The Spring and the Storm

Blessings crown the head of the righteous, but violence overwhelms the mouth of the wicked … The wise in heart accept commands, but a chattering fool comes to ruin … Whoever winks maliciously causes grief, and a chattering fool comes to ruin. The mouth of the righteous is a fountain of life, but the mouth of the wicked conceals violence. Hatred stirs up conflict, but love covers over all wrongs. Wisdom is found on the lips of the discerning, but a rod is for the back of one who has no sense. The wise store up knowledge, but the mouth of a fool invites ruin … Whoever conceals hatred with lying lips and spreads slander is a fool. Sin is not ended by multiplying words, but the prudent hold their tongues. The tongue of the righteous is choice silver, but the heart of the wicked is of little value. The lips of the righteous nourish many, but fools die for lack of sense … A fool finds pleasure in wicked schemes, but a person of understanding delights in wisdom … From the mouth of the righteous comes the fruit of wisdom, but a perverse tongue will be silenced … The lips of the righteous know what finds favor, but the mouth of the wicked only what is perverse. Proverbs 10:6, 8, 10-14, 18-21, 23, 31-32

The “Altos da Boa Vista” Condominium was, on the surface, a peaceful place. But beneath the facade of well-tended gardens, hatred, like an invisible leak, was beginning to stir up strife. And at the center of it all were two men: Otávio, the new building manager, and Gilberto, the resident of 503, a man whose mouth was a storm waiting to happen.

Gilberto was a master of veiled malice. To him, sowing discord was a form of entertainment. He concealed his hatred with flattering lips, approaching his neighbors with a feigned concern.

“Did you see the amount of Otávio’s new budget? It is absurd! Who knows where all that money is going…” he would whisper in the elevator, winking maliciously, planting the seed of mistrust. He had foolish lips, and every word he spoke was another shovel digging at the ruin of the building’s harmony.

Otávio, a retired engineer who took the position out of a genuine desire to serve, soon felt the impact. People would stop him in the hallways with veiled accusations based on Gilberto’s half-truths. He could have reacted with anger, but he was a wise man. He accepted the criticism, even when it was unjust.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” he would respond calmly. “I will prepare a detailed report of every expense and present it at the next meeting. Transparency is the best policy.”

Otávio’s mouth was a spring of life. Where Gilberto threw gasoline, Otávio brought the water of sensibility. He knew that in a multitude of words, sin is not lacking, so he measured every announcement, every response. His lips, like those of the righteous, knew what was pleasing: the truth spoken with respect. He began to hold open monthly meetings, not just to present the accounts, but to listen.

“What can we improve together?” he would ask, treasuring the knowledge that came from the residents’ experience.

Gilberto’s smear campaign intensified. He created a WhatsApp group called “Watching the Manager,” which quickly became a digital inquisition, a source of imminent destruction for Otávio’s reputation. Gilberto would post photos of a burnt-out lightbulb in the hallway as proof of “negligence,” interpreting every one of Otávio’s decisions as an act of tyranny or corruption.

The situation reached a critical point when a main pipe burst in the garage in the middle of the night, flooding several cars. It was chaos. Otávio was woken up at 3:00 AM and, within minutes, was already there, in rubber boots, coordinating the maintenance team, calming down desperate residents.

Gilberto, from his apartment, watched the scene from his window. And his amusement was cruel. He began to film, to send audio messages to the group.

“Look at this disaster! It is incompetence personified! Years of paying condo fees for this! Where is the preventive maintenance money he promised?”

However, the crisis that should have been Otávio’s ruin became his redemption. While Gilberto’s mouth spouted criticism, Otávio’s mouth produced practical wisdom. He organized a rotation of parking spots for the cars that were not hit. Through a contact, he managed to get a discount with a repair shop. Within forty-eight hours, the situation was under control.

At the emergency meeting called the following week, the hall was packed, the tension palpable. Gilberto stood up, ready for his accusatory speech. But before he could speak, Matilda, a lady who had lived in the building for many years, asked for the floor.

“I just wanted to thank Otávio,” she said, her voice firm. “In the midst of chaos, he brought us calm. In the midst of confusion, he brought us solutions. For months, we have heard many words that only served to set us against each other. But when things got tough, we saw that the words that truly matter are the ones that build, not the ones that destroy.”

One by one, other residents began to agree. The people who had been poisoned by Gilberto’s mistrust now saw the truth. He was caught by surprise, tried to argue, but his words now sounded empty, hollow. He fell, not from an attack, but from the weight of his own foolishness.

