Key Verse: “There is treasure in the house of the
godly, but the earnings of the wicked bring trouble.” (v.6, NLT)
Big Idea: True wealth isn’t measured by income but by the atmosphere your life creates.
The park felt rinsed clean by sunlight. Not a cloud in sight. The grass shimmered like it had secrets. I came restless anyway—jaw tight, phone buzzing with numbers that didn’t add up. Money worries have a way of turning every thought into a ledger.
Solomon was already there, seated on a low stone wall near the sycamores. He tapped the stone once, a habit, and smiled as if he’d been waiting for the mood I brought.
“Proverbs fifteen, one through ten…” he said, sliding his weathered leather notebook forward. “Ten lines that start at the mouth and end at the heart. Words, tempers, choices—and where they lead.”
We watched the park wake up. A dad teaching his kid to ride a bike. A couple arguing softly, stopping when the kid wobbled past. A runner slowed, bent over, hands on knees, then kept going. Solomon spoke like he was pacing the place.
“In this passage, I contrast two kinds of people—not to shame, but to clarify. Wisdom doesn’t hide consequences.”
He leaned in. The world seemed to quiet—the thump of a basketball, the clink of a dog’s leash—like someone turned the volume down a notch.
“Today, let’s focus on verse six..” he added, voice steady. “‘There is treasure in the house of the godly, but the earnings of the wicked bring trouble.’”
I squinted at the kids, the jogger, the arguing couple. “That sounds… abstract. Treasure? House? I’m dealing with real numbers.”
Solomon’s smile held a little humor. “I know. I’ve dealt with more numbers than you can imagine.”
Solomon flipped open the notebook. Two simple sketches—two houses. One labeled Godly, the other Wicked. Under the first: peace, trust, laughter, rest. Under the second: noise, fear, stress, conflict.
“When I wrote ‘house,’” he said, “I meant more than walls. I meant the atmosphere you live in. The place your people return to. The place you return to—inside.”
A woman pushing a stroller slowed near us, fumbling with a strap. Solomon stood, helped her adjust it, said something kind. She smiled and moved on.
“See?” he said. “That was treasure. It cost nothing, but it will echo.”
I crossed my arms. “So you’re saying money doesn’t matter.”
He shook his head. “Money matters. But it’s a great servant and a terrible master. Earnings gained without regard for God’s ways bring trouble because they invite trouble. Anxiety moves in. Distrust rents a room. Relationships start breaking like cheap furniture.”
He paused, eyes distant. “I learned this the hard way. I filled my house with gold and emptied it of peace. I confused blessing with accumulation.”
I pushed back. “But some people cut corners and thrive.”
He let the park speak for a moment—the runner catching his breath, the couple softening their argument, the kid wobbling on the bike.
“They may prosper for a season,” he said, “but prosperity isn’t the same as wealth. Money is what you count. Wealth is what counts you.”
He leaned in. “Cut corners long enough and you don’t just shave ethics—you thin out your life. Conversations get guarded. Love gets conditional. People stop telling you the truth. You may gain income, but you lose intimacy. And that loss compounds faster than interest.”
He tapped the stone once and let the words hang. A breeze moved through the trees. Somewhere behind us, someone laughed. The kind of sound you don’t notice until it’s missing.
“That,” he said firmly, “is the wealth most people don’t realize they’re spending.”
He tapped the notebook again. “Notice the contrast across the passage—gentle answers cool anger, honest speech heals, discipline feels sharp but leads home. By the time I arrive at treasure, you already know what kind I mean.”
The runner from earlier stopped near us, stretching. He overheard just enough to laugh. “Man,” he said, “if peace paid rent, I’d be rich.” Then he jogged off, lighter somehow. I noticed the absence when he left—the quiet he carried with him.
“So what’s the ask?” I said. “If treasure isn’t just money, how do you build it?”
Solomon closed the notebook. “Live in reverence for the One who made you. Let Him set the house rules. Choose words that cool rooms. Welcome correction before it becomes catastrophe. Earn… yes! But not at the expense of your soul.”
He stood, dusted his boots. “Remember this: godly wealth accumulates quietly. You don’t notice it day to day. You feel it when the storms come—and the house stands.”
I watched the dad let go of the bike. The kid wobbled, then rode. Laughter rang out. I thought about my own house—the tension, the late nights, the shortcuts I’d justified. And I wondered what kind of treasure I’d been inviting to stay.
Solomon met my eyes, uncanny as ever. “You can change the atmosphere today,” he said. “One choice. One word. One expression of kindness. One correction welcomed.”
What? True wealth isn’t just the numbers that you earn; it’s the peace, trust, and stability that grow in a life aligned with God’s ways.
So What? Money gained without wisdom invites anxiety and fracture, while godly living quietly builds a home that can withstand pressure.
Now What? Choose one action today that builds atmosphere—speak gently, make an honest decision, or welcome correction—and watch what kind of treasure starts to accumulate.
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