“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”
That was the verse I received at my church confirmation, some thirty years ago.
I didn’t choose it—it chose me. Or perhaps, it was handed to me by something I wasn’t yet mature enough to understand.

I never liked the word meek.
It sounded too quiet, too soft, too invisible.
It didn’t feel like me—at least not the “me” I was trying to become.

It wasn’t until recently—after walking through fires, sitting through storms,
after seeing the rise and fall of many loud, self-important people—
that I began to wonder:
Maybe it wasn’t the verse that was too soft.
Maybe it was the translation that was too small.

I’ve learned now that the original Greek word used in that verse is praus.
Not passive.
Not weak.
Not a doormat.

Praus is the quiet power of a wild horse that has learned to channel its strength.
It is a deep-rooted strength—like a beautiful tree that stands majestically, unmoved, calm even in a storm.
It is emotional restraint, yes,
but not out of fear— rather from wisdom.

It is the kind of strength that doesn’t need to shout because its presence already speaks.

And now, with the world getting louder, flashier, more brittle—
I see what this verse was planting in me all along.

I’m not quite there yet.
I still lose my center sometimes.
Still get shaken by injustice,
and overwhelmed by the loud voices of those who confuse cruelty with competence.

But I know now what I want to become:
Grounded.
Like a majestic tree.
Quiet. Rooted deep. Calm.
Yet no one can stand indifferently against her.

That is what I believe praus truly means.
And perhaps that is what the earth is waiting for—
Not to be inherited by the arrogant,
but by those who carry quiet strength,
integrity,
and the courage to stand brave in facing the fiercest storm.

Karin Sabrina