teach me to trust in Your timing, even when I don’t understand the process. Help me rest in the truth that You’re not just in control—you’re bringing everything under Your feet.

And when the day comes that You hand the kingdom back to the Father, let me be found faithful—still holding onto You, still standing in Your grace.

Until then, give me courage. Give me peace. Give me the kind of bold hope that remembers: You always finish what You start.

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.