And where does one get such wisdom?

by Esther Zeiset

At twenty-eight years old and a decade removed from high school, I knew I was far out of my league when I enrolled in English 201 at a community college. But I had a slew of story and article ideas rattling around in my head and wanted to expand my fledgling writing into a larger Christian publishing market. I determined that, even in a secular class, my writing would reflect my faith.

From the first night, the professor ruled his classroom with sighs, glares, and brusque commands. “In my class you can write about anything you want, but. . . .” He paused to tuck his chin to his barrel chest and glared at us over his reading glasses. “Hear me on this: Do not turn in mindless drivel!”

Mindless drivel? Would he think it mindless if I wrote that my husband and I were attempting to establish a budget or of the pleasure I derive from gardening? Would he call it drivel if I wrote of insights from my morning devotions? What would he think if I wrote about my husband’s prison ministry and the mutual fulfillment we found in following God’s call?

Tense moments

I pushed aside my nervousness and wrote about those topics. My jitters heightened the next week when the professor called for our journals. “Stack your notebooks on my desk,” he barked. “And there better not be balderdash and nonsense in them!”

A suffocating tension blanketed the classroom. The professor sank into his chair and commenced with reading our journals while we students worked on an in-class writing assignment. He sighed often and wielded a red pen with dramatic force and exaggerated scribbling. His heavy sighs gave way to dark mutterings about bigots and simpletons.

I tried to squelch my own sighs and corral my scattered thoughts into writing.

When class ended, I dug my notebook off the pile on his desk and hurried to the car. I opened my journal with a mix of curiosity and dread. My professor had circled a misplaced apostrophe in bold red ink, and on the next page, he put an X over a comma. But he made no comment about my description of a trying day with the kids and my prayer for patience.

The scenario repeated itself week after week as the professor exhaled deep sighs and muttered that our writing was deplorable. Appalling. Complete baloney and gibberish. He punctuated each word with a heavy sigh.

Every week, I retreated to my car after class and worked up the courage to look at my journal. The professor marked grammatical errors, and after one entry he wrote Good structure. Nothing more. No accusation of drivel or balderdash.

Hidden wisdom

During the week of our eighth anniversary, I wrote in my journal of God’s blessing on our marriage — about how far we’d come as a couple and where we would go. In another entry I wrote about a child’s unchecked temper tantrum in the library, and that it led to a long discussion with my husband about how we define success for our children.

“I’d think we’re successful if I can have theological discussions with our kids over breakfast,” my husband said with a smirk. It was an obvious reference to my inability to discuss theologian-philosopher Francis Schaeffer’s writings over cereal at 6:00 a.m.

In the end, we agreed our idea of success for our kids was vastly different from the world’s values of wealth, power, and prestige. It would best be summed up by God’s admonition stated in Micah 6:8: “To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God” (NIV).

I’d worried that my God-talk and references to Scripture might offend my professor, but as I flipped through my journal pages, I saw only his grammar and punctuation corrections.

Until the end of the semester. On the last page. I sucked in my breath and stared at the words he scrawled in red ink: I wish I were wise enough to notice all the little things you see as opportunities for learning and growth. Where does one get such wisdom?

I sat in my car for long minutes, too stunned to move. Later, when the shock passed and I could think straight again, I pondered his question. It left me with my own questions. Who, me? Wisdom? What in the world was he talking about? His words certainly did not describe me!

Insights to wisdom

In the years since that memorable semester, my thoughts have often returned to my professor’s question. Over time I conceded that he was right. I do have wisdom — but it does not emanate from my own genius or experience.

Proverbs 2:6 says, “For the Lord gives wisdom; from his mouth come knowledge and understanding.” A closer look at surrounding verses indicates that He does not dump a truckload of wisdom on us willy-nilly, but He honors us with wisdom when we “cry out for discernment, and lift up your voice for understanding, . . . seek her as silver, and search for her as for hidden treasures” (vv. 3, 4).

Wisdom is knowing how to apply God’s truth to daily living. It is the right application of knowledge. The Bereans modeled godly wisdom when they “examined the Scriptures every day to see if what Paul said was true” (Acts 17:11, NIV). Amid the bombardment of all manners of philosophies and ideas, they tested those messages — even those from the apostle Paul. Scripture calls them “noble” for exercising active discernment.

In our age of information, diverse messages assail us at every turn. At first glance, those catchy social media quotes and memes might sound on target, but do they line up with the Bible? Think tanks and talking heads can lend persuasive arguments about social issues, but do they square with biblical principles? Are the movie and book themes we digest God honoring?

Eternal perspective

Wisdom looks at life through the lens of eternity. Because we are here today and gone tomorrow, a worldly perspective says, “This life is as good as it’s going to get, so live it up while you can.” Godly wisdom says, “This life is as bad as it’s going to get, so prepare for eternity.” As he regarded the brevity of life, the writer of Psalm 90:12 prayed, “So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

When we hold an eternal perspective, we evaluate what will be of substance one hundred years from now, and we prioritize accordingly. We take on the renewed mind that Romans 12:2 speaks of so that we “may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.” Indeed, when we embrace the mind of Christ, follow the instructions of our heavenly Father, and ask for daily guidance from the Holy Spirit, wisdom becomes embedded into our daily lives.

So, yes, I am wise. And if you are a maturing Christian, you are wise too. Very wise.