I have always loved maps—reading them, folding them, tracing routes on them and imagining the places I’d go. I especially loved the idea of U.S. states being pink or orange or green or yellow or light blue (much more creative than the current red state-blue state).

This early love might help explain why I have such a rocky relationship with Siri. Actually, my relationship with Siri is non-existent. When I try talking to her, I speak slowly and clearly, careful to annunciate every syllable. Usually nothing happens or it apologizes or misunderstands and wants to take me to a some other state. That is why we rely on my husband’s mobile phone and the cheery Aussie male-voiced Siri to tell us to turn left in 400, 300, 100 feet. Unfortunately, the cheery Aussie has gone silent of late, and we are left to rely on navigation apps and their maps limited to the size of a phone screen.

Even limited maps have their advantages, especially with their warnings of roadwork and heavy traffic for X number of miles. On a recent trip back home from Michigan as we crossed into Illinois, our navigation app insisted that the shortest route to Winfield was into Chicago and back out again on the Eisenhower. Never mind that when we swiped ahead we saw a solid red line the length of the Eisenhower indicating heavy traffic forever, or at least from the Loop nearly to the Hillside Strangler. The Bears game was just getting out.

What if the shortest route was into the city, through the heavy traffic and then home? We’ll never know. We chose another route home, where the traffic moved, and the road construction was on hold for the weekend. Shortest by miles is not always shortest by time or peace of mind.

I like my life the way I like my road trips—clear sailing from point A to point B. If not clear sailing, then some advance warning would be nice. Moderate trials for the next month; expect some delays. Heavy burdens ahead. Suggest finding a detour, and fast. Just as the limited maps on mobile devices only provide warnings for what’s directly ahead, my limited view of life prevents me from seeing further up and further in. I develop a hunker-down-I-can-get-through-this mentality and focus on the next stretch of obstacle free life. That's the goal--as few obstacles as possible.

What if the best route home is straight through the trials and burdens and crosses?

Moses seemed to think it was. In Deuteronomy, God’s people were done wandering in the wilderness (see what happens with no navigation app?) and Moses says to them: “The Lord your God who goes before you will himself fight for you, just as he did for you in Egypt before your eyes, and in the wilderness, where you have seen how the Lord your God carried you, as a man carries his son, all the way that you went until you came to this place. Yet in spite of this word you did not believe the Lord your God, who went before you in the way to seek you out a place to pitch your tents, in fire by night and in the cloud by day, to show you by what way you should go.” (vv.30-33)

It was in the wilderness that God navigated his people all the way to the land he had promised, even when their limited view of life made Egypt seem like an ideal place to live. Our steadfast loyal loving God knows that the best route home is straight through the One “who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” (Hebrews 12:2).

Forget Egypt No map or app will guide me where I need to go.

As far as navigation apps or multi-colored maps go, I am counting on Jesus. Author, finisher, shepherd, Savior. After all he has brought us safe thus far and his grace will lead us home.