For as long as I can remember it has been a playful contest at our house. My husband and I call it the Direction Game and it is played like this: I am asked to point out an outside landmark or provide specific directions. Everyone is then welcome to weigh in on the issue and debate if following my advice will get them where they need to go.

Is there consensus? Most importantly, do my husband and I point in the same direction? Nearly always we point in opposite directions and if this is any clue — I have never proved Matt wrong. Not once.

But I keep trying — especially when we are on the road and exit the main highway for a moment to gas up the car or grab a bit to eat.

“OK, Matt,” I’ll say, “if I were driving I’d head that way to find the onramp.”

I point boldly in the direction I would go. Our kids shake their heads and tell me to hop in the car so Dad can get us where we need to go. They remind me that I need to stick with trip planning and snack gathering.

The bottom line? I have no natural sense of direction. I can read a map and look for road signs. My endless travels into town have made me the Shortcut Queen. Even my husband asks me the best way to reach local haunts in a hurry.

But a homing pigeon I am not and there are times when I have been so far off I have, out of frustration, placed the blame squarely on my dad, who was a fine educator, administrator, and coach, but earned the title of absent-minded professor when it came to navigating the car. Most times he accidentally found his way.

My husband, on the other hand, benefits even today from all those Boy Scout merit badges he earned to become an Eagle Scout and the 50-mile hiking trips he walked with his boyhood troop. He seems to have a natural sense of direction — just like those three wise men who traveled from distant lands, following a bright star in the night sky.

You know the ones — that same group of three who are most often depicted kneeling by the baby Jesus, found lying in a manger.

Although it is not known where these wise men (also called “Magi”) came from, it is commonly believed that they made their long journeys from Babylonia, Arabia and Persia, meeting up somewhere along the way. That they may have been astrologers, men who read the stars for signs and omens, seems pretty straightforward. How they came to afford their gifts, exactly how old Jesus was when they arrived, is not readily known.

What is apparent is that each man brought a gift full of value to Mary and great in symbolism for us today: The gold was a gift fit for a king; the frankincense, a resin that when burned served as a fragrant reminder that God can be experienced but not always seen; and the myrrh, a scented gum, could be counted on to help prepare a body for burial.

It is a story rich in symbolism, including the fact that these wise men were not Jews. I am reminded that Jesus entered our world not just for the Jewish people but also for the Gentiles, which includes all people who are not born Jewish.

It is also a story rich in politics. We are told in Matthew 2 that news of Jesus’ birth spread far and wide. And a man named Herod, the King of Judea, was not only interested in the sustained talk but grew alarmed as people referred to the newborn Jesus as the long-awaited ruler, a shepherd for the people of Israel. Herod called on the Magi, when they entered his territory, insisting they reveal Jesus’ whereabouts when they located him.

They did not.

Most of all, I am fascinated by their sense of direction. They were single minded. They carried valuable items at great personal risk. And they never got lost. Not in the countryside or in the politics. Not even for a minute.

What drew them to Mary, Joseph, and their very special baby? The very same thing that draws us this Christmas: the spirit of God. The notion that He came to you and me. That He has the power to mold our hearts, giving us the capacities to love more deeply, hope when things look dreadfully final and to act with courage when the task seems impractical , unpopular or scary.

Now that is the direction I want to go.

Freelance writer Joan Bay Klope’s e-mail address is jbklope@hotmail.com