Saved, Smart & Occasionally Unwise

God had me in Proverbs 4 this morning, and apparently He woke up choosing violence.

Because the entire chapter is basically a father saying, “Baby, please get some wisdom.”

And as somebody who considers herself fairly intelligent, I would like to formally state that intelligence and wisdom are absolutely not the same thing. I know this because I have personally gathered evidence.

A lot of it.

If I were to list all the dumb decisions I have made in my lifetime, we would be here all day. Pack a lunch. Bring a charger. We may need to order dinner.

Some were expensive lessons. Literally.

There was a season when spending money and I were in a relationship that probably should have ended sooner. Thankfully, we have grown. We have good credit now. We have savings. I can enter Target without behaving like every decorative basket has been personally assigned to me by God.

Deliverance.

My attitude, however?

We are still in active sanctification.

Especially when assumptions get involved.

I can receive approximately 37% of the information, use context clues, previous experiences, tone, punctuation, and one suspicious thumbs-up reaction to construct the remaining 63% myself…and then get mad about the story I just wrote.

Ma’am.

This is exactly why Proverbs 4 hit me differently this morning.

“Get wisdom; get insight; do not forget, and do not turn away from the words of my mouth.” (Proverbs 4:5, ESV)

God was not telling me to become smarter.

He was showing me that knowing things and knowing what to do with what I know are two completely different things.

And lately I have been asking myself a harder question:

What do I do when my potential feels bigger than my current place?

My instinct is usually to work harder.

Try harder. Push harder. Think harder. Fix harder.

Except Ecclesiastes 10:10 says, “If the iron is blunt, and one does not sharpen the edge, he must use more strength, but wisdom helps one to succeed.”

Oh.

So sometimes I am exhausted because I am swinging a dull axe.

Hard work only works when I am working at the right thing.

Some situations are not addressed by working harder. They require me to work wiser.

And maybe that is what God is teaching me right now because some seasons are more consequential than others.

There are seasons where I have room to make a decision, discover it was dumb, say “well…that was unfortunate,” learn something, and move forward.

Then there are seasons where the implications are higher.

The decision touches my marriage.

My finances.

My ministry.

My relationships.

My peace.

My future.

The people connected to me.

The margin for error gets smaller because the weight of what I am carrying has gotten greater.

That does not mean God’s grace got smaller.

It means wisdom has become even more necessary.

And that is where Solomon started messing with me.

Because when Solomon became king after David, he inherited a position that his potential may have qualified him for, but his humility told him he could not handle alone.

In 1 Kings 3, Solomon begins talking to God about David:

“You have shown great and steadfast love to your servant David my father…” (1 Kings 3:6, ESV)

Then he acknowledges how completely out of his depth he feels:

“And now, O LORD my God, you have made your servant king in place of David my father, although I am but a little child. I do not know how to go out or come in.” (1 Kings 3:7, ESV)

That is fascinating to me.

One of the wisest men in Scripture began his assignment by essentially saying:

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Meanwhile, I have been over here treating “I don’t know” like a character flaw.

Solomon understood that being chosen for something did not mean he automatically possessed everything necessary to steward it.

And when Solomon says, “David my father,” I see something else for myself.

My Father.

My Heavenly Father.

Because I can look at where I am and say the same thing Solomon said in verse 6:

I am here because of the kindness of my Father.

Not because every decision I made was wise.

Chile, we have already established that documentary would be six seasons long.

I am here because God has been kind to me.

And some things He has called me to are beyond me.

Therefore, I need Him.

There will always be a gap between what I can do and what God has called me to do. Maybe that gap is not evidence that I am underqualified. Maybe it is the place where dependence lives.

Solomon did not ask God for a bigger platform, more money, revenge on his enemies, or even success.

He asked for discernment.

“Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, that I may discern between good and evil…” (1 Kings 3:9, ESV)

He asked God to make him wise enough to steward what God had already given him.

WHEW.

Because I have spent a lot of time praying for God to increase what is in my hands.

Maybe I also need to pray:

“God, increase the wisdom in my head before You increase what is in my hands.”

James 3:15–17 makes another distinction I need. There is earthly wisdom, and then there is wisdom “from above.”

Earthly wisdom can come from experience.

And experience is valuable.

However, experience can also teach me some incredibly dysfunctional things.

My attitude has worked before.

Assuming the worst has occasionally kept me from being blindsided.

Overspending once made me feel better.

Overthinking makes me feel prepared.

Control makes me feel safe.

Just because something worked does not mean it was wise.

Everything I have learned from life still has to be filtered through the Word of God.

Jesus says in Matthew 7:24 that the wise person hears His words “and does them.”

Not hears them.

Not highlights them.

Not writes them in a cute notebook with three different colored pens.

Does them.

Which means I do not benefit merely from the sermons I hear.

I benefit from the truth I apply.

And suddenly, all I can think about is Mrs. Doubtfire.

Because Daniel loved his children.

That was never really the problem.

Daniel’s problem was that instead of initially allowing the consequences of his choices to mature him, this man said, essentially:

“What if I become an elderly British woman?”

Sir.

That is Ecclesiastes 10:10 in a wig.

The axe was dull and Daniel’s solution was to swing harder…in prosthetics.

His effort was incredible.

His strategy was unhinged.

And unfortunately, I relate.

Because sometimes I have been so determined to fix an outcome that I never stopped long enough to ask God whether He wanted to change my approach.

Wisdom says:

Maybe don’t swing harder.

Sharpen.

Maybe don’t respond immediately.

Wait.

Maybe don’t assume.

Ask.

Maybe don’t buy it because I am irritated.

Close the app.

Maybe don’t create an elaborate Mrs. Doubtfire situation when maturity would solve the problem.

Proverbs 4:6 says of wisdom:

“Do not forsake her, and she will keep you; love her, and she will guard you.”

There is protection attached to wisdom.

That is what I am beginning to understand.

Sometimes I am asking God for a miracle when wisdom could have kept me from needing one.

Sometimes I am praying for God to repair something that wisdom could have helped me preserve.

Sometimes I am asking Him to extinguish fires that wisdom would have kept me from lighting.

And sometimes I am apologizing for an attitude I caught over something that literally only happened in my imagination.

Again.

We working on it.

Proverbs 4:7 says, “The beginning of wisdom is this: Get wisdom.”

Maybe that is the word for this season.

Not “work harder.”

Not “prove yourself.”

Not “figure everything out.”

Get wisdom.

Because some seasons are more consequential than others.

Some decisions carry greater implications.

Some assignments require a level of discernment that yesterday’s version of me did not need.

So I am not asking God merely to make me smarter.

I have enough information.

I have Google.

I have life experience.

I have survived some things.

What I need is heavenly wisdom.

Wisdom that knows when to speak and when to shut all the way up.

Wisdom that knows the difference between discernment and suspicion.

Wisdom that knows when to work harder and when to sharpen the axe.

Wisdom that recognizes that being capable does not mean I am self-sufficient.

Solomon’s humility reminds me that perhaps one of the wisest sentences I can say is:

“Father, I don’t know.”

Because immediately after it comes:

“But You do.”

And if this season carries greater consequences, then I do not need to become Mrs. Doubtfire trying seventeen increasingly ridiculous ways to force something to work.

I need wisdom.

“Lord, give me an increase in heavenly wisdom.”

Because I am entirely too smart to keep learning everything the hard way.

And apparently, according to Proverbs 4, God would like me to finally start acting like it.