THE PARADOX OF WISDOM
An entry on discernment, conditioning, accountability, surrender and the contradictions of growth.
Certain conversations leave you with more questions than answers. Not necessarily because the things said were without merit, but because they somehow manage to reopen conversations you’ve been having with yourself for years.
This morning, after a conversation with my foster mother, I found myself revisiting some familiar thoughts. I've heard much of what was said, and I don't necessarily disagree with all of it. However, there are certain things I'm struggling to reconcile.
Throughout our lives, we are taught to distinguish right from wrong. We are introduced to principles, values, rules and expectations that supposedly help us navigate the world. Yet, one thing I've increasingly struggled to appreciate is the idea that there is always a universally accepted interpretation of what is right and what is wrong.
For every wisdom passed down, there seems to be a counter-wisdom. For every principle someone insists we should live by, there is another perspective that challenges its application. And somewhere between these competing interpretations, things begin to get blurry for me.
I find myself wondering whether we have become so accustomed to inheriting other people's interpretations of life that we sometimes mistake conformity for character development.
One of the things I find particularly difficult is how easily certain behaviours are categorised as misdemeanours without sufficient consideration for the circumstances that produced them. Sometimes, what is being judged as a character flaw may actually be a trauma-induced response, an involuntary reaction, or a behavioural pattern developed as a means of navigating difficult experiences.
This is not to suggest that every reaction should be excused or that personal accountability should be abandoned. Rather, I wonder whether accountability should also come with an understanding of context. Can we correct someone's behaviour without dismissing the experiences that may have contributed to it? Can we distinguish between what someone intentionally chooses to do and what they have yet to learn how to process?
These questions become even more complicated when I consider the recurring conversations around serving (pleasing) others, respecting authority, submitting to instruction and living according to the expectations of parents, guardians, employers and other figures of influence.
There seems to be an underlying expectation that growth must sometimes come through discomfort, and that before becoming something valuable, one must first endure the fire.
I understand the biblical imagery. Refinement, pruning, patience and perseverance are recurring themes in Christianity. But I sometimes struggle with how these principles are interpreted and applied in everyday relationships.
Does every uncomfortable experience constitute refinement? Does every difficult authority figure represent an instrument of God's development? Must someone endure unnecessary humiliation, emotional turmoil or persistent mistreatment before they can be considered teachable?
I think about situations where a boss deliberately makes someone uncomfortable, picks on them, undermines their confidence or even expresses a desire to see them suffer before extending opportunities or resources that could help them grow.
At what point does refinement become mistreatment? And at what point does our willingness to endure become an excuse for others to continue treating us poorly?
I have spent a considerable part of my life trying to understand this relationship between attitude, character, accountability and coexistence.
Of my 34 years on earth, I would say that approximately 20 have been spent navigating life and its many complexities, with at least 14 of those years involving a recurring internal conversation about how I relate with people, how I respond to expectations, how I align with other people's ideas and how I reconcile my convictions with the demands of coexistence.
I have repeatedly been advised to start small with my ideas and pursuit towards greatness. To take things one step at a time. To exercise patience. To be intentional. To allow things to develop gradually.
And I have tried. I continue to try.
Sometimes intentionally, sometimes through discipline, sometimes through what I believe to be the guidance and conviction of the Holy Spirit, and sometimes simply because life leaves me with little choice but to adapt.
Yet, something continues to trouble me.
I observe people who seemingly do not subscribe to the same processes, principles or expectations and still manage to attain the things they desire. Some bypass the very lessons others are encouraged to learn. Some don't appear to exercise the same patience, consideration or restraint, yet opportunities still find them.
And this leads me to ask myself: What exactly are we being taught?
Is the process itself the destination?
Is character development supposed to guarantee a particular outcome?
Or have I somehow become too preoccupied with doing things the right way that I am struggling to recognise that life doesn't always distribute its rewards according to our understanding of fairness?
It almost feels like a paradox. In fact I strongly think it is.
My heart is inclined towards things I believe are worthwhile. Things that extend beyond immediate gratification. Things that could outlive me and contribute meaningfully to other people, communities and generations that I may never personally encounter.
Yet, the intentions behind these things are frequently misunderstood. My contributions are sometimes misconstrued, my convictions questioned, and my approach interpreted differently from what I intended.
And even when the intentions are acknowledged, I sometimes struggle to see the acknowledgement reflected in how I am treated or received.
It raises another uncomfortable question: What happens when you consistently try to make room for others to grow, hoping that somewhere along the way, you will also find room to grow?
What happens when you invest in people, relationships, ideas and opportunities, but eventually find yourself questioning whether the same consideration is being extended to you?
Am I doing something wrong?
Am I expecting too much?
Am I communicating poorly?
Or have I become so accustomed to trying to make things work for everyone else that I have neglected to examine whether those environments are equally invested in my growth?
I don't necessarily have the answers.
Also, there is the question of faith. There’s always the question of faith.
I believe the Holy Spirit speaks to me. There are moments when I experience a conviction or an understanding that I cannot easily attribute to anything else. There are also moments when my thoughts become so crowded that distinguishing between my own reasoning, external influences, emotional responses and spiritual conviction becomes difficult.
This morning's conversation with my foster mother is one such example.
I believe its occurrence was orchestrated by the Holy Spirit, perhaps to expose me to a perspective I needed to hear. But I am still trying to understand the purpose behind it.
Was I meant to hear these things so that I could reflect on them?
Was I meant to hear them so that I could make certain adjustments?
