Key Verse: “Fear of the Lord teaches wisdom; humility
precedes honor.” (v.33, NLT)
Big Idea: Wisdom flourishes when your life becomes a place where truth can land, take root, and grow.
The lake was loud with life that morning. Paddleboards sliced the water. Someone’s dog barked itself hoarse at a flock of geese. Sunlight bounced off the surface so hard it made me squint. No rain. No café. Just blue sky and a breeze that smelled like sunscreen and pine.
Solomon was already there, sitting on a low stone wall near the path, sleeves rolled, leather notebook tucked beside him like it belonged outdoors. He looked… lighter today. Like someone who knew exactly where to stand to catch the warmth.
“You picked a good day to listen,” he said as I approached. “Harder to hide from wisdom when everything’s this exposed.”
I snorted. “I came for wisdom, not a tan.”
He smiled, that gentle, knowing grin. “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
A woman slowed near us, hesitated, then stepped closer. Mid-thirties, athletic build, ponytail damp with sweat. She held a water bottle like it was a question she didn’t know how to ask.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’ve seen you here the past few days and I couldn’t help overhearing. You've been mentioning... wisdom?”
Solomon turned toward her as if he’d been expecting her all morning. “We did. I’m Solomon. This is Ethan. We’re spending 90 days focusing on street-smart wisdom found in the Book of Proverbs.”
“I’m Sandra,” she said. “I’m—” she paused, searching for honest words. “I’m trying to become wiser. Not smarter. Wiser. And I don’t know where to start.”
Something in my chest tightened. Because same.
Solomon patted the stone beside him. “Then you arrived right on time.”
She sat. The geese wandered off. The world felt like it leaned in.
He opened his notebook, the leather creaking softly, and glanced at the lake. “In this section,” he said, “I talk about what makes a life receptive to wisdom—and what makes it hostile to it.”
He gave us the flyover first. Proverbs 15:21–33. He talked about joy versus foolishness, correction versus stubbornness, gentle words versus cutting ones. About how some people crave pleasure because they refuse discipline, while others grow because they listen when truth stings. He spoke of reverence, humility, patience. Not as rules. As soil conditions.
“Wisdom,” he said, “doesn’t grow everywhere. Some lives are like pavement, hard to penetrate. Some are poisoned—soured by pride, bitterness, noise, and self-justification. But some are tended like a Japanese bonsai—pruned with care, shaped over time, and never rushed.”
He continued, “Paved lives resist truth. Poisoned lives distort it. Tended lives receive it.”
Sandra leaned forward. “So how do you… tend it?”
Solomon’s eyes softened. “That’s the right question.”
He tapped the notebook. “Today’s passage tells us, ‘Foolishness brings joy to those with no sense; a sensible person stays on the right path.’ Some of us chase joy so hard we abandon direction. Wisdom grows where you value your destination more than how entertained you feel today.”
I felt that one land. Hard.
He continued, pulling threads from the passage. “Plans succeed with good counsel. Gentle answers keep conflict from poisoning the ground. Honest feedback—though it feels like pruning—makes a life healthier. Listening is how wisdom breathes.”
Sandra frowned. “I read a lot. Podcasts. Books. But I still feel… stuck.”
Solomon nodded. “Information is seed. But humility is soil.” He paused, and the lake seemed to hush around us. “Here’s the center of it.” He looked straight at her. At me. “‘Fear of the Lord teaches wisdom; humility precedes honor.’”
He let the words hang.
“Fear?” Sandra said. “That’s a tough sell.”
He chuckled quietly. “Not fear in the sense of terror or fright. This kind of fear is an awareness of the immenseness, power, and presence of our Creator that leads to profound reverence. It is living like God is real, present, and not impressed by our posturing. This is the beginning of being teachable.”
Sandra swallowed. “So wisdom isn’t about being impressive.”
“No,” Solomon said. “It’s about being interruptible. Living with enough humility that you allow truth to stop you mid-stride.”
He told us a story then—brief, unpolished—about a season when he stopped listening. When power insulated him. When correction felt like disrespect. “That’s when my life got loud,” he said. “And empty. Honor chased me later. It never comes first.”
Sandra stared out at the water. “So if I want wisdom to grow…”
“You make room,” Solomon said. “You welcome correction. You slow your speech. You choose counsel over applause. You live like your life answers to Someone higher than your moods.”
A jogger passed. A breeze lifted Sandra’s ponytail. She stood, eyes clearer than when she’d arrived. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I think I know my next step.”
She walked off down the path, sunlight swallowing her up. After she had taken a few steps, she paused. Turning around, she asked, “Do you think I could join you again tomorrow?"
“Absolutely,” said Solomon with anticipation. “And the days after that, if you’re still interested.”
“I’ll be there,” she said, then continued into the sunlight.
Solomon closed his notebook and looked at me. “Wisdom isn’t rare,” he said. “But environments that nurture it are.”
As we stood to leave, he summarized it simply: “Honor grows downstream from humility. Teachability is strength. And a life aware of God becomes a place wisdom loves to stay.”
I watched the lake one last time. Thought about the ways I’d paved over parts of my own heart. And wondered what might grow if I stopped.
What? Wisdom grows in a life shaped by humility, reverence for God, and openness to correction.
So What? Because brilliance without teachability leaves you stuck, while humble awareness creates real growth and lasting honor.
Now What? Choose one place today to practice humility—invite feedback, listen without defending, or acknowledge God’s presence before making a decision.
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