About three weeks ago, our church was alive with the joyful chaos that only Vacation Bible School can bring. The moment you stepped through the doors, it was impossible not to feel it. The hallways echoed with the bright laughter of children, the sanctuary pulsed with upbeat worship songs sung with voices that didn’t care about being perfectly in tune but were perfectly sincere, and every classroom was bursting with energy. Tables were covered with crayons, glue sticks, markers, and construction paper. Glitter seemed to float through the air like tiny pieces of joy, finding its way into every corner, onto every shirt, and—somehow—into my shoes. The scent of cookies and juice from the snack area mingled with the faint smell of freshly printed lesson sheets.
The theme this year was “True North.” It was printed on banners, splashed across T-shirts, and embedded in the songs the kids sang at the top of their lungs. For them, it meant adventure—following a map, navigating an exciting path, and finding their way toward the One who will never lead them astray. I watched them engage with the theme like it was the greatest treasure hunt of their lives, their eyes wide with excitement at every clue pointing to Jesus.
But for me, those two words—True North—landed differently. They didn’t just feel like a catchy title for a kids’ program. They sank deep, stirring something much more profound in my heart.
I found myself in moments of stillness—between leading an activity and organizing supplies—just standing there, watching the joy on their faces, hearing the truth of God’s Word sung in their voices, and feeling this quiet, persistent nudge from the Holy Spirit. It was as though He was whispering, “You’re teaching them about True North, but are you living it?”
It was a question I couldn’t ignore.
What does it really mean to live with my heart always pointing toward True North? Not just occasionally checking my compass to see if I’m still facing the right direction, but actually setting my entire life to align with it.
What does it look like to consistently orient myself toward God—not only when I’m in church, Bible open, hands lifted in worship, but in the thick of everyday life? What about when the calendar is packed and my mind feels scattered? What about when my patience is wearing thin in traffic, or when my heart is heavy from worry, or when loneliness creeps in late at night?
How do I keep Jesus as my first thought in the morning—before my mind fills with to-do lists, unanswered emails, or yesterday’s unresolved conversations? How do I keep Him as my anchor when anxiety hits unexpectedly, when news headlines are overwhelming, or when personal storms rise without warning?
And perhaps most honestly—why do I find it so hard to do this, even though I deeply want to?
I know I’m not alone in that struggle. Proverbs 4:25–27 says, “Let your eyes look directly forward, and your gaze be straight before you. Ponder the path of your feet; then all your ways will be sure. Do not swerve to the right or to the left; turn your foot away from evil.” That sounds so straightforward when I read it. And yet, my gaze sometimes wanders.
It’s not that I forget who God is. I know He is my refuge (Psalm 46:1). I know He is my shepherd who restores my soul (Psalm 23:3). I know He is my salvation and my song (Isaiah 12:2). But my heart can be like Peter on the water—one moment stepping forward in faith, the next moment noticing the waves and sinking (Matthew 14:29–30). This struggle, I believe, is one that many of us face. We know who God is, we know His promises, and yet we still find ourselves faltering in our faith. But in these moments, we can take comfort in the fact that we are not alone in our struggle.
During VBS, as I watched kids eagerly memorize Bible verses about God’s guidance, I was struck by their unwavering faith. They didn’t question whether their “True North” was worth following. They believed it wholeheartedly. Their trust was uncomplicated, their joy unfiltered. They sang about Jesus like He was the most important person in the world—because to them, He was. Their faith was a beacon of inspiration, reminding me of the pure joy that comes from wholeheartedly following Jesus.
Somewhere along the way in adulthood, our hearts can get weighed down. Disappointments, unanswered prayers, the heaviness of responsibilities, and the noise of the world all conspire to make our compass spin. We start out heading toward God, but subtle distractions pull us in other directions. A little worry here, a little bitterness there, a little self-reliance creeping in—and before we know it, our heading is off.
Jeremiah 17:9 reminds me why: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” If left to itself, my heart will wander. It will follow feelings instead of faith. It will be drawn toward comfort instead of calling. That’s why I can’t rely on my own sense of direction; I need the fixed, unmoving point of Christ to keep me aligned.
And so, in that week of teaching children about following Jesus, I felt God teaching me. Every lesson I prepared for them felt like it was also for me. Every craft about maps and compasses reminded me that my life also needs daily course correction. It’s not enough to set our direction once and forget about it; we need to constantly recalibrate our lives to align with God’s will. Every worship song about trusting Jesus challenged me to do the same when the music stops and life gets quiet again. This commitment to daily course correction is what keeps us on the path to True North.
This is why “True North” has stuck with me. Because it’s not just about a theme—it’s about a way of living. It’s about learning to trust the One who, as Psalm 32:8 says, “will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.” It’s about recognizing that the journey is full of decisions, distractions, and detours, but God’s direction is steady.
And here’s the thing: knowing where True North is doesn’t change me unless I commit to walking in that direction. Proverbs 16:9 says, “The heart of man plans his way, but the LORD establishes his steps.” I can’t just agree with God’s path in theory; I have to align my steps with it.
So that week at VBS became more than a church event for me. It became a personal altar—a moment of surrender where I began praying with fresh urgency, “Lord, align my heart to You every day. Don’t let me drift. Keep my eyes fixed, my spirit steady, and my love for You burning.”
It’s a prayer I’m still praying now, because the question hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s grown deeper:
Am I living in such a way that my heart’s compass is always pointing to Jesus? And if not, what needs to change?
