A Rose Compass

There are moments when I have wished for clarity and insight.  In a kind of remarkable handbook for the lost, I have found exactly what I have needed. It seems that there is something about carrying a camera around that changes how I see the world and my role in it.  

it started with a plain, yellow road sign that served as a marker for my state of mind.  In a term our family coined years and years ago, I was confuzzled; it is a derivative of confused and puzzled. Trying to make sense of things and determine a meaningful direction has been my mission recently.  At moments, I have felt lost without a North Star to guide me.  The first guidepost appeared. Along came a sign.

Two weeks ago, I went to a function in the Tabernacle of the Methodist Campground Meeting Association.  I was reflecting that I could certainly benefit from a spiritual advisor and there, like a flashing neon sign, was one word, printed in capital letters on a rolling cart.  GUIDANCE.

Perhaps I was reading too much into things, but then, not three days later, I was stepping out of my car from the driver’s side. I noticed an emblem emblazoned on the sidewalk.  I burst into a grin that stretched from ear to ear.  It was a compass rose.  

No risk that I would be lost.  

My next epiphany came when I happened to pay attention to which way the wind was blowing.  A very good practice to have regardless of any kind of spiritual morass. I was focused on the lines of the vessel, the Shenandoah, without giving any real thought to the kick-ass breeze that was blowing.  When I finally noticed the banners flapping gaily aloft, I heard the sound of the waves gently breaking against the wharf beneath my feet.

Proving again that we will find what we give our focus to.  Have questions? Find answers.

A couple of days ago, I was walking through the Manuel Correllus State Forest.  The wind-battered scrub oaks were stunted and gnarled. Unexpectedly, the forest gave way to a neatly-ordered farm of towering pines.  They showed the effects of competing for overhead light; most of the growth on these old trees was near the peaks.  To take in the trees, I had to arch my neck backward, then literally, step back.  Then, it struck me, sometimes, to really appreciate life, it is best to step back a pace or two, then look skyward.  Light shines down, but there are times we have to look up to find it.