Key Verse: “She calls out to men going by who are
minding their own business.” (v.15)
Big Idea: Folly doesn’t hunt you down—it invites you in, promising fun while quietly walking you toward ruin.
The café was louder than usual—milk steaming, cups clinking, someone laughing too hard at a joke that wasn’t funny. Solomon was there before me. He smelled faintly of cedar, like a woodshop that knows what it’s doing.
He tapped the table once in greeting. “You look like someone who heard music through a wall and couldn’t sleep.”
I frowned. “That obvious?”
He smiled gently and slid his weathered leather notebook between us. The cover was scarred, softened by time. “Today’s passage,” he said, “is about noise. And invitations.”
He didn’t start with the verse. He started with the scene.
“In this chapter,” he said, “I set two houses side by side. Wisdom has prepared a meal—slow, intentional, costly. Folly has a house too. Loud. Careless. Doors wide open.” He leaned in. “She doesn’t chase. She calls.”
He opened the notebook. Inside were rough sketches—two doorways drawn across the page. One had a long table inside. The other looked like a party flyer stapled to a wall.
“Proverbs 9:13–18,” he continued. he continued. “I describe "Folly" as a woman who’s noisy and knows nothing, yet she’s confident."
The word, "Folly"... he said, "comes from the same root word as 'fool' and it means a lack of good sense or judgment."
In Proverbs, "just as 'Wisdom' is the personification of God and His character... 'Folly' is the personification of life lived against God’s character."
"Folly sits at the door and shouts to people passing by—people not looking for trouble.” He tapped the page. “And this is the line I want you to hear today: ‘She calls out to men going by who are minding their own business.’”
As if on cue, Aaron walked in.
He hesitated when he saw us, then waved and came over. He looked sharper than yesterday—new jacket, new confidence—but his eyes were tired. The barista called his name wrong. He didn’t correct her.
Solomon noticed everything. He always does.
“Aaron,” Solomon said, standing just enough to honor him. “You decide?”
Aaron exhaled and sat. “I said yes. I mean—mostly yes. I told myself I could set boundaries. Keep my hands clean.”
Solomon nodded, not judging. “Still considering the cost?”
Aaron shrugged. “It feels like a door opening. Money. Influence. I don’t want to be naïve.”
Solomon’s voice softened. “Folly doesn’t ask you to be naïve. She asks you to be practical.”
He turned the notebook toward Aaron. “See this?” He pointed to the party flyer sketch. “Folly always feels reasonable in the moment. Stolen water tastes sweet. Secrets feel exciting. Shortcuts look smart.” He paused, and the café noise seemed to dim, like someone turned the world’s volume knob down. “But she never tells you where the hallway leads.”
Aaron swallowed. “You saying I’m walking into a trap?”
“I’m saying,” Solomon replied, “that Folly rarely announces herself. She feels like opportunity. She sounds like common sense. She promises you can leave the party anytime.” He tapped the table—once, twice. “But her house is built over a grave.”
That word hung there. Grave. Heavy.
Aaron stared at his cup. “I thought wisdom was about knowing better.”
“Wisdom,” Solomon said, “is about listening sooner.”
Aaron nodded slowly. He didn’t argue. He just sat with it. After a moment, he stood. “I’ve got a meeting.” He looked at me. “Text me later?” I said yes. When he left, the space he’d occupied felt colder.
Solomon watched the door close. “Absence teaches too,” he said quietly.
I shifted. “So… Folly. Is it just bad behavior?”
He shook his head. “Folly is living as if consequences are optional. It’s choosing the loud invitation over the quiet table. It’s mistaking urgency for importance.”
He flipped a page in the notebook—this one filled with arrows leading downhill. “In Hebrew, folly isn’t just ignorance. It’s moral recklessness. Knowing enough to choose the right path—and choosing the wrong one anyway.”
“That feels harsh.”
“I learned it the hard way,” he said, not defensive. “I built houses like that. Thought I could manage the noise. I couldn’t.” His eyes met mine—uncanny, piercing, kind. “Neither can you.”
I bristled. “I’m not chasing trouble.”
“You don’t have to,” he said gently. “That’s the point. She calls to people minding their own business.”
We sat in silence, the café returning to normal speed. Steam hissed. Someone dropped a spoon.
Solomon closed the notebook. “Here’s what I want you to remember,” he said. “Folly is loud and immediate. Wisdom is patient and prepared. Folly promises pleasure without cost. Wisdom tells you the truth upfront.”
He stood, boots soft against the floor. “Choose the table that feeds you tomorrow.”
As he left, I stayed. I thought about the doors I’d been passing lately. The music through the wall. How easy it is to drift.
I pulled out my phone—not to scroll, but to text Aaron. And maybe myself.
What? Folly invites ordinary people with ordinary lives into choices that feel fun and harmless but quietly lead toward destruction.
So What? Most life damage doesn’t come from rebellion—it comes from reasonable shortcuts, secret compromises, and loud invitations we don’t question.
Now What? Identify one “open door” in your life that feels exciting but uneasy, and pause—talk it through with the Lord and someone wise before you step inside.
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