Lost

A few years ago, my daughter and I took a trip to Texas. We relied heavily on a GPS to get us there and it steered us quite handily through Scranton, PA, Nashville, TN and on across the Mississippi River. However, when we entered the state of Texas, our GPS – let’s call her English Emily – started to become a little confused. Texas has roads that started out as farm-to-market roads, or FM routes. English Emily completely misunderstood and started telling us to follow “Federated States of Micronesia” routes to get to our destination. We had a good laugh, and wondered how English Emily could get it so wrong.

Right now, however, I can sympathize with English Emily. My internal compass is broken. When I look at a map and see where I am, it all makes sense. But when I try on my own to figure out how I’m situated, it’s a muddle. And I never really had this problem, even when we lived in the Southern Hemisphere. In Maine, I knew right where I was. I could tell by looking at the lake which way the wind was blowing, and didn’t need to look at the sun to calculate which way was north.

Part of the issue is a difference in communicating directions. In Maine, you go right or left, up or down and even though foreigners (from Massachusetts and such) get confused, we know that down means whichever direction you took. If you say you went down to Bangor, it was understood that you went west to get there. In fact, you go down to get most anywhere in Maine. But I’m learning that Oklahomans are much more precise.

I was at a basketball game, at half time. I heard some people in front of us talking about how to get someplace. The gentleman told his friend, you go right on such and such route. His wife shook her head and said matter-of-factly, “South.” And it was all cleared up. The points of the compass seem to be taught in kindergarten or even installed at birth, like a genetic GPS. People at our church talk about sitting on the south or north side of the sanctuary. Some acquaintances were talking about their lovely neighbor to the north. A friend asked which side of Route 48 we live on, and I had to stop and think, okay, is it right or left?  Rather than appear stupid, I told her the name of the street, and she immediately said, “Oh, east.” How did she know that?

We drove to see family in Texas at Thanksgiving, and we went the complete opposite direction than I thought we would. “Oh,” I exclaimed. “This is south?” My husband showed great forbearance and didn’t sigh. My son tried to help. “Just look at the sun to figure out where you are.” For me there’s a whole equation that has to be figured, like algebra – which is inscrutable – before I know where I am. I start with the basics - the sun rises in the east, the sun is on my left, it’s still before noon,  that means we’re going south. However, if there’s a cloud cover I’m lost. 

I really don’t why I feel so off balance. Moving is very stressful, and although I don’t feel particularly stressed I guess it’s taking me awhile to get my bearings. Gradually my place here in the mid-west is coming clear and my compass is swinging true. I doubt I’ll ever develop that innate “knowing” that Oklahomans have. But, especially now at the end of the year, when folks naturally stop, look back, look forward and set goals, I have a plan. In the Bible, the Apostle Paul advised, “Press on toward the goal…” and I’m going to press on. If you ask me in what direction that is, I can unequivocally answer…ahead.