Key Verse: “The wise are known for their
understanding, and pleasant words are persuasive.” (v.21)
We made it back to the café today, which felt quieter than usual, like the world had turned its volume knob down a notch just for us. Late afternoon light spilled through the windows in honeyed sheets, catching the steam off mugs and the dust motes drifting lazily in the air.
I arrived carrying yesterday’s conversation like a stone in my pocket—Sandra’s face at the waterfront, the way her voice tightened when she said “brother.”
Solomon was already there. Linen shirt, sleeves rolled, silver-streaked hair tied back. He smelled faintly of cedar again, like an old library that somehow still felt alive. He smiled when he saw me, tapped the table once—his tell—and slid his weathered leather notebook closer.
“Proverbs sixteen,” he said. “A stretch of verses about leadership, humility, justice, and restraint. I wrote this section to remind people that power isn’t loud, and influence isn’t force.”
He leaned in. “The whole passage moves like this: rulers are accountable, pride trips us, plans matter but surrender matters more, patience outperforms strength, and words—well—words carry weight.” He paused, letting the espresso machine hiss and settle. “Then I narrow it down.”
Sandra came in just then, wind-flushed, scarf half-knotted. She hesitated when she saw us, like she didn’t want to interrupt, but Solomon caught her eye with uncanny precision.
“Sit,” he said gently, already making space. “You’re part of today.”
She smiled weakly and joined us. I noticed how her shoulders stayed tight, like she was bracing for impact.
Solomon opened the notebook. Inside were sketches—forked paths, a small flame cupped by hands, a diagram of a mouth connected to a heart. He traced one line with his finger. “In this passage, I talk about wisdom as something visible. Not flashy. Recognizable.” He looked at Sandra. “People know the wise by how they understand—and by how they speak.”
He quoted it then, slow and clear: “Verse 21 says, ‘The wise are known for their understanding, and pleasant words are persuasive.’”
Sandra exhaled. “That’s the problem,” she said. “I understand my brother’s situation. He’s drifting. I see it coming. But every time I talk to him, it’s like I make it worse.”
Solomon didn’t rush. The café clinked and murmured around us, but our table felt suspended. “Understanding people,” he said, “is different than understanding situations. Situations can be solved. People have to be reached.”
I felt something in my chest resist that. “But isn’t truth just… truth?” I asked. “If it’s right, shouldn’t it land?”
Solomon smiled—warm, not smug. “I once thought that,” he said. “I spoke truth like a hammer. Accurate. Heavy. I learned—painfully—that truth without gentleness feels like rejection to the listener, even when it’s right.” He tapped the notebook again. “Pleasant doesn’t mean fake. It means fitting.”
Sandra stared at the diagram of the mouth and heart. “So what am I supposed to do?” she asked. “Say less? Say it nicer?”
“Say it wiser,” Solomon replied. “Wisdom listens for the wound underneath the behavior. Your brother isn’t just skipping school. He’s testing where he belongs. If your words sound judging, he’ll run. If they sound like curiosity or caring, he might stay.”
She swallowed. “I’ve been planning speeches.”
“Plans are good,” Solomon said. “But presence is better. Ask him questions you don’t already have answers to. Use words that feel like open doors.” He glanced at me. “That’s why I wrote that patience is better than power earlier in the passage.”
The world seemed to slow then—the way it does when something true settles in. Even the grinder behind the counter went quiet.
Sandra nodded slowly. “So… gentle doesn’t mean weak?”
“No,” Solomon said. “It means strong enough to carry truth without dropping it on someone’s head.”
He leaned back, authority softened by regret. “I’ve watched kingdoms crumble because leaders loved being right more than being understood. God’s wisdom—real wisdom—moves toward people. It invites. It doesn’t corner.”
Sandra stood to leave, pulling her scarf tighter. “I think I know what to try,” she said. When she walked out, her absence felt like a question mark left hanging in the air.
Solomon turned to me. “Remember this,” he said. “Understanding opens ears. Pleasant words open hearts. And when hearts open, truth finally has a place to land.”
I sat there long after he left, thinking about all the times I’d tried to win conversations instead of people—and wondering who might still be listening if I’d chosen my words differently.
What? Wisdom shows up in understanding people deeply and choosing words that invite rather than repel.
So What? In a loud, reactive world, the way we speak often matters as much as what we say—especially with people we love.
Now What? Before your next hard conversation, pause and ask one genuine question first—then let your words aim for connection, not control.
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