'The Blank Check'

Solomon became king of Israel while he was still a very young man, stepping into the shoes of his father David — who was, by every measure, a legend. Solomon hadn't built anything yet. He hadn't proven anything yet. One night, at a place called Gibeon, God appeared to him in a dream and said something almost unthinkable: "Ask what I shall give you" (1 Kings 3:5). No conditions. No fine print. The most open-ended offer anyone in Scripture is ever handed. He could have asked for a bigger kingdom. He could have asked for wealth, or the defeat of every enemy, or a legacy that would outlast every king before him — every one of those a young, insecure new king would have every reason to want.

He asked for none of it. "Give your servant, therefore, an understanding mind... that I may discern between good and evil" (1 Kings 3:9). Read what he says right before that request: "I am but a little child. I do not know how to go out or come in" (1 Kings 3:7). That's the whole request in one sentence — Solomon knew the size of the job in front of him was bigger than what was currently in him. He wasn't being falsely humble. He genuinely didn't know what he didn't know, and he was honest enough to say so to God.

That's a harder moment to imitate than it sounds, because most of us default to faking competence the second we're handed real responsibility — a new job, a new classroom of kids, a marriage, a diagnosis, a decision with no good options in front of us. We reach for certainty we don't actually have rather than admit the gap in our knowledge or ability because we don’t want to look weak or incompetent. Solomon's story says the opposite move is the wise one. Rather than pretending you know, ask specifically for the thing you're actually missing — the way James later put it: "If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach" (James 1:5).

When you know that you don't know what you don't know, ask for wisdom.

What are you currently pretending to have figured out?

Blessings,

Jonathan