Key Verse: “Lazy people are soon poor; hard workers
get rich.” (v.4)
The café windows were fogged from the inside, steam blooming where mugs met cold glass. Morning traffic hummed outside like a low tide, and the grinder screamed every few minutes, tearing beans apart.
Solomon was already there. Linen shirt, sleeves rolled. Silver-streaked hair tied back, boots scuffed from actual walking. He smiled like he knew what I was thinking and didn’t judge it.
A faint cedar scent lingered as he leaned forward and tapped the table once, twice—his tell.
“Proverbs turns a corner today,” he said. “Up to now, I’ve been teaching in longer strokes—stories, speeches, warnings. Chapter ten is where I start throwing darts. Short. Sharp. You can memorize them. You can’t dodge them.”
He slid his weathered leather notebook toward me. Inside were columns—wise on one side, foolish on the other. Simple sketches. A harvest basket. A broken fence.
“In this section,” he continued, “I contrast outcomes. Not to shame anyone. To wake them up.”
He glanced past me. Aaron stood near the counter, phone pressed to his ear, jaw tight. We’d talked about him before—the promotion dangling like a carrot with strings attached. More money. Longer hours. Less presence at home. He caught my eye, raised a hand, then stepped outside into the cold to finish the call.
Solomon followed him with his gaze. “Let’s start broad,” he said. “Verses one through eleven—words, work, consequences. Wisdom tends to bless not because it’s flashy, but because it aligns with how the world actually runs.”
“In these verses, we see that…” He paused for a second. “Wisdom brings joy; foolishness brings grief. Righteousness protects; wickedness destroys. The wise speak life, blessing, and truth; the foolish speak violence, slander, and ruin.”
“But today, I want to talk about how Wisdom shows up in your work ethic.”
He leaned in, voice lowering. The café noise softened, like someone dimmed the soundboard.
He tapped the notebook where verse four was written in his careful hand. “‘Lazy people are soon poor; hard workers get rich.’”
I shifted. “That sounds… transactional,” I said. “Work hard, get paid. But I know people who grind and still barely make rent.”
Solomon nodded. “I’ve known them too. This isn’t a vending machine promise. The Lord is not promising riches and wealth to everyone who works hard. It’s a direction. Diligence moves you toward provision. Laziness moves you away from it. Over time, those paths separate.”
He flipped the page to verse five… “A wise youth harvests in the summer, but one who sleeps during harvest is a disgrace.”
He showed sketch of someone gathering grain while the sun blazed overhead. “I added this line about harvest,” he said. “Timing matters. Work when the window is open.”
“Wisdom’s view of work is richer—and more human—than simply, ‘work hard and get paid.’ It frames work as purposeful participation in God’s world, not just survival or status.” Then he added… “God invites humans to help develop, sustain, and protect His creation by turning its potential into provision and order, while being shaped themselves in the process.”
Aaron came back in, cheeks red from the cold. He walked over, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “I took it,” he said quietly. “The promotion.”
My chest tightened. “How do you feel?”
“Scared,” he admitted. “But also… relieved. We’ve been one emergency away from trouble for too long.”
Solomon stood and shook his hand. “Provision has weight,” he said. “Carry it well. Don’t confuse effort with worth. And don’t forget the people you’re working for, not just the people you’re working with.”
Aaron nodded, eyes glossy, then smiled. “I’ll remember that.” He lingered a second longer, then left. The door swung shut, and the space he’d occupied felt suddenly empty.
I stared at the table. “So where’s the line?” I asked. “Between diligence and burnout? Between rest and laziness?”
Solomon sat back down, boots crossed. “Rest isn’t laziness,” he said gently. “Laziness is avoidance dressed up as comfort. Rest restores you so you can return to your work awake. Laziness numbs you so you don’t have to face it.”
He told me about a season in his own life—projects left half-finished, responsibilities delayed because pleasure was easier in the moment. “I had resources most people don’t,” he said, eyes steady. “And I still lost ground. Neglect is expensive.”
The grinder screamed again. A barista laughed. Life kept moving.
“Here’s the quiet truth,” Solomon said, tapping the table once more. “Most outcomes aren’t decided by one big choice. They’re decided by a thousand small ones—showing up, gathering when it’s time, refusing to drift.”
I felt exposed. And hopeful.
He closed the notebook. “Take this with you: diligence is love made visible over time. For your future. For the people who depend on you. For the work itself.”
I watched the door where Aaron had disappeared. Then I thought about my own calendar, my own half-kept promises. Today didn’t require heroics. Just faithfulness.
What? Wisdom teaches that steady diligence leads toward provision, while laziness—small and repeated—leads toward lack.
So What? Our daily habits quietly shape our future more than our intentions ever will.
Now What? Choose one small, unfinished task today and complete it fully—no shortcuts, no delay.
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