Key Verse: “Better to be patient than powerful;
better to have self-control than to conquer a city.” (v.32, NLT)
The wind off the river cut through my jacket as I stepped onto the pedestrian bridge. Traffic hummed somewhere behind me, but out here the sound softened—water rushing below, gulls calling, metal cables creaking faintly with each step. Late afternoon light slid across the surface of the river, broken and restless.
Solomon was already there, leaning against the railing, hands folded over his weathered leather notebook. He looked like he’d been waiting awhile. Or maybe he always looked that way—unhurried, fully present.
“You picked a good day to feel conflicted,” he said without turning around.
I exhaled. “Is it that obvious?”
He smiled and finally faced me. “You’re gripping your thoughts the way people grip railings when they’re afraid of falling.”
Before I could respond, Sandra joined us, hair tied back in a tight pony tail. She looked steadier than the last time I’d seen her. Not fixed—but grounded.
Solomon noticed instantly. His eyebrows lifted just a touch. “Something’s different.”
She nodded. “I talked to my brother.”
The river surged below us, fast and brown from last night’s rain.
“I didn’t confront him,” she said. “Not the way I usually do. I stopped trying to manage the outcome. I asked questions. I listened longer than was comfortable. I told him I was scared, not angry.”
She swallowed. “He listened. Really listened. He didn’t bolt. He didn’t lash out. He admitted he’s overwhelmed. We talked about changes—small ones—but real. He agreed to make some changes. A real breakthrough!”
Solomon’s smile deepened, but he didn’t rush to speak. He let the moment breathe.
“That,” he said gently, “is strength most people never learn.”
He opened his notebook and held it between us so we could see. “In this passage, I talk about how wisdom plays out under pressure—how insight refreshes the soul, how words can heal, how anger quietly sabotages lives.”
He tapped the page. “I wasn’t writing theory. I was writing scars.”
The wind picked up. Below us, the river pushed hard against the bridge pylons, splitting and reforming on the other side.
Solomon drew two circles. “Most people experience life like this. Something happens.” He tapped the first circle. “A trigger. A look. A tone. A fear.”
Then the second. “A response.”
He didn’t connect them at first.
“Most people live like these two circles are touching,” he said. “Trigger—reaction. No space. No pause.”
I nodded. That was me. Emails sent too fast. Words sharpened by pride. Regrets that showed up later like unpaid bills.
Then Solomon drew a narrow bridge between the circles.
“This,” he said, tapping it, “is where wisdom lives.”
He gestured to the bridge beneath our feet. “Look around. The water moves whether you want it to or not. You don’t stop the current. But you don’t have to jump into it either.”
Sandra leaned on the railing, watching the river. “That’s what it felt like,” she said. “Like everything in me wanted to rush in and take control.”
“Exactly,” Solomon replied. “Patience stretches time right here.” He tapped the bridge. “Self-control stands guard. It keeps your first impulse from grabbing the wheel.”
I frowned. “But it feels weak. Like you’re letting things slide.”
Solomon turned to me, his voice calm but firm. “Conquering a city looks impressive. Mastering yourself looks invisible. But one lasts longer.”
He paused, eyes distant for a moment. “I conquered cities and still lost myself. I wish I’d known earlier that strength without restraint eventually turns on its owner.”
A couple holding hands passed us, earbuds in, never looking up. A moment later, they were gone, the space they’d occupied already forgotten.
“Whoever controls this space,” Solomon said, tapping the bridge again, “controls the outcome. Skip it, and your triggers decide for you. Use it, and you do.”
Sandra exhaled slowly. “That pause changed everything.”
“Yes,” Solomon said. “Because wisdom understands people, not just problems.”
The sun dipped lower, the light warming, the shadows lengthening across the water.
Solomon closed his notebook. “Here’s what I want you to carry with you today,” he said. “Patience isn’t weakness. It’s delayed strength. Self-control isn’t silence—it’s direction. And the hardest battles you’ll ever fight won’t be against other people. They’ll be right here.”
He tapped his chest lightly.
Sandra said goodbye first, her footsteps fading down the bridge. I noticed the absence she left behind—like a conversation that had finished well.
I stayed a moment longer, hands resting on the railing, watching the river move beneath me.
Maybe strength wasn’t about stopping the current.
Maybe it was about choosing how—and when—you crossed.
What? True wisdom shows up as patience and self-control, creating space between impulse and response.
So What? Most damage in life doesn’t come from lack of power, but from unguarded reactions that cost more than we expect.
Now What? The next time you feel triggered, pause long enough to name what you’re feeling before you respond—build the bridge, and cross it on purpose.
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