Key Verse: “We can make our plans, but the Lord
determines our steps.” (v.9)
Big Idea: Planning is human; surrender is wise—because the best paths are often the ones we didn’t map.
The trail hugged the edge of the bluffs like a quiet promise. Sunlight sifted through the pines in thin gold ribbons, warming the sand and turning the river below into a sheet of hammered silver. I could hear the current gushing, steady and patient. I came restless, carrying a to‑do list in my head that refused to sit still.
Solomon stood where the mountain trail widened, hands in his jacket pockets, face tipped toward the light. He looked relaxed, like a man who had nowhere else to be—and meant it. “You picked a good day to walk,” he said, smiling. “The world slows down out here. Makes truth easier to hear.”
Sandra arrived a minute later, hiking shoes dusty, hair pulled back tight like she’d meant to run straight through the morning without stopping. She exhaled when she saw us, the kind of breath you don’t realize you’re holding. “Hope I’m not late.”
“You’re right on time,” Solomon said, gently humorous as always. There was that uncanny thing he did—like he could read the margins of people’s lives.
We started down the mountain trail together. Solomon introduced the passage as if opening a window. “In this section,” he said, “I talk about planning, motives, fairness, and outcomes. I bring up the way people weigh their options—and the way God weighs hearts. I contrast confidence with humility, ambition with integrity. It’s a map, but not the kind you think.”
He slowed us to a stop where the trees parted and the water widened below. The wind moved through the needles. Time felt stretched thin.
“Here’s the line that holds it all together,” Solomon said, and quoted it the way you quote something you learned the hard way: “We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.”
Sandra laughed once, sharp and nervous. “That verse follows me around,” she said. “Which is… not comforting right now.”
Solomon nodded, inviting. “Tell us.”
She stared out at the horizon. “It’s my brother,” she said quietly. “He’s seventeen. Smart. Kind. But lately he’s been skipping school, hanging with people who don’t care about him, disappearing for hours. My mom thinks it’s just a phase. I don’t.” Her voice tightened. “I’ve tried talking to him. I’ve tried backing off. I’ve tried everything in between. Nothing sticks. I keep planning conversations, interventions, strategies… and every one of them falls apart.”
I felt my own chest tighten. The list‑maker in me recognized the panic.
Solomon took out his weathered leather notebook and opened it on his knee. He sketched two lines diverging from a point, then curved them back together farther down. “Some people think this verse means God disregards your plans,” he said. “Like… you plan A, and He says… ‘Surprise—plan Z.’ But that’s not what I meant. It’s a reflection on the tension between our free will and God’s sovereignty.”
He tapped the starting point. “You plan because you’re human. Planning isn’t the problem. Pretending your plan is the boss—that’s where trouble starts.” He looked at Sandra. “God doesn’t disregard your strategies. He cares about your heart. The verse tells us that God often works in the "micro" moments—the unexpected delays, the "chance" meetings, or the closed doors that steer you toward a different path.”
Looking upward at the sun beams coming through the tree tops, He said, “This is my way of saying, ‘Keep doing your best. Pray that it’s blessed. And He will take care of the rest.”
She swallowed. “So… how do I know which step He determines?”
“By paying attention to what He’s shaping in you,” Solomon said. “Not just what you’re choosing.” He flipped the notebook and drew a scale. “Earlier in this passage, I say the Lord examines motives. Not methods. Motives.”
The river hush filled the pause.
“I learned this late,” Solomon added, voice quieter now. “I made brilliant plans that grew a kingdom—and hollowed my soul. I chased outcomes and neglected obedience. The steps I chose looked efficient. They weren’t faithful.”
Sandra blinked hard. “I don’t want to control him,” she said. “But I don’t want to lose him either.”
Solomon’s gaze softened. “Then don’t frame it as control. Frame it as stewardship.” He glanced at me, like he knew the word would land. “Sometimes God reroutes us because He’s protecting something we can’t see yet.”
He continued, weaving other voices in like harmonies. “The psalmist said, ‘The Lord directs the steps of the godly.’ And in an earlier Proverb, I reminded all of us: if we trust with our whole heart and don’t lean on our own understanding, He makes paths straight. Same melody. Different verse.”
Sandra nodded slowly. “So the interruption could be mercy.”
“It often is,” Solomon said. “Fairness matters to God. So does timing. In this passage I insist on honest scales—on integrity that doesn’t tilt when pressure hits. The right step isn’t always the fastest one. But it’s the one that keeps you whole.”
We walked again. A couple passed us laughing, then disappeared down a side trail. Their absence felt loud.
At the overlook, Solomon stopped. “Here’s what I want you to keep,” he said, summarizing with the clarity of a man who’d paid for his conclusions. “Plan boldly. Hold loosely. Listen deeply. Let God set the cadence of your steps, because He sees farther than you do—and He’s kinder than your fear.”
Sandra breathed out, steadier now. “I think I know my next step,” she said. “Not the whole path. Just the next one.”
Solomon smiled. “That’s usually how it works.”
As the sun climbed, I felt something in me unclench. My lists weren’t evil—but they weren’t sovereign either. There was relief in not being the final authority over my own future.
What? Proverbs 16:1–11 teaches that while we plan and decide, God weighs our hearts and ultimately directs our steps.
So What? This matters because life‑shaping decisions aren’t just about outcomes—they’re about who we’re becoming as we walk them.
Now What? Name your next right step—not the whole plan—and ask God to shape your motives before you choose your direction.
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