We were in Rome, my sister-in-law Georgine and me, with all the historical landmarks and monuments as guideposts. My husband Todd had arranged the trip, but flew home early to give us time alone. Right, he trusted me to find my way.

I didn’t think we’d need a map. It was a straight shot to the opera Georgine wanted to see. I was certain. When did I ever use a map…? My dad loved maps. He had maps for everything. And whenever he used one, he folded it back up, carefully, exactly, on the original creases, in the right direction. The rare times I did use one, it was never folded up the right way again.

So, with Georgine wearing a black dress and pearls and me in my cross-trainers and all-weather cargos from Eddie Bauer, we looked like Suzanna and Cherubino in Mozart’s Magic Flute as we set out from our little apartment across the River Tiber in Trastevere.

And made it to the little theatre across town on time!

But this was not so, on the way home.

With my self confidence to guide us, we got so lost. Really lost. For hours. After that, I didn’t even want to leave our little apartment again. All those narrow, winding, cobblestoned, streets nestled in between tall buildings without street signs had unnerved me.

Finally, around 1:00 AM, from the opposite side of the city, in the midst of a G7 gathering, with the barricades and closed-off streets, we ended up at some train station. I gave in and we found a cab. It really didn’t cost too much.

But it might have been wise not to have stopped at the square just across the bridge from our place in Trastevere, for a gelato. Because we got lost again. We needed another cab and this time the gullible-looking American girls were driven round and round in circles running up the meter. And it did cost a lot.

But how is it, when out of frustration and fright I yelled, “Stop!” we were let out on a street corner where we met a kind couple who spoke English and pointed us to the bridge just across the street that led to our apartment?

And isn’t that a great example of my life…?

Thank goodness for God’s grace and people like Georgine in my life.

Since then, our lives have gone in different directions, but we still make a point of being together to celebrate our birthdays each year, and I have to say, her gifts are always like roadmaps for me.

You see, I started writing after my brother Ed’s death, not long before that trip, which seems like yesterday.

Through her own grief, Georgine has always read my work and encouraged me. One year, she gave me a laminated sheet with the verses of the Armor of God from Ephesians 6 written on it. And when I needed it, she’d remind me about my Shield of Faith designated for extinguishing the fiery “daggers of doubt”.

Another year, she gave me a book of the Psalms, Poetry on Fire, and wrote inside the cover, “May His poetry continue to inspire you.”

When she read the first frightening draft of my novel-in-the-works several years ago, she gave me a love story to read that drew me back to the greatest Love Story, reminding me it was God who loved us first. I’ve since then, reworked many drafts of that manuscript, searched deeper for its key themes and rewritten it with new eyes. I’m in the midst of the middle-muddle but with better aim for a faithful finish.

Georgine’s always been right on target.

We were together last week to celebrate my birthday and she did it again. Her gift was a little, out-of-print book on the Twenty-third Psalm by Charles L. Allen. Right in the first pages are reminders of Ralph Waldo Emerson, “a man is what he thinks about all day long,” and Marcus Aurelius, “a man’s life is what his thoughts make it,” and Proverbs 23:7, “for as he thinks in his heart, so is he.” And what words could be more appropriate for a doubter like me?

What follows is a beautiful meditation on the Psalm of David that “has sung its way across the barriers of time, race and language.” (Charles Allen, page 61.)

As I memorized Psalm 23 over the past week, it was as apparent as the green meadow and clear as the still waters Todd and I walked beside with Fannie, that the Shepherd is always walking with us. And that much more than knowing the words, it’s all about knowing the beautiful Shepherd, who knows us, one by one, by name.

It’s one step at a time that I stay on the right path with my Shepherd. Staying close to Him I stay on course. And as I refer to the verses throughout my days now, it’s even more apparent that He’s right here beside us.

“By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me—a prayer to the God of my life.” (Psalm 42:8)

P.S. I love you, George, thank you so much for being an ever-loving, living, writing GPS. ❤️

The Twenty-third Psalm, Charles L. Allen