Ever try to pour a five-gallon bucket into a Dixie cup? That’s what it would’ve looked like if Jesus had unloaded everything he knew onto his disciples in one sitting. Their minds would’ve sloshed over like a cup left out in a rainstorm. So he didn’t. He told them plainly: “I still have many things to say to you, but you are not able to bear them now” (John 16:12, NWT).

That doesn’t mean the truths weren’t vital. They were. But timing mattered. He wasn’t hiding treasure in some locked box—he was pacing it out so they could carry it without breaking down. Like a father teaching a child to ride a bike. First the training wheels, then the shaky glide down the driveway, and finally the day he lets go and hopes you don’t eat the mailbox. Step by step.

Jehovah works the same way. He feeds us, not in dump-truck loads, but in spoonfuls we can swallow. He measures the portion by our stomach, not by his pantry.

Jesus praised his Father for this: “I publicly praise you, Father…because you have hidden these things from the wise and intellectual ones and have revealed them to young children” (Matthew 11:25, NWT). The Father of the universe skips the lecture halls and hands treasures to children—the ones who still ask “why?” fifty times before breakfast. The ones who take your word before demanding a citation.

Here’s the truth: Jehovah’s smile doesn’t hinge on letters after your name. What he wants is the wide-open heart of a child—ready to learn, quick to trust, humble enough to admit, “I don’t know, but I’ll listen.”

This world bows to diplomas and titles. Men strut across stages in gowns and tassels, like peacocks with paperwork. But Jehovah leans past all that noise. He kneels down to the ones tugging at his robe—the ones who still believe, who still ask without shame. The ones the world calls “simple,” Jehovah calls “wise.”

And Paul—he knew both sides. He had the pedigree, the training, the kind of credentials that could’ve silenced a crowd. He could’ve stood before the Corinthians like a polished statesman, dazzling them with rhetoric. But he didn’t. He dropped the performance. He wrote: “When I came to you, brothers, I did not come with extravagant speech or wisdom declaring the sacred secret of God to you” (1 Corinthians 2:1, NWT).

Paul understood something vital: human education may sharpen logic, but it cannot crack open the sacred secret. Pride blinds; childlike humility sees. A brilliant lecture might stir applause, but it doesn’t move Jehovah’s heart. That’s why Paul set aside the polish and brought only what mattered—the raw truth of God’s Word, plain, sharp, alive.

Line these three scriptures together and you see the pattern: Jehovah reveals truth when we’re ready, not before. He bypasses the proud and gives treasures to children at heart. And he blesses sincerity far more than polish.

So what about us? Maybe we look around and feel behind—like everyone else is racing through the Bible on bicycles while we’re still wobbling with training wheels. Relax. Jehovah’s not timing us with a stopwatch. He’s teaching us at a pace we can bear.

Or maybe we feel small because we can’t preach like some powerhouse speaker. Doesn’t matter. Paul already showed us Jehovah prefers truth plain and simple over flash and shine.

So here’s the question: when Jehovah places a truth in front of me, do I grab it with both hands like a trusting child—or fold my arms like an expert who thinks he already knows better?

If I want to keep growing, I’ll pray for the humility of a child. I’ll take each verse like a spoonful for today—small enough to handle, big enough to nourish. And if I do, Jehovah will keep pouring. My cup may be small, but it will never be empty.