Key Verse: “The name of the
Lord is a strong fortress; the godly run to him and are safe.” (v.10, NLT)
The café windows were fogged from the inside, the kind of soft blur that makes the outside world look farther away than it really is. Espresso hissed. Cups clinked. A low indie track pulsed like a heartbeat under conversation.
Solomon was already there. His leather notebook lay open between us, pages thick and weathered, filled with lines and arrows and symbols that looked half map, half confession.
He smiled, tapped the table once, and leaned in. “Today’s section,” he said, “is Proverbs 18:1–12. In this passage, I talk about isolation that pretends to be independence, mouths that outrun understanding, pride that struts ahead of collapse—and right in the middle, I bring up refuge.”
He slid the notebook toward me. On the page, he’d sketched a city with tall walls, then a stick figure sprinting toward a gate.
“Here’s the line people take to heart,” he said, and quoted it exactly, steady and clear: “The name of the Lord is a strong fortress; the godly run to him and are safe.”
I nodded, but my face probably gave me away. “That sounds… religious. Abstract.”
“Fair,” he said. “Let’s slow it down.”
The café noise seemed to dim when he spoke like that, as if the world leaned closer to hear.
“In my day,” he continued, “a fortress wasn’t poetry. It was survival. Thick walls. A high tower. A place you ran to when the dust cloud on the horizon wasn’t a storm but an army.” He traced the tower with his finger. “Notice the verb. I didn’t say they admire it. Or talk about it. They run.”
A barista passed by our table—late twenties, eyes tired, jaw clenched. She dropped off a refill a little too hard. Solomon watched her go, then said quietly, “She’s carrying something heavy.”
I watched too. She paused at the register, took a breath that didn’t quite make it all the way down, then forced a smile for the next customer.
“Most people don’t lack intelligence,” Solomon said. “They lack a safe place to take their fear and anxiety. So they isolate—verse one—or they talk loud and listen little—verses two and eight—or they puff themselves up—verse twelve. All of that is running. Just not to safety.”
I felt that land. “So what does it mean to run to the Lord?” I asked. “Because when pressure hits, my instincts take over. I distract. I self-medicate. I power through.”
He nodded. No judgment. “Running to the Lord isn’t a vibe,” he said. “It’s a direction. It’s deciding, under stress, to turn your attention—your trust—toward the One who made you instead of the things you use to numb yourself.”
He flipped the page and drew two arrows. One pointed inward, curling back on itself. The other pointed upward and outward.
“When I say ‘the name of the Lord,’” he said, “I’m talking about His character—who He is. Creator. Steady. Not panicked by your panic. When you run to Him, you’re not denying the threat. You’re choosing where you stand while it’s real.”
The barista came back, wiped the table next to us, then surprised herself by speaking. “Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just… that line about running somewhere? I run to work. To wine. To anything that shuts my head off.”
Solomon met her eyes. “You’re not weak for that,” he said. “You’re human. But some hiding places leak.”
She swallowed, nodded once, and went back behind the counter. When she left our orbit, the space she’d occupied felt empty.
I stared at the notebook. “So the difference between arrogance and refuge,” I said, “is where you place your weight.”
He smiled. “Exactly. Pride lifts you up until there’s nothing left holding you. Refuge humbles you enough to keep you alive.”
I thought about my week—the pressure, the isolation, the noise I’d mistaken for strength. “Running feels desperate,” I said.
“Only to people who’ve never been chased,” he replied.
“It’s turning toward the Lord instead of away from Him. When fear, pressure, temptation, or confusion hits, you choose God as your first refuge rather than your last resort.”
“And, above all,” he said, “It means seeking Him intentionally. Prayer. Scripture. Worship. Or even a simple ‘Lord, help me’ becomes the instinctive move of your heart.”
He closed the notebook and summarized, tapping the cover once. “Here’s what I want to stay with you: You will run. That’s not the question. But are you running in the right direction? Wisdom is choosing a refuge that doesn’t crumble. Turn your attention. Speak honestly. Ask for help. Step inside His strong walls.”
As we stood to leave, the fog on the windows had lifted. The street looked closer now. Less threatening. Still real.
I didn’t feel fixed. But I felt oriented.
What? This passage shows that isolation, empty talk, and pride are false refuges, while the Lord Himself is a secure place for those who turn to Him.
So What? Under pressure, we all run somewhere; choosing God as our refuge changes how fear, stress, and conflict shape us.
Now What? When anxiety spikes today, pause for one minute and intentionally turn your attention toward God—name your fear out loud and ask for strength instead of escape.
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