Romans 8:9 – Today’s Verse for March 20, 2025 Thursday

“But ye are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit, if so be that the Spirit of God dwell in you. Now if any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of his.“
— Romans 8:9 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

If we belong to Jesus, His Spirit lives in us. That means we don’t live the way we used to. The old way was about following whatever we felt like doing. But now, the Spirit leads us.

Sometimes, we forget that. We still struggle. We still sin. But the difference is, we’re not alone in it anymore. The Holy Spirit is with us, guiding us, convicting us, changing us. When we feel weak, He gives us strength. When we feel lost, He points the way.

Paul says that if someone doesn’t have the Spirit of Christ, they don’t belong to Him. That might sound harsh, but it’s actually clear and loving. Being a Christian isn’t about trying harder or being better. It’s about having Christ in you. That’s what makes the difference.

So, the question isn’t, “Am I good enough?” but “Is the Spirit of God living in me?” If we’ve given our lives to Jesus, the answer is yes. And if He lives in us, we don’t have to live in fear or doubt. We are His. And He will never leave us.

Personal Prayer

Lord Jesus, thank You for giving me Your Spirit. I don’t want to live by my own strength or follow my old ways. I want to walk in step with You. Fill me with Your presence. Change my heart. Help me hear Your voice and obey You.

When I feel weak, remind me that Your Spirit is in me. When I struggle, remind me that I am Yours. I don’t belong to this world—I belong to You.

Keep me close, Lord. Keep my heart soft. Let my life show that I am led by You, not by my own desires. I trust You to guide me every step of the way.

In Your name, Jesus, 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.