Humiliated, Gilberto fell silent. That day, the community began to heal. They learned to discern between the noise of confusion and the voice of wisdom. And Otávio, the man whose words were precious, continued his work, proving that a spring of life can, eventually, extinguish any fire a fool’s mouth tries to start.

(Made with AI)

This story is part of my book Everyday Wisdom

https://books2read.com/u/3knogL

Apostles

Jesus chose twelve men to preach,

His word, these men must announce it.

They were to preach the baptism of repentance,

And proclaim the coming of the Messiah and his Kingdom, with reverence.

They would seek the lost sheep of Israel.

About their path, Jesus gave them clear instructions,

Christ said they should not care about possessions.

Neither gold nor silver nor riches should they carry,

They would carry only the gifts that were given to them,

They would preach, heal, and cast out demons wherever they went.

This is the work of a true apostle of the Lord,

To be a humble servant and do everything the Master ordered.

Going to all places and preaching the truth faithfully,

Practicing the principles of commitment and loyalty.

This type of apostle became extinct two thousand years ago,

Nowadays, the new “apostles” do not follow the Father.

Each of them seeks only their personal greatness,

They are talking about God but are filled with wickedness.

They think of gathering all the wealth they can,

We are on another level; all of them proclaim.

They are so powerful that they do not explain their actions,

They think they are above the laws of God and the nation.

Their word and will cannot be questioned,

Because the “anointed of the Lord” cannot be touched.

They claim to be anointed by God to proclaim salvation,

But in truth, they are the first who need healing and liberation.

This poem is part of the book Christian Poetry Volume VI.

See the book:

https://books2read.com/u/4EBjBl

Casino’s Machine

The Lord is not a casino’s machine,

Where you put your money,

Waiting for something to change in your destiny.

God does not work with betting.

The Lord works with new life and changing.

 

God is not a God of joking,

In any way, you cannot follow Him.

With God, it needs much sincerity,

To save you, He wants your fidelity.

 

The Lord does not accept to be recompensed,

Offering too much does not indicate will be blessed.

Before you think about being financially blessed,

You need to think about being spiritually saved.

 

All the wealth of the world will have no use,

If your life, you do not change.

What the use of being here and winning everything,

When you die, in hell, your soul they will be throwing.

Think about how you are following the Lord,

Is it for self-interest or love?

To walk with the Lord and be saved,

It needs to wholeheartedly adore Him,

It is necessary to dedicate your life to Him.

And do not stay offering,

For your money to keep multiplying.

This poem is part of the book Christian Poetry Volume III.

See the book:

https://books2read.com/u/3nG5R5

The Two Heirs

A wise son brings joy to his father, but a foolish son brings grief to his mother. Ill-gotten treasures have no lasting value, but righteousness delivers from death … Lazy hands make for poverty, but diligent hands bring wealth. He who gathers crops in summer is a prudent son, but he who sleeps during harvest is a disgraceful son … The wealth of the rich is their fortified city, but poverty is the ruin of the poor. The wages of the righteous is life, but the earnings of the wicked are sin and death … The blessing of the Lord brings wealth, without painful toil for it … As vinegar to the teeth and smoke to the eyes, so are sluggards to those who send them. Proverbs 10:1-2, 4-5, 15-16, 22, 26

The death of Mário Medeiros left his sons, Tomás and Vicente, with more than just grief: it left them “Medeiros Woodwork,” a company with fifty years of history, sawdust in the air, and a reputation as solid as the oak they sold. On his deathbed, Mário made one last request to his wife, Ester: “Make sure they honor our name.” Ester, now the silent matriarch of the family, felt the weight of that promise.

Tomás, the older son, was the son who brought shame. Not out of malice, but out of a chronic laziness, an aversion to work that was a direct affront to his father’s memory. He saw the woodwork company not as a legacy, but as an ATM. He was the one who slept during the harvest, arriving late, delegating his responsibilities, and spending more time at long “networking” lunches than in the yard with the employees. His hand was negligent, and under his brief management, orders began to be delayed and quality to decline. He was his mother’s sorrow, a constant reminder of her husband’s absence.

Vicente, the younger son, was the wise son. He had his father’s fire in his eyes and a love for wood in his hands. To him, every plank of mahogany, every beam of peroba, was a story to be told. His hand was diligent. He was the first to arrive and the last to leave. He spent his days on the factory floor, alongside the employees, with the smell of sawdust ingrained in his clothes. He was the one who gathered in the summer, closing new contracts, optimizing inventory, ensuring that the name “Medeiros” continued to be synonymous with quality. He was his mother’s joy, a living reflection of the man she had loved so much.

