A Spiritual Compass
Author: stephanie callahan

Thirty-three years ago, while on a survival retreat in Keene, N.H. my camp leader fit a compass into my palm. The circular shape, held a needle inside it that shifted north, as I turned in different directions. I dispersed the compass to my survival “buddy,” who I then followed in the ever greened woods. As she led the way I concentrated on keeping from stumbling over tree roots and maneuvering over damp stones tumbled in a creek.

I recall my socks stayed dry that day when we returned to the log cabin, but while looking at the compass in my junk drawer today I remember the other teens laughing as they peeled off their soggy under clothes. I was dry, but they were happier.

I carry the found compass from the drawer to my computer with trepidation. I enter the navigational tool’s name and begin reading, “A magnetic compass consists of a small light weight magnet {the needle}.One end of the needle is marked N for North. It’s the Earth’s magnetic field that turns the needle.” After that I wonder if it is so easy to use a compass, then why not make one to aid me in my spiritual journey?

Out on the golf course, I see God’s work in the green grass, and creatures of the woods. “A bunny,” I exclaim like a child to my husband. While he tees off, I also admire some purple wildflowers. In my Spiritual Compass N stands for nature. I feel God’s presence in every living thing. I start the day by tugging up the window shade and climbing back to bed to contemplate the limbs of the trees against the sky. I observe them bearing up to strong winds or carrying the burden of heavy snow.

S stands for sacred places on my compass and I have expanded my thinking this week that a sacred place doesn’t necessarily mean a designated house of worship. I stopped
into the shopping plaza on Sunday while all the stores were closed and discovered sea gulls sunning themselves in a spot where parked cars would normally be lined up. I watched an Elderly Asian man striding head down in the bitter cold . His path zigzagged in no particular route. I saw a man reading his paper while parked there and then a blue car whose driver I recognized as belonging to a white-haired woman, Mary, whom I’ve sat next to at the local breakfast counter on weekdays. Along for the Sunday drive her mascot , a black poodle touring from the sun filled rear window. Mary circles twice before lining up the hood of her car to face the hood of mine. Neither of us waves.
The silence feels right between us, where the earth is unusually quiet and the energy calming.

E is for all types of energy in Mother Earth. The kind I feel without speaking aloud to Mary. The energy that will go into changing winter to spring and bringing with it renewal through God’s love like the manifestation of chirping birds and opening flower buds.

Lastly W is for work. Yes, it takes some effort to discover God on a New England Winter Day. But he is there if I embrace a still moment. If I become aware of my own breathing and become part of all that is. If I focus on my spiritual compass, I am fearless of the ripples over the stones and don’t mind getting my feet wet.






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Writer, Registered Nurse

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