Wisdom. The word keeps coming back to me in various ways. I read it in books. I hear it in the whisper of my heart. What does it mean to be wise? How do you make wise decisions? What to say or what not say to someone. What to do or what not to do. My answer: I don’t really know. The only things I do know is that if I could choose one quality that people would talk about after I am not on this planet anymore, it would be that one: “she lived a full life with true wisdom in her heart, soul and actions.”
But I often feel far from wise. The more I know, the more I realise how little I know and how much there is to learn. The more I realise that knowledge isn’t the same a wisdom.
Exactly a year I go I handed in my thesis and I started walking. My own little Camino in the Netherlands. I wrote about it on Sunday in Dutch. I even think I wrote about it earlier in this 365-day writing project. h walking through life like a pilgrim. Step by step. Walking through beautiful landscapes with the sunshine on your face and in the pouring rain with burning blisters.
Wisdom is also simply putting my feet up after a long day of work, which is what I did today. Pondering these thoughts on what it means to be wise.
I think my simple conclusion is indeed that wisdom has a lot to do with walking. With being on a pilgrimage. No one ever got wiser from standing still. If I remember well, it was this week last year that made me decide to apply with ZOA. This vague idea or feeling that ZOA might be the right place for me to start a career after years of college. Little did I know then that a year later I would take a picture of my feet again, resting on a coffee table in evening sunshine of Kampala.
Was it wise choices along the way? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think it was mainly just about going on and going further. About approaching life as a pilgrimage. Step by step. Through the highs and lows of the past year.
Maybe wisdom lies in the recognition of how little I am as a human being. Just a small part of a bigger picture, that isn’t in control by me, but by God. In the end, the fear of God is the beginning of all wisdom. So if I die, which may, in fact, be tomorrow (although I hope to become a happy old granny a long, long time from now), that’s what I want people to say about me:
“She was a wise woman. Because she knew that she wasn’t in control. Because she walked her daily life following her Heavenly Father’s footsteps.”