the God of maps

One small woman. Alone. At dusk. Standing on the edge of a seething traffic surge of jeepnees, motorcycles, buses, taxis, cars, trucks, and various chickens. It’s deafening loud. A swirl of foreign smells whips her damp hair. In her hand is a cellphone blinking ‘low-batt.’ She’s the only white person in sight. Glowing like a tiny beacon against the gathering dark.

She’s lost. Standing on one of the largest traffic patterns in Metro Manila, she’s lost, and alone, and her phone is dying, and every pore is sweating, and her heart is pounding, and her mind is forgetting every wisp of Filipino she may have thought she knew. And it’s getting darker. No one in the great wide world knows where she is at that moment. No one but the ones perched suspiciously along the sidewalk crunching beneath her feet.

Her phone dies.

To keep walking the circumference of the great Quezon Circle is her only option. Correction: she must keep walking forward along the Circle. For a backtrack to where her jeepnee dumped her out would be like greeting the growing number of sidewalk-perchers with a loud, “hey there, I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going, but I’m small, and young, and foreign and carrying a purse...”

In Quezon City, Manila all major road arteries dump into “The Circle.” It’s like a huge wheel hub (miles in circumference?) with spokes. You squint your eyes (to dim your peripheral vision lest you lose your nerve) and honk your horn on repeat to merge onto the Circle. You exit the same. A veritable “traffic tango” of epic proportions plays out in between.

She’s walking the edge of that. Hoping for a familiar landmark to appear. Hoping to reach the next road spoke on the wheel. And as she walks she prays. God, you are right here with me, right now. Thank you. You are sovereign, and have promised to care for me. I’m asking for wisdom to know what to do next, and protection, and a safe return home.

A bright yellow taxi cab screeches to a halt beside her. She dives inside. He has a kind, concerned face. Listens to her stumbling, vague directions quietly. To this day she is sure he took the fastest route and charged her an honest fee.

She hadn’t considered that angels could be Filipino before.

She walked (a bit shaky) into her church’s Wednesday night prayer meeting less than 30min. later. Sat down on the solid wood pew while the service began in front of her. And like a tsunami, the weight of that evening came crashing down around her. Crushing her with what did, what could have, and what didn’t.

And as those around her begin to sing, she prays in frustration and defeat. God, if I just had a map. I’m so visual. If I could just see the landmarks along the Circle. If I could know the road spoke names and their order…Hot tears form.

She grabs her hymnal and a folded, half sheet of paper flutters down. Mindlessly, she stoops to pick it up and unfolds it.

A map. Of the Circle. With all the spoke names. With major landmarks. Uncluttered. In clear, bold print.

………………………………………

Years pass. She’s still often alone. Still wonders where to go and what to do in life sometimes. There are dark days. There are anxious prayers. She gets confused, and forges off the path laid out for her. She’s overwhelmed with what has and what hasn’t, and what might in her life.

But she carries deep within her heart a sparkling truth undimmed by time.

Her God is the God of maps.

Beth