Key Verse: “The way of the godly leads to life; that
path does not lead to death.” (v.28)
Big Idea: Godliness isn’t about being impressive—it’s about choosing a way of life that actually leads somewhere worth going.
The café felt slower today, like the city had collectively exhaled. Late afternoon light slid through the tall windows in honeyed sheets, catching dust in the air. The espresso machine hissed like it was tired of itself.
I came in carrying a dull ache—the kind that doesn’t scream, just presses. Not pain exactly. More like… stagnation. Like I’d been doing all the right motions but wasn’t sure I was moving anywhere.
Solomon was already there. Same linen shirt, sleeves rolled. His handmade boots were crossed at the ankle, and his weathered leather notebook lay open beside his mug.
Gideon sat across from him. That surprised me.
Gideon had decided to stick around—sharp-eyed, skeptical, always leaning back in his chair like he didn’t want to get too close to whatever Solomon was offering. He gave me a nod that said, I’m still not buying this, but also… I didn’t leave.
Solomon smiled when he saw me. “Good,” he said. “Stay. This one needs more than one set of ears.”
Gideon snorted. “You make it sound ominous.”
“Only honest,” Solomon replied gently, tapping the table once. “Today we’re talking about paths.”
He slid the notebook toward us. Inside was a simple sketch: two roads diverging from the same starting point. One curved, worn smooth by footsteps. The other looked straight but fractured, breaking apart the farther it went.
“I wrote this section,” Solomon said, eyes steady. “Proverbs twelve. It’s a collection—little snapshots of how choices pile up into lives. Not destiny. Direction.”
Gideon leaned forward. “I read it. Seems moralistic. Do good things, good stuff happens. Do bad things, bad stuff happens. Reality doesn’t work that clean.”
Solomon didn’t flinch. He leaned in instead, voice calm. “You’re right. Life isn’t a vending machine. But it does have gravity. Life may not reward every good choice right away,” he said, “but over time it pulls hard on whatever you keep practicing.””
He traced the smoother road with his finger. “When I say, ‘The way of the godly leads to life; that path does not lead to death,’ I’m not talking about perfection.”
I felt something loosen in my chest at that.
“The word, ‘godly,’ I used,” Solomon continued, “is about alignment. Someone facing the right direction. Godly doesn’t mean shiny or superior. It means oriented—toward truth, toward humility, toward God.”
Gideon frowned. “So… religious?”
Solomon smiled, gently amused. “Not necessarily. I knew deeply religious people who were miles from life. And I knew broken ones who stumbled toward it.”
The café noise dimmed, like the world leaned back to listen.
“When I talk about life,” Solomon said, “I mean fullness. Vitality. A soul that breathes. A life that works with reality instead of against it.”
He paused. “And yes—there’s more beyond this life. Eternity matters. But don’t miss this: the path starts now.”
A barista nearby dropped a spoon. It clattered, then stillness again.
Gideon crossed his arms. “I know people who did everything ‘right’ and still got wrecked.”
“So did I,” Solomon said quietly.
He looked down at the notebook, then back up. “I chased brilliance. Pleasure. Power. I had it all—resources, admiration, options. And I still found myself hollow. That’s when I learned: some paths feel alive at first but quietly drain you, moving you toward an inner ‘death’ rather than a vibrant life.”
I thought of my own routines. The scrolling. The numbing. The careful avoidance of anything that asked too much.
Solomon went on. “In this chapter, I contrast diligence and laziness, truth and deception, patience and impulse. Not because God keeps score—but because we become what we practice.”
Gideon’s voice softened, just a notch. “So what if you’re already on the wrong road?”
Solomon met his eyes. Uncanny insight flickered there. “Then you turn. Paths don’t shame you. They just tell the truth. And it doesn’t matter how many steps you’ve taken down the wrong path, it’s always only one step back.”
He tapped the table again. “The godly path doesn’t promise ease. It promises life. Sometimes quietly. Sometimes slowly. But it doesn’t end in collapse. This path leads to a life that holds together,” he said. “Clear conscience. Durable joy. Relationships that don’t rot from the inside. A soul that’s awake now—and an eternal future that doesn’t run out.”
Gideon looked down at his hands. He didn’t argue this time.
A couple who’d been arguing earlier paid and left. Their absence felt loud.
Solomon leaned back. “Here’s what I want you to remember,” he said, voice warm but firm. “Godliness is not about image. It’s about direction. Eternal life doesn’t begin after death—it’s available now. And every small choice is a step.”
I sat with that as the light faded toward evening. I thought about where my habits were taking me. Not my intentions—my direction.
Gideon stood, slower than usual. “I’m not convinced,” he said. Then, after a beat, “But I’m still thinking.”
Solomon smiled. “Good. Thinking is often the first turn.”
As Gideon walked out, the bell chimed softly. I noticed the empty chair he left behind—and wondered if he’d be back tomorrow.
I hoped so.
What? This passage shows that wisdom shapes direction, and direction determines life—now and beyond.
So What? Because most lives aren’t ruined by rebellion but by drifting, choosing a life-giving path matters more than we realize.
Now What? Today, name one habit or choice that’s quietly steering you—and take one small step to realign it toward life.
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