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The Unchanging Nature of True North
In navigation, True North is the fixed point by which every course is measured. Magnetic north shifts, but True North remains unmoved. It doesn’t depend on weather patterns or human opinion.
Spiritually, Jesus Christ is my True North—the unchanging point of reference in a world that constantly shifts. Hebrews 13:8 says, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”
That truth is an anchor. Governments change. Cultural values swing like a pendulum. My own emotions rise and fall. But Christ is steady, constant, immovable. He is not a moving target I have to chase—He is the fixed point I must keep before me.
When my course is aligned to Him, I have clarity. When I drift, confusion and unrest follow. Proverbs 3:5–6 calls me to, “Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”
Straight paths come from fixed eyes.
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Why the Heart Drifts
I wish keeping my eyes on Jesus was as simple as making the decision once and then never wavering. But if I’m honest, my heart has a way of wandering. I can be fully committed to Him in the morning, and by the afternoon, find myself caught up in irritation, self-focus, or fear.
The apostle Paul understood this struggle. “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” (Romans 7:15).
It’s not just that temptation exists—it’s that my sin nature pulls in the opposite direction of the Spirit. Galatians 5:17 puts it plainly: “For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh.” This inner battle means that without constant recalibration, my compass starts pointing toward self instead of Savior.
Sometimes the drift is obvious—falling back into an old sin, neglecting prayer, ignoring Scripture. Other times it’s subtle—a slow dulling of my hunger for God, a creeping complacency, or the quiet but dangerous voice of self-reliance. Jesus warned of this in Matthew 6:21: “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
Where my treasure goes, my direction follows.
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Lessons From Those Who Drifted
Scripture is full of examples that mirror my own tendencies.
Israel in the wilderness had the clearest guidance imaginable: God’s presence in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Yet despite this direct leading, they turned to idols, building a golden calf when their patience wore thin (Exodus 32). Their compass spun wildly because they valued immediate satisfaction over steadfast trust.
Peter, too, experienced the danger of losing sight of True North. When Jesus called him to walk on the water in Matthew 14:29–30, Peter began in faith, eyes fixed on his Lord. But as soon as he noticed the wind and waves, fear took over, and he began to sink.
These stories remind me that it’s not enough to know where True North is. I have to keep my eyes there, especially when the winds rise.
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Fixing My Gaze
Hebrews 12:1–2 gives me the clearest map for staying on course:
“…let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith.”
It’s not just sin that can pull me off course. Weights—distractions, misplaced priorities, even good things that aren’t God’s best—can shift my gaze.
Looking to Jesus is not a once-a-day glance; it’s a continual focus. Isaiah 26:3 promises, “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.”
For me, this continual focus on Jesus looks like choosing prayer before reacting to a difficult situation at work, opening Scripture before mindlessly scrolling through my phone during a break, and lifting my voice in worship before allowing worry to take over when facing a challenging decision.
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Dwelling, Not Visiting
I’ve often pictured myself wrapped in God’s love like a blanket—fully covered, fully safe. Psalm 91:1–2 says, “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the LORD, ‘My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’”
The word “dwell” changes everything. It’s not about stopping by for comfort when I need it—it’s about living in His presence. Jesus said in John 15:4, “Abide in me, and I in you.” Abiding means staying, remaining, refusing to uproot even when my emotions pull me elsewhere. It means making God the center of my thoughts, actions, and decisions, and allowing His presence to permeate every aspect of my life.
Dwelling in His presence means surrendering my plans, resting in His peace, and trusting His goodness when the outcome isn’t visible. It means letting His Word be my compass and His Spirit my wind.
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A Navigation Lesson for the Soul
In ocean navigation, even a one-degree deviation can, over time, carry a ship hundreds of miles off course. That’s why sailors constantly check their heading against fixed points.
In my walk with Christ, even a small compromise—a neglected prayer life, a tolerated sin, a subtle pride—can, over time, move me far from where I need to be. The solution is constant recalibration. Psalm 139:23–24 is my daily check: “Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!”
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Choosing His Way, Daily
Living with my heart pointed toward True North requires intentional choices.
It’s choosing to begin and end my day in His presence. “O LORD, in the morning you hear my voice; in the morning I prepare a sacrifice for you and watch.” (Psalm 5:3)
It’s replacing lies with the truth of His Word. Jesus said in John 8:31–32, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
It’s confessing quickly. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9)
It’s guarding my heart against what the world wants to pour into it. Philippians 4:8 gives the filter: “…whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable… think about these things.”
It’s serving others, following the example of Jesus, who “came not to be served but to serve.” (Mark 10:45)
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The Joy of Staying the Course
Following True North isn’t about avoiding storms—it’s about having a fixed point in them. Psalm 16:11 declares, “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”
This joy is not circumstantial. It’s the deep, steady gladness that comes from knowing that no matter what shifts around me, Christ remains the same.
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My Present-Tense Prayer
Father, right now, I lift my eyes to You.
Be my first thought in the morning, my anchor when my heart stirs toward anger, my peace when loneliness and anxiety press in.
Keep my gaze steady when distractions pull. Show me quickly when I’ve begun to drift.
Surround me with Your presence, cover me in Your love, and lead me in Your truth.
Align my heart’s compass to You in every moment.
Jesus, You are my True North—never moving, never failing. Keep me walking in step with You today and every day.
Amen.
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When I live with Christ as my True North, I find stability even in uncertainty, peace even in pressure, joy even in trial. This journey is not about perfection—it’s about direction. And the beauty is this: even when I drift, He does not. He is always there, constant and true, calling me back to Himself.
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