DAY 2 — Meet Wisdom’s Voice | Proverbs 1:1

 

Key Verse: “These are the proverbs of Solomon…” (v.1)

 Big Idea: When someone this wise talks—pay attention

🎧 Listen to Today’s Audio Here 

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1iY6sT65toAhGHmlSWBk6y5-0l-4ef_bk/view?usp=drive_link

I showed up at the café earlier than I wanted to admit. A part of me wondered whether yesterday’s encounter actually happened. Another part — the bigger part — hoped it had. The morning light spilled through the windows in long gold stripes, and the smell of fresh coffee wrapped around me like a familiar blanket.

 Solomon was already there.

 Same table. Same linen shirt. Same silver-streaked hair pulled back loosely. His weathered leather notebook lay open, and that faint cedar scent drifted from him again, grounding me in what felt increasingly like a new reality.

 “Day two,” he said with a small smile. “Glad you made it.”

 I took a seat. “Honestly, I half-expected you wouldn’t be here.”

 He tapped the table lightly — his signature gesture. “Wisdom tends to keep appointments. It’s people who run late.”

 Before I could respond, a young guy at the next table knocked his iced coffee off the edge. It exploded across the floor, ice skittering everywhere. He muttered something sharp under his breath and sank into his chair, rubbing his temples like life had already beaten him to the punch today. I felt that.

 Solomon glanced over but didn’t intervene. Not yet. Instead, he turned toward me and tapped my phone screen where Proverbs 1 glowed.

 “Here’s where we start,” he said. “Chapter one, verse one: ‘These are the proverbs of Solomon, David’s son, king of Israel.’ My introduction. My signature.”

 “That’s… you,” I said, surprised at how small my voice sounded.

 “Yes,” he replied. “And it matters. Before you trust someone to guide your life, you should know who they are.”

 He leaned back slightly. “I wasn’t just a king. I studied people — their successes, their failures, their patterns, their blind spots. Wisdom didn’t fall out of the sky. I learned it the hard way. Experience can be a cruel teacher, but she’s thorough.”

 The guy who spilled his drink let out a frustrated sigh. Solomon’s eyes flicked toward him with gentle accuracy. “Like him,” he said quietly. “He didn’t spill coffee. He spilled frustration he’s been carrying for weeks.”

 “How do you know that?” I whispered.

 He gave a half-smile. “Patterns. People reveal themselves long before they speak.”

 He opened his leather notebook. Inside were diagrams, sketches, branching paths, and symbols — a lifetime of insight etched into pages that felt older than anything I’d ever touched.

 “Proverbs is me handing you the tools,” he said. “Not rules, not religious weight — tools. A craftsman doesn’t guess his way through a project. He measures. He learns. He uses the right instrument. Wisdom is that instrument.”

 I nodded, though something inside me felt unsteady — in a good way.

 Solomon closed the notebook gently. “Day one is about orientation. Know the voice guiding you: someone weathered by mistakes, shaped by grace, and obsessed with helping others avoid unnecessary ruin.”

 He stood, fastening the strap of his notebook. “Tomorrow we’ll walk somewhere different. A change of scenery helps the mind see clearly.”

 Before leaving, he glanced once more at the frustrated young man, then back at me. “People need wisdom more than they need luck. You’re not just reading Proverbs — you’re apprenticing under it.”

 He walked out, leaving me with three thoughts echoing like a drumbeat.

 What? Proverbs starts by introducing its author — a seasoned guide who learned wisdom through deep observation and personal mistakes.

 So What? Knowing the credibility and history of your guide creates trust and clarity as you begin the journey.

 Now What? Decide you’re willing to learn — not casually, but intentionally. Let wisdom speak.

DAY 1 — The Stranger at the Table | 1 Kings 4:34

Key Verse: “And people of all nations came to hear the wisdom of Solomon.” (1 Kings 4:34)

 Big Idea: What if wisdom really could change everything?

🎧 Listen to Today’s Audio Here

I was half-awake, clutching a warm mug and scrolling through my phone like the answers to my life might eventually appear between notifications. Same café as always. Same moss-green walls. Same lo-fi beats smoothing out the edges of my exhaustion. And the same restless sense that something in my life needed to shift, but I had no idea where to begin.

That’s when he sat down.

A man I’d never seen before slid into the chair across from me with the quiet confidence of someone who belonged wherever he chose to be. His linen shirt looked soft and lived-in, sleeves rolled to reveal strong, scarred forearms. His silver-streaked hair was tied loosely back. His boots looked handmade, like something passed down rather than purchased. A faint cedar scent followed him — warm, grounding, familiar in a way I couldn’t explain.

He looked squarely at me. “You’re Ethan, right?” he inquired.

“That’s me, Ethan McKenzie.” I blinked. “Do I… know you?”

He smiled gently, tapping the table twice with two fingers — a gesture that felt intentional, almost rhythmic. “Not yet,” he said. “But you’ve read what I wrote.”

That didn’t clear anything up.

He nodded toward my phone. “Proverbs. I authored most of it.”

I stared. “You’re saying you’re Solomon?”

A soft chuckle. “The very one.”

My heartbeat shifted into a confused, caffeinated gallop. I wasn’t sure whether to run, ask questions, or check if someone had slipped mushrooms into my latte.

“Why are you here?” I finally asked.

He folded his scarred hands — hands that looked like they had once held both tools and crowns — and leaned in. “Because you’ve been making decisions tired,” he said. “Reacting instead of steering. You have more information than ever before, but less wisdom than you need. And wisdom,” he tapped the table again, “is why I’m here.”

A surprising lump formed in my throat. He wasn’t wrong.

Solomon reached into a weathered leather satchel and pulled out a small notebook — beaten, etched with strange markings, pages softened by centuries of use. When he placed it on the table, I felt as though something ancient had entered the room with it.

“I want to walk with you through the Book of Proverbs,” he said. “Ninety days. A slow journey. Simple enough for your morning coffee, deep enough to stay with you long after.”

I swallowed. “How… exactly?”

He opened the notebook and turned it toward me. Inside were sketches — paths, foundations, branching roads — like he carried a blueprint for the human soul.

“Each day,” he said, “we’ll look at a few verses from Proverbs. I’ll explain what they mean — not in religious fog, but in real language. We’ll talk through how they work in everyday life: relationships, decisions, pressure, temptation, identity. The things that undo people… and the things that build them.”

He flipped to another page with three handwritten lines:  What? So What? Now What?

“It ends this way each day,” Solomon said. “Three questions. Three anchors.”

He pointed to the first. “What? — What does this passage actually say? Not what you wish it said, or fear it says — what it says.”

Then the second. “So What? — Why does this matter right now? How does this intersect with your emotions, your choices, your patterns, your reality?”

Finally, the last. “Now What? — What should you do about it today? One step. One shift. Wisdom is not information. It’s action.”

 He closed the notebook, and for a moment, everything around us — the espresso machine, the clinking mugs, the swirl of conversation — seemed to fade into a soft, suspended hush.

“This isn’t a study,” he said quietly. “It’s a mentorship. A journey. A chance to stop drifting and start living with intention.”

He slid back his chair and stood, that faint cedar scent moving with him. “Tomorrow,” he said, “same table. Day two.”

I watched him walk out of the café, my mug warm between my hands, my pulse steadying into something I hadn’t felt for a long time:

Hope.

Anticipation.

And the quiet, unsettling sense that wisdom had just invited me into something that might change everything.