How Do You Know Where You’re Going?

Field Note: Finding Our Bearings

Years ago, I was certain we were walking west across Central Park. The sun was dipping, the group was dragging, and I was sure I had the subway entrance fixed in my mind. Except, when we came out the other side, the station wasn’t there! Someone must have moved it!

After a few aimless blocks and a dent to my pride, we flagged cabs and called it “an unexpected tour.” The truth is, we had only drifted three blocks south. It just took us an hour to get there. We hadn’t lost our way so much as found a new one.

A few weeks ago in Chicago, the students started whispering as we circled Union Station. Again. “Didn’t we just see that building?” someone muttered. They weren’t wrong. We kept seeing it, each time from a new angle. But every loop added perspective, and eventually, with a bit of patience, we found our direction. Sometimes, the way forward isn’t a straight line, but a series of quiet, persistent turns.

Most of us now hand over navigation to our phones. The blue dot drifts, the map shifts, and the route silently updates. No calm voice saying “recalculating” anymore, but the idea is the same: minor corrections until we are back on track. Life feels like that, too. The destination may be clear, but the route rarely is. Detours and wrong turns aren’t failures; they are simply part of the trip.

Thomas Merton, the contemplative writer, once prayed:

My Lord God,

I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself,

and the fact that I think that

I am following your will

does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you

does in fact please you.

And I hope I have that desire

in all that I am doing.

I hope I will never do anything

apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this

you will lead me by the right road

though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore I will trust you always

though I may seem to be lost

and in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me,

and you will never leave me

to face my perils alone.

Merton was a seeker, full of contradictions, like the rest of us. But his honesty about not knowing the road, about leaning into mystery, still rings true. Sometimes, the most courageous thing we can do is admit we don’t have the answers and still take the next step.

It reminds me of Sister Antonia Brenner, the “Prison Angel” of Tijuana. Born into Beverly Hills comfort, twice divorced, and a mother of seven, her path toward ministry was anything but straight.

She began volunteering at the La Mesa prison, returning again and again, drawn by a pull she could not quite name. That pull became a decision: she moved into a cell, ate the same food, endured the same conditions, and became part of a family the world had forgotten.

None of it followed a neat map. Each step, some planned and many improvised, drew her deeper into their lives. Then, one Halloween night, when a riot erupted and guards were overwhelmed, she walked calmly into the chaos. She raised her hands and spoke. Slowly, the noise and fury subsided. The prisoners listened, not because she had rank or a uniform, but because she had lived among them and earned their trust. Her presence that night was not the neat conclusion of her choices. It was where those choices, quietly and steadily, had brought her.

Maybe that’s the heart of finding our bearings. It isn’t about clutching a perfect map. It’s about showing up where we’re needed, taking the next right step, and trusting the course corrections. Whether they come from God, Google, or sheer persistence.

Some days, that means circling Union Station until the path appears. On other days, it means stepping into a storm, because we have learned how to stand there. Either way, the road is rarely straight. But we keep walking, trusting that even when we feel lost, we’re, somehow, already on our way home.