The tension between the brothers was palpable. Tomás, feeling diminished by Vicente’s work ethic, began to look for shortcuts.

“We need fast money, Vicente! To modernize, to expand!” he would argue.

The “fast money” came in the form of a dubious supplier who offered illegally sourced wood at a price far below the market rate. These were the treasures of wickedness.

“No one will know. It is our chance to take a leap forward,” Tomás insisted.

Vicente was adamant.

“Dad never worked with people like that. Our name is worth more than an easy profit. Honest labor gives us a quiet life, Tomás. What you are proposing will lead us to crime and ruin.”

The argument culminated in their separation. With Ester’s mediation, the company was divided. Tomás got the main yard and the newer machinery, changing the name to “Medeiros Prime.” Vicente got an old warehouse and some old machines, founding “Medeiros Legacy.”

In the first few years, Tomás’s path seemed to triumph. Using cheap wood and aggressive business practices, he secured contracts with large construction companies, flooding the market with low prices. He bought a luxury car, a beachside apartment. His wealth became his stronghold, a fortress of arrogance from which he mocked his brother. Tomás’s riches, however, did not come without sorrow. The anxiety of being discovered, the sleepless nights, the constant threats from his business “partners.”

Vicente, for his part, faced hard times. The ruin of the poor is their poverty, and he had to fight to get back on his feet. But he had something Tomás’s money could not buy: a spotless reputation and the loyalty of his employees, who followed him out of admiration, not necessity. He focused on a niche market: high-quality furniture, certified wood, personalized service. His wealth grew slowly, but it was solid, built on the blessing of the Lord, and it did not bring with it the sorrows of illegality.

The storm came, as it always does. A major police operation against illegal logging swept through the sector. The name “Medeiros Prime” was at the center of the scandal. Tomás’s accounts were frozen, the yard was closed, the machinery was seized. His “treasures of wickedness” profited him nothing. On the contrary, they became his ruin. The stronghold he had built was a castle of sand, and the tide of justice washed it away in a single night.

Desperate and penniless, Tomás sought out his brother. He found Vicente in the warehouse, now renovated and bustling, supervising the delivery of a large order. The smell of honest wood filled Tomás’s lungs, and it was a scent he had not smelled in a long time.

Vicente did not greet him with an “I told you so.” He greeted him with the sorrow of a brother.

“I’ve lost everything,” Tomás said, his voice choked.

“No,” Vicente replied, looking around his prosperous, though modest, company. “You lost what was not yours to begin with. What is built in righteousness… that delivers from loss and destruction.”

There was no financial bailout. But Vicente offered Tomás a job. A new beginning. A place to work with his hands and, perhaps, rebuild not his fortune, but his honor. That afternoon, Ester visited the warehouse and saw her two sons working side by side for the first time in years. One who had brought her sorrow, and one, joy. And in her mother’s heart, she felt the hope that the blessing of the Lord, which brings wealth and adds no sorrow, could, finally, reach her entire family.

(Made with AI)

This story is part of my book Everyday Wisdom

https://books2read.com/u/3knogL

The End

Lord, my hour is arriving.

My lifetime is ending.

Furthermore, I cannot do anything,

I know this is my moment of dying.

 

I die, but I die very happily,

I know I did many good things.

In my life, it did not lack anything for me.

The Lord was always with me.

 

One day, I was lost in the world, in a bad life,

I was a better example of a vagabond, the whole time.

My acts did not bring any happiness,

I wanted to disturb others and make a mess.

 

But the Lord came to the lost ones,

He saved my life and rid me of risks.

All my sins were forgiven.

And to a decent life, I was being taken.

 

My whole behavior, the Holy Spirit has changed,

Where inhabited only wickedness, the love increased.

I never wanted to serve the sin again.

From that time on, I was a saved man.

The rest of my life, to the Lord, I dedicated,

In many works to God, I collaborated.

I went to many places, for many people, I preached,

Many souls to God, I gained.

 

Now, I say goodbye to all my beloved ones,

Do not be sad, to the beloved Father, I am coming.

The death, I am not fearing,

For me, there, God is waiting.

In the way of God, you must follow,

Then, in eternity, we will be gathered.

I see you soon, my time has already ended,

Now, receive my spirit, oh Lord!

This poem is part of the book Christian Poetry Volume III.

See the book:

https://books2read.com/u/3nG5R5

Time of Devastation

There are moments when we are devastated,

All our pillars were destroyed.

Our house seems to be destroyed.

Our structures were unsettled.

