Day 13 — When the Night Can’t Touch You | Proverbs 3:19–26

Key Verse: “You can go to bed without fear; you will lie down and sleep soundly.” (v.24)

Big Idea: Wisdom builds a quiet confidence that guards your mind when the lights go out.

 

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The café was dimmer than usual, rain stippling the windows like impatient fingers. I arrived carrying the weight of a long day—emails unanswered, a conversation replaying itself with sharper edges each time. Even the chairs felt tired when I pulled one out.

Solomon was already there, silver-streaked hair tied back, linen shirt soft with age. He tapped the table once, a small greeting ritual, then smiled.

I glanced at the empty chair across from me—the one Rachel usually claimed by tossing her scarf over it like a flag. She’d texted earlier: Can’t meet today. Mom’s tests came back inconclusive. Sitting in a hospital hallway, trying not to panic.

The café felt uneven without her. Some conversations are easier when someone else is carrying the fear out loud.

“Rough day,” Solomon said—not a question.

I shrugged. “It’s night that gets me. Everything I can ignore during the day lines up when I try to sleep.”

He slid the notebook forward and opened it. Inside were careful diagrams—circles nested within circles, a horizon line drawn with steady patience. “That’s why I wrote this section the way I did,” he said. “Proverbs three isn’t about clever tricks. It’s about how the world is built—and where you fit inside it.”

He leaned back and gave me the bird’s-eye view. “In this passage, I talk about foundations. I mention how the world itself was formed with wisdom—order, restraint, intention. Then I bring it down to you: how that same wisdom steadies a person’s steps, keeps them from stumbling, even watches over them when they stop moving.”

Outside, a barista dropped a tray. The clatter rang too loud, then faded. The café seemed to slow as Solomon’s voice settled into the space.

“Wisdom,” he said, tapping the page, “isn’t information. It’s alignment. When your life lines up with how things actually are, fear loses its leverage.”

A woman at the counter caught his eye—late twenties, phone glowing in her palm, thumb scrolling furiously. She sighed, rubbed her temples, and asked for a refill she hadn’t finished. Solomon watched her gently.

“She’s borrowing tomorrow’s trouble,” he murmured. “Most of us do.”

Then he zeroed in. “The line you’re stuck on—the sleep one. I wrote that because night reveals what we trust. When you lie down, you stop managing. You stop defending. Fear loves that moment.”

He drew a small roof over a stick figure in the notebook. “I mention that you will not fear sudden disaster. Not because bad things never happen—but because wisdom teaches you where your safety actually comes from. Not your control. Not your plans. Something deeper. Something older than you. Stronger. Wiser.”

I felt a quiet conviction settle in. My nights weren’t restless because I cared too much—they were restless because I carried what wasn’t mine to carry.

Solomon closed the notebook. “When wisdom is your companion,” he said, leaning in, “even your unconscious learns to rest.”

The woman at the counter left, bell chiming softly. Her absence felt noticeable, like a pause in the room’s breathing.

Solomon stood, pulling on his handmade boots. “I’ve said enough for tonight.” He smiled, warm and humble. “Try sleeping with fewer arguments in your head.”

Then he was gone, rain swallowing his footsteps.

For the first time in days, the idea of bed didn’t feel like a battlefield.

What? True wisdom undergirds the world and offers real security, freeing us from fear—even in the quiet vulnerability of sleep.

So What? Modern life trains us to stay alert and anxious, but wisdom invites us to trust something sturdier than constant vigilance.

Now What? Before bed tonight, name one worry you’re carrying that isn’t yours to solve—and deliberately set it down.