A House of Wisdom
I give myself a House of Wisdom from where I can share knowledge.
I picture it now — Grama’s house of Wisdom — not something grand or polished, but a place assembled from the real materials of a life. A house God built out of days: stories tucked into the rafters, grocery lists soft with handling, coffee rings on the table where hard conversations cooled.
And everywhere, looking through a granddaughter’s eyes, is the evidence of Grampa Bill’s love disguised as handiwork. The hinge he tightened so the door wouldn’t sag. The shelf he straightened in the hallway. The patch on the wall where he smoothed the plaster with that quiet patience he carried like a second skin. The lamp he rewired so the light above her favorite chair would never flicker. Little repairs that were really promises.
Grama’s wisdom lived in those corners—places made steady by a man losing his hold on memory but clinging fiercely to usefulness. To share knowledge from this house isn’t to preach; it’s to open the door to that spirit of small repairs. To offer someone the steadiness you learned from watching two people shore each other up through winter after winter.
Wisdom is the courage to pass on that steadiness—the kind that keeps a roof held up even when life buckles below.
Journal Prompt — December 15
Think of one “small repair” someone made for you—something humble, almost invisible, that steadied your world.
How might you offer a small repair of your own today?
Write a few lines about what that gesture could look like and who needs it.
Leave a Reply