I Once Was Lost

Magnify

I was driving with my daughters about a year ago, trying to find a new friend’s house. After several turns through an endless suburban neighborhood, I was beginning to doubt the veracity of my MapQuest directions when my eldest daughter piped up from the back, “Mom, are we lost again?”

“Lost?” I repeated. “Again?! Of course not, silly! We’re just…misplaced!”

She had reason to worry. When I sing “Amazing Grace,” I giggle a little at the words, “I once was lost...” If only that were the case! My parents were missionaries, and with a “Quit your griping or get left behind,” they hauled us all over the globe.

After vowing never to be so cruel toward my own children, I found myself married to a Navy officer. We have moved at least once every couple of years and had three daughters, so I’ve heard myself echoing my parents’ words. I’ve been to roughly 30 countries. Being lost comes with territory like that. Most of the times that I’ve found myself “directionally challenged” have been during my marriage. Matt, ironically, is an excellent pilot. However, his navigational skills on the ground are less than ideal. It’s a scene so common for us that we know our lines perfectly.

“Why didn’t you turn there?” I’ll ask, and he says, “Because you didn’t tell me!” To which I retort, “Well, am I the only one who can read here?” Then he snaps, “No, but you’re the only one looking at the map.” And so on. Even with the familiar scenario, there is nothing quite as stressful as being in territory that’s uncharted for us…like what happened a few years ago.

Going to the Czech Republic wasn’t part of the original plan, but something we decided at the rental car counter in Munich. To Matt’s chagrin, this sudden amendment to our itinerary meant downgrading our rental car from a Mercedes Benz to a Renault station wagon. Worse, though, was that while our map was quite thorough for Germany, it was missing a good portion of the Czech Republic. Our goal had been to drive from Prague to the picturesque town of Ceský Krumlov, near the Austrian border. Somehow, we got into a passionate discussion about—I’m not kidding—Social Security and missed the sign for our turn-off. It occurred to me that we’d been driving twice as long as I’d estimated. Almost simultaneously, I began to see signs for Bratislava, forbidden territory for the rental car.