GPS is great when it is working. But that day, it wasn’t. It was hot, I was lost, and wherever I was, there was no phone signal to be found. And then the phone itself was going dead, battery drained. It was day three of a seven day bike trip to Pittsburgh, and all I knew was that I was still a good thirty miles from a cool shower and comfortable bed.
I had trusted my smartphone app, which had never failed. But there I was, on an unnumbered blacktop road opening up on a beautiful valley which stretched for miles in the very direction I didn’t need to go. I should have been on the east side of that mountain and into the next valley, but how to get there?
In a car, it’s no big deal to take a wrong turn. You double back or find a short cut. All you’ve lost is time. But on a bike, your energy source is you, so you think twice about going down any road without being sure. There and then I realized that my techno-dependency had left me without the two things I needed most: a map and a compass.
GPS, in this story, represents the mindlessness of turn-by-turn directions. We need have no idea where we are, nor care, as long as the voice in our ear tells us where and when to turn. The voice may be parents, friends, or the government, but we dare not trust ourselves.
The map and compass represent wisdom. Rather than giving you a neat set of directions or printout, the map pinpoints your location, and with the correct orientation provided by the compass, displays your options of getting to your destination.
Today, many seem totally lost, waiting fearfully for their earpiece to call the next turn. Instead of one comforting voice, there are competing voices. For the disillusioned, their phone is dead.
In contrast stand the wise. They know where they are, how they got here, and after a hot meal and good night’s sleep, will get their bearings and head out. Wisdom is the way God leads us through trials (James 1:2-5), not turn-by-turn directions. But what are wisdom’s principles?
The first is humility. In my case, that meant confiding my plight to a farmer who was retrieving his mail from a rural mailbox. Grinning, he pointed me to a winding road leading to the pass and the next valley.
“Father, we thank you for your grace on our journey and wisdom in our trials, knowing you have promised to work all things for our good and your glory. We confidently rest our future in your wise hands in the name of Jesus. Amen.”