 

We were expelled from our land,

To the captivity, we were sent.

We were put under great tribulation.

We stay subdued, under heavy oppression.

 

Our eyes dismantle in crying,

We think, What did we do wrong for this happening?

In vain, we spent time questioning,

Because we already know the reason this is occurring.

 

To our Lord, we were disobeying,

We break his holy alliance.

Wickedness and abominations, we were following.

 

Before He left us in a tough situation,

He advised us because of his love and consideration.

In many ways, He tried to change us.

God always hoped we could change,

And under his law, we would back again.

The Lord delays being angry.

 

It has come to us many people in his name,

But we did not want to hear them,

We prefer fake words from people.

Now, we pay dearly for it.

 

Even with too much horror and desolation,

We have hope in the mercy of the Lord,

We hope in his forgiveness and reconciliation,

Because we know He is a God of love.

This poem is part of the book Christian Poetry Volume I.

See the book:

https://books2read.com/u/mg5w0z

Stolen Waters

Folly is an unruly woman; she is simple and knows nothing … Stolen water is sweet; food eaten in secret is delicious!” But little do they know that the dead are there, that her guests are deep in the realm of the dead. Proverbs 9:13,17-18

Enzo was flourishing under the tutelage of Mrs. Eliana at the Seven Pillars Project. Carpentry had given him a craft; programming, a future. But Folly, like a loud and seductive woman, had not given up on him. She would sit at the door of his old life, on the overpass above the train tracks, and call out to him.

Her voice was that of Cadu, his old friend.

“Hey, Enzo, long time no see,” he said, approaching him at the project’s exit. “Still in that granny’s little school? Real life is happening out here.”

Cadu was the spokesman for the “foolish woman.” He was boisterous, full of promises of easy excitement and quick gains. He knew nothing about building, only about taking.

“Hang with us tonight,” Cadu invited, his voice low and conspiratorial. “There’s a new scheme. Easy money. A quick buck is so much better than sweating for it.”

The “scheme” was simple and dangerous: using a card-cloning app to make online purchases. The “stolen waters,” the money that did not belong to them, seemed sweet. The thrill of the forbidden, the adrenaline of secrecy, was what Folly offered.

Enzo felt the pull. The life of hard work, though rewarding, was slow. Cadu’s promise was a tempting shortcut, a glimpse of the consumer life he saw on social media.

He hesitated. The voice of Wisdom, the calm and firm voice of Mrs. Eliana, echoed in his mind. But the voice of Folly was louder, more urgent, more seductive.

“It’s just for one night, Enzo. No one will ever know,” Cadu insisted.

That night, Enzo found himself back in his old world, but now he was different. He saw things more clearly. He sat with Cadu and the others in a dark basement, lit only by the screens of their laptops. The air was heavy with the smell of smoke and the feverish energy of transgression.

They were laughing, bragging about the expensive products they were “buying.” But Enzo could not laugh. He looked at his friends’ faces, animated by the excitement of the moment, and he saw no life. He saw an emptiness. They were loud, but their souls were silent.

He thought of the carpentry workshop, of the smell of wood, of the satisfaction of creating something with his own hands. That was life. He thought of the computer screen at the Seven Pillars, where he built code to help people. That was life.

What was happening in that basement… was not life. It was its opposite.

Suddenly, the basement door burst open with a crash. Two police officers, with blinding flashlights, stormed the place. Panic erupted. Cadu tried to run but was tackled. The laughter turned to screams, the excitement to terror.

Enzo, who had not actively participated, was taken along with the others. At the police station, under the cold, impersonal light, he looked at his friends. They were no longer the braggarts from the overpass. They were just scared, handcuffed kids.

One of the officers, an older man with a tired gaze, looked at Enzo. “You don’t seem like the others, kid. What were you doing there?”

Enzo could not answer. He was seeing, with a terrible clarity, the secret of Folly’s house. Her feast was a fraud. Her guests were not the clever, the cool. They were the dead. Dead in their dreams, dead in their freedom, dead in their future.

Mrs. Eliana came to pick him up the next morning. She did not scold him. She just hugged him, a hug that said, “welcome back to life.”

As he walked away from the police station, Enzo looked back. He did not know what would happen to Cadu and the others. But he knew that he had been in the depths of hell, and that, by a hair’s breadth, he had escaped. Stolen waters might seem sweet for an instant, but the aftertaste they left was that of death. And he, now, only thirsted for the fountain of life.

(Made with AI)

This story is part of my book Everyday Wisdom

https://books2read.com/u/3knogL