Romans 7:6 – Today’s Verse for March 16, 2025 Sunday

“But now we are delivered from the law, that being dead wherein we were held; that we should serve in newness of spirit, and not in the oldness of the letter.“
— Romans 7:6 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

This verse speaks of freedom. Not freedom to do whatever we want, but freedom from the weight of rules we could never fully keep. Before Christ, the law showed us our sin, but it couldn’t save us. It was like a mirror, revealing every flaw but offering no way to fix them.

Jesus changes everything. Through His death and resurrection, we are no longer bound to a system of trying and failing. We are led by the Spirit, not by a list of rules. This doesn’t mean we ignore God’s commands. It means we obey from a changed heart, not from fear or duty.

Think of it like a child who obeys a loving father—not because they fear punishment, but because they love him. That’s how God wants us to live. Not trying to earn His love, but living in response to the love He’s already given.

Personal Prayer

Heavenly Father, thank You for setting me free. I know I could never earn Your love or keep every rule perfectly. But through Jesus, You have given me a new way to live—not by fear, but by grace.

Help me to let go of striving. Teach me to follow Your Spirit, not out of duty, but out of love. When I fall, remind me that I am not condemned. When I feel unworthy, remind me that Jesus has already made me worthy.

Fill my heart with the joy of serving You freely. Let my obedience come from gratitude, not pressure. Show me what it means to walk in the Spirit each day, trusting You instead of trying to control everything myself.

Thank You for this new life. I don’t want to live in the old way anymore. Lead me, Lord. I am Yours.

In Jesus’ name, 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.