Romans 6:23 – Today’s Verse for April 18, 2025 Friday

“For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.“
— Romans 6:23 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

Sin pays in full. Always has. Always will. And the paycheck? Death. Not just the physical kind—this is soul-level, separation-from-God kind of death. The kind that quietly wrecks us from the inside out while we pretend we’re fine.

But then—grace crashes the scene like a rescue team breaking through a burning building. God hands us something we didn’t earn, couldn’t afford, and never deserved: eternal life. Not a temporary fix. Not a guilt-trip disguised as a favor. A gift. Wrapped in Christ. Paid for by Him. Offered to us. No strings.

We don’t negotiate our way into this. We receive it. And in receiving it, everything changes. The death-debt gets canceled. Life, real life, begins.

God didn’t just forgive the bill. He adopted the debtor.

Personal Prayer

Lord, I know I’ve earned nothing but distance from You. My choices, my pride, my silence when I should’ve spoken—sin keeps adding up. And yet, You don’t give me what I deserve. You give me what I could never deserve. Grace. Forgiveness. Life.

Thank You for the gift of Jesus. Thank You that You didn’t leave me to figure it all out or clean up my own mess. You stepped in. You paid it all. You called me Yours.

Help me live like someone who’s been rescued. Not just grateful—but transformed. Keep me close to You. Remind me, when I forget, that Your gift is still mine—free, full, and forever.

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.