Beloveds within my immediate family dynamic — and, to be honest, everyone who knows me even casually — understand that I am severely directionally challenged.
I’m OK if I am standing in the middle of my farm yard. The sun rises over the barn, so I know that’s east. If that’s east, then behind me is west. I know the cemetery faces south, so if that’s south, then logically, the other direction must be north. I think I’ve explained this before.
Take me off the farm, and I am at a loss. Give me left or right or turn at the gas station on the corner or the house on the left with the blue roof. Landmarks. Give me landmarks.
Not prone to compare, I feel it should have been the 11th Commandment: Thou shalt not compare. I find myself occasionally on the heads-up side of the coin.
An acquaintance of mine, when I bemoaned my lack of directional skills, one-upped me.
“Oh girl, that’s nothing,” she said. “I have to keep reminding myself which one is my left and right hand.”
While I do know which is which on that category, my immediate family has teased me I’d get lost going to Tilleda.
Not true. Well, OK. Once.
I hate the color orange. Orange signifies road closures and detours. Those orange barrels stationed strategically everywhere give me a case of indigestion. “Road Closed Ahead” makes my stomach clench. Orange is a good color for hunting, but when I encounter that color on the road? Not so much.
Road construction in Wisconsin should be designated a fifth season. It’s all over the place. One friend lamented, “Can’t everyone just get together and fix one section at a time?”
Occasionally, I attend services at a church located in Neenah. I have the option of two routes I can take from here and both ignore Highway 41, which to me is unsettling, to put it mildly. Driving Highway 41 — even during non-construction season — generates a default response: my heart beats up a notch, I white-knuckle the steering wheel and sit up so intently I feel like my head gets there before the rest of me. It’s nerve-wracking.
I try to monitor road closures before I start out on a Sunday morning, but sometimes they pop up unexpectedly. On one of my routes, the exit to Appleton from Highway 29, exiting at Bonduel to hit Highway 47, was closed, which I knew. The second route was Highway 45 from Clintonville to New London, which was also detoured.
One Sunday I started out and, going on Highway 45, took the detour they suggested. Being the good little law-abiding citizen who always follows rules, I was not brave enough to go through a sign that said “Road Closed to Through Traffic Local Only.” I followed the detour, which took me all the way to Manawa.
I promptly got lost.
Re-submitting the address in my GPS, it showed my destination’s ETA — the service — would be almost half-way done by the time I’d show up. I literally cried, ended up turning back home and didn’t worship at a church that Sunday.
It took me a month to gather the courage to try again. I prayed, “Father, in the Name of Jesus, if you want me to go, you’ll have to direct my path, taking me down back roads if that’s what it takes.”
That morning, immediately after praying that prayer, I backed my car out of the garage. At that precise moment, a song came on the radio sung by Natalie Layne called, “The Long Way.”
I heard: “Take me down the back roads. You know what’s best for me. Take me down the long way if the long way leads to you, if that’s where I’m meant to be.”
Sitting in the car on my driveway, I started blubbering. Our God is so kind, so incredibly detailed, so tender to give us encouragement and help just when we need it. The wonder of His care. He’s never too busy.
Immediately, after I’d dried my tears and composed myself to head out, I felt a deep sense of peace. He’s got me. He’s always had and always will.
That morning getting to the detour out of Clintonville that said “Road Closed to Through Traffic,” I bravely drove right through. Going 6 more miles, I was rerouted along back roads, eventually getting to Old Highway 45. This took me to Highway 15 and after that to Greenville and finally, Neenah. Praise be to God, I got there and on time.
I will always be directionally challenged. I admit that. It’s one of my weak points, but I have a God who is exceedingly better than any GPS, sees past any orange barriers of life and assures me even the back roads will always lead to Him.
(“Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’” John 14:6, New International Version)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.
