The Process of Recalibration

Looking out toward Little Saint Simons Island

The word recalibration assumes something was calibrated in the first place, like a compass with a needle that reliably points to the magnetic north. But then, forces or disturbances in Earth’s magnetic forcefield play havoc with the needle’s accuracy. A compass that points anywhere but magnetic north will misguide those relying on its accuracy. The discrepancies are gradual and over time, create unnerving miscalculations.

Talking with friends I became aware of a shared need: To accurately hear the voice of God. His voice in personal prayer, communal prayer, while driving and praying, listening to music, or staring at the horizon came to me regularly. But, was I filtering his love messages, directives, admonitions, or encouragements accurately? I had a lot of disturbances messing with my magnetic north of peace and surety. A culmination of selling my house in May, receiving a Master of Arts in Practical Theology in June, and not knowing where to go stressed my discernment. 

Scrambling or surviving defined how I began to make day-to-day decisions. A friend reminded me to keep asking God for wisdom, and God knew what I needed more than anything else. As I prayed about where to go, he answered.

I want you to relax and enjoy the next three months. This is a time of recalibration. Watch what I do in your life.

I loved his message, but was I interpreting it correctly? It sounded like taking a vacation, a long three-month vacation! How contrary to the scramble of boxes, furniture, and nick-nacks representing the uncertainty I felt in my life.

I want you to get rid of everything from the past. This is going to be a new era, a new time, God spoke while I packed.

I asked my friend who’d offered to help me pack up, “Would you like this sofa, that dresser, these tables, and anything else?” 

“That’ll be great in the St Simons house,” she responded with gratitude.

Over cocktails that evening, boxes and packing supplies stacked neatly, she handed me not only a glass of bourbon but also an answer to prayer, “Why don’t you take the St Simons house for as long as you need it?”

For those of you unfamiliar with Saint Simons Island, Georgia, let me describe it. King George II of England sent Oglethorpe to establish a buffer colony between the southernmost of the thirteen colonies and Spanish-held La Florida. It is on the Atlantic at the mouth of the Brunswick River. The terrain is called Low Country—tidal marshes and salty rivers that ebb and flow with sun, moon, water, and a history of pirates, hidden treasures, and colonial battles over control. Spanish moss hangs from everything, but most impressively from the wildly expressive yet majestic Live Oaks.

Live Oaks represent the Spirit of the South. Graceful. Calm. Elegant. And colorful! Palmettos, or little palms, spread their bright green pointy hands beneath the sage bark, deep green leaves of the oaks, and the silvery tassels of moss. 

God brought me to this dreamy land of steamy marshes, big tides, and delicious shrimp to recalibrate my life. Stick with me to see how the process unfolds.

Part II coming soon!