I Know How to Read a Compass (Allegedly)

Happy Almost New Year!

I once earned a “how to read a compass” merit badge as a Boy Scout.
Which is objectively hilarious—because I am one of the most directionally confused humans currently roaming the earth.

Do not tell me to “head west.”

I’m not Lewis and Clark.

I’m not panning for gold.

I couldn’t find west if my life depended on it and east was holding up a blinking neon sign screaming, “THIS WAY, JOHN.”
If you say, “It’s just past north-northwest,” my brain goes huh!

And yet—BREAKTHROUGH.

After living here for three months, I finally drove all the way home—23 minutes—without using Apple CarPlay.
No blue line.
No soothing robotic voice whispering, “In 400 feet, turn right.”
Just vibes. Memory. Landmarks. Questionable confidence.

Now listen—I know how dumb that sounds. I know. It feels corny.

No one is throwing me a parade.

No one is engraving my name on a plaque.
But it felt like more than directions.
It felt like roots.

Sometimes, Familiarity Is a Form of Faithfulness

You don’t notice roots growing—until the plant stops tipping over.

When you first move somewhere, you survive entirely on GPS.

You don’t know anything—you just obey the voice and hope for the best.
But over time, you start noticing stuff:

That light always turns red

That road looks faster but absolutely lies

That turn feels right before you consciously think about it

That’s how belonging forms—not loudly, not dramatically, but slowly, quietly, almost boringly.

And church change works the same way.

New worship times.
Facility changes.
Lighting changed.
No bulletins.
LED wall.
New worship service.
New pastor.

At first, it feels disorienting.

Like someone rearranged the furniture while you were asleep… and then turned off the lights.

Israel knew this feeling well:

“You have not traveled this way before.” —Joshua 3:4

God didn’t say, “This will be easy.”
He said, “This will be new.”

Breakthroughs Hide in Boring Moments

Most miracles don’t glow—they grow.

There was no lightning bolt when I drove home without my phone.
No choir.
No angelic voice declaring, “Well done, thou directionally challenged servant.”

Just a quiet thought:
“Huh… I actually know where I am.”

That’s how God works a lot of the time.
Not in the headline moments.
Not in the Instagram-worthy ones.
But in the unnoticed ones.

“Do not despise these small beginnings.” —Zechariah 4:10

We love big spiritual moments.
God loves consistent ones.

Systems don’t form overnight.
Trust doesn’t happen instantly.
Comfort does not arrive on schedule.

But one ordinary turn at a time, you stop checking the map.

Systems Take Time—So Does Spiritual Confidence

The Promised Land still requires learning the roads.

God didn’t drop Israel into the Promised Land with a welcome packet and a laminated map.
They had to:

Learn the terrain

Set rhythms

Build new habits

Figure out where the manna stopped and farming began

Church change is the same.

New systems feel awkward before they feel obvious.
New rhythms feel clunky before they feel natural.

But awkward doesn’t mean wrong.
And unfamiliar doesn’t mean ungodly.

“The path of the righteous is like the morning sun, shining ever brighter till the full light of day.” —Proverbs 4:18

It gets clearer as you walk it.

God’s Future Is Navigated, Not Teleported

Faith isn’t knowing the route—it’s trusting the Guide.

I still can’t tell you where west is.

Let’s not get carried away.
But I don’t need to know the compass points if I know the way home.

Jesus said:

“I am the way.” —John 14:6

Not, “I am the GPS.”
Not, “I’ll email you the directions.”

The way is discovered by walking.

As we live into what God is doing—
as a church,
as people,
as disciples—
clarity comes in motion, not in theory.

The New Year Isn’t a New Map—It’s the Next Turn

January 1st does not magically install clarity.

Here’s the lie we tell ourselves every December 31st at 11:59 p.m.:
“When the new year starts, everything will suddenly make sense.”

As if January 1st comes with:

A detailed roadmap

Emotional stability

Spiritual consistency

And a laminated five-year plan from God

Spoiler alert: it does not.

The new year doesn’t hand you a map.
It just asks you to keep driving.

Most of us don’t need a brand-new destination—we need faith for the next familiar road.

The same commute.

The same calling.

The same obedience. Just… continued.

Israel didn’t wake up one morning and say, “Wow, we’re here. Nailed it.”
They woke up and followed the cloud. Again.
One day at a time. One step at a time.

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” —Psalm 119:105

Notice:
A lamp.
Not stadium lighting.
Not a satellite image.

Just enough light for the next step.

And honestly, that’s what the new year usually looks like.
Not revelation—rhythm.
Not fireworks—faithfulness.
Not a total reset—a continuation.

You don’t suddenly know where west is just because the calendar changed.
But if you keep walking, one day you realize you know where home is.

So as we head into a new year, maybe the goal isn’t clarity.
Maybe it’s confidence in the Guide.
Maybe it’s trusting that God has been quietly teaching you the roads—
even when you thought nothing was happening.

You don’t need to see the whole route.
You just need enough light for the next turn.

And if one day you look up and think,
“Huh… I know where I am,” that might be the miracle.

The Best Is Yet to Come,

Rev John Roberts