Or was I simply being presented with an opportunity to exercise discernment?
How do I distinguish between a message I am supposed to receive, a lesson I am supposed to apply and an opinion I am simply supposed to consider?
I have never really been someone who dismisses correction simply because it is uncomfortable. And I don’t exactly aim to become one. Neither do I want to become someone who accepts every form of correction without examining its source, intention, context and alignment with the person God is calling me to become.
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I have also been told, repeatedly, that I like control. That I want things done a certain way. That I am too intelligent, too clever, too aware of what I want, too fixed in my ways, and consequently difficult for people to help or accommodate.
Perhaps there are truths in some of these observations that I have yet to fully confront.
But I also know that I have made deliberate attempts to relinquish control. I have tried to surrender outcomes, allow room for God's orchestration and accept that not everything needs to happen according to my understanding or timeline.
Still, the contradictions are ever so bloated.
And I wonder whether what people interpret as a desire for control is sometimes an attempt to maintain alignment with convictions I consider important.
I like to believe that there’s is a difference between being unwilling to learn and being unwilling to compromise certain principles. There is a difference between stubbornness and conviction. There is also a difference between surrendering control to God and surrendering one’s judgement to the expectations of other people.
I am still learning how to distinguish between these things.
What becomes particularly difficult is when the help being offered appears conditional upon abandoning certain convictions, compromising certain values or operating in ways that I genuinely believe are inconsistent with what God has asked or is asking of me.
How do I accept help without losing my sense of direction?
How do I remain teachable without becoming impressionable?
How do I become more accommodating without abandoning discernment?
And perhaps most importantly, how do I recognise when I am the problem without automatically assuming responsibility for every problem I encounter?
These thoughts have accumulated over time, and sometimes it feels as though I am running in circles, revisiting the same conversations, encountering similar situations and attempting to resolve contradictions that never seem to reach a conclusion.
I don't want to spend another season of my life repeating patterns simply because I haven't understood the lessons embedded within them.
I don't want to keep building systems that don't work, sustaining relationships that don't reciprocate, or investing in environments that consistently leave me questioning my worth, contribution or direction.
And I certainly don't want to become an example of someone who spends an entire lifetime talking about what they intend to accomplish without ever translating those intentions into something tangible.
My foster mother shared an example of a 60-year-old man who has spent years talking about billion-dollar deals but has never managed to make even a million. It was an example intended to communicate something about the dangers of remaining trapped in aspirations without corresponding results.
While I understand the point. I think my journey is a little more nuanced than that.
I have had millions. I have made millions. I have lost millions. I have experienced opportunities, setbacks, progress and disappointments. I have seen what is possible, and I have also experienced what happens when things don't materialise as anticipated.
I don't want to be defined by what I've lost, what I've yet to accomplish or what other people think I should have achieved by now.
My goal is to become a better steward of what God has entrusted to me.
I want to recognise opportunities without misusing them. I want to exercise wisdom without becoming paralysed by overthinking. I want to build things that are meaningful, sustainable and capable of outliving my participation in them.
I want to make progress, but I also want that progress to mean something.
Perhaps that is where the real tension rests: Understanding how to become everything I believe I am capable of becoming without losing the person I believe God is shaping me to be.
And I don't know whether the answer is to change my approach, change my environment (I have made a conviction to ride with this when the opportunity presents itself again. However, only in circumstances that allows me continue with the pursuit I have begun here), change my expectations, change my understanding of certain principles or simply become more patient with the process.
Maybe it is a combination of these things.
But I am tired of confusing endurance with progress. I am tired of interpreting every difficult experience as something I must necessarily accept. I am tired of questioning whether my convictions are the problem simply because they are not always understood by the people around me.
At the same time, I don't want my convictions to become an excuse for avoiding necessary growth.
I welcome correction where correction is necessary. I welcome challenges wherever I may have become rigid. I welcome accountability for the things I do, including the things I do unintentionally. I welcome understanding my reactions, recognising my patterns and taking total responsibility for the parts of my life that require change.
And as I approach 35, I find myself asking God for something a liitle more than just answers. I am asking for more discernment.
For the ability to continue to recognise His voice amidst the many voices competing for my attention. For the continued wisdom to distinguish conviction from conditioning, correction from condemnation, refinement from mistreatment, patience from stagnation and surrender from passivity.
I am asking the Holy Spirit to make the things I need to understand increasingly clear. Not necessarily by making every contradiction disappear, but by giving me the continued wisdom to navigate them without losing myself in the process.
I want to know what I am supposed to hold on to, what I am supposed to let go of, what I am supposed to confront and what I am simply supposed to outgrow.
I want to stop repeating lessons I have already had opportunities to learn.
I want to stop mistaking movement for progress and activity for purpose.
And above all, I want to become a better steward of my life, my gifts, my opportunities, my relationships and the things God has placed in my hands.
Perhaps I don't need to have everything figured out today. But I do need to become more discerning about what I carry into tomorrow.
Lord, if there is something I am failing to see, help me see it. If there is something I am refusing to confront, give me the courage to confront it. If there is something I have mistaken for Your instruction, help me recognise the difference.
And if there are things I have been carrying that were never mine to carry, give me the wisdom to put them down.
I don't want to arrive at 35 having simply survived another year of contradictions.
I want to arrive with greater understanding, healthier patterns, clearer convictions and tangible evidence of growth.
I want my life to reflect not just what I believe You have called me to do, but the wisdom to do it well.
Amen.
