Every prudent man acts out of knowledge, but a fool exposes his folly (Proverbs 13:16).

"So you know how to get there, right?"  The question was asked so casually that the average eight-year-old would have been able to do it with his eyes closed.

So Jack lied:  "Yup.  Absolutely."  There was a slight snorting sound to his voice that added the assurance that he was in on the "joke," knowing how assinine it would be to answer his brother's question any other way.  But inside, he started to panic.  He had no GPS system, no cell phone with him, no map, and no solid grasp of the area's geography to guide him.  He had a vague recollection of the route they had taken the previous evening, when his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law had driven him to the hotel after the rehearsal dinner.  But in truth, he hadn't paid much attention to the route.  Even so, he figured that it couldn't be all that difficult to figure it out.  He wanted to save work for the bridal couple -- not create more work and demand more time, for them to explain directions that any small child should apparently know.  He wanted to impress his soon-to-be in-laws, with his responsibility and resourcefulness.  For once, he didn't want to be the clueless one; so he waved good-bye to hsi brother, put the vehicle into gear, and called out the driver's side window, "See you at the church!"

It was late in the morning on the day of his brother's wedding, and Jack had been given the task of driving the couple's "get-away car" to the parking lot of the banquet hall.  There, he was supposed to tie a few cans onto the back bumper, write "Just Married" in soap-script on the rear window, and bring the keys with him to the reception, at which point he could hand them off to his newlywed brother for the couple's drive off into the sunset of marital bliss.  But first, he had to find the banquet hall.  Jack thought that it was on Monroe Street.  Or was it Madison?  And what was the name of the place?  Was it some kind of Irish name?  O'Reilly's or O'Rourke's?  Or was it Italian?  Something ethnic, Jack remembered.  But these disparate pieces of vague information wouldn't be enough to help him much, if he were to stop for directions at a neighborhood service station.  Jack moaned and cursed himself for not saying the simple, obvious thing.  "No, I'm sorry, I don't know how to get there; could you give me a refresher on the directions?"  He could have said it so so easily, so casually.  He could have saved himself a lot of trouble if he hadn't tried to cop such a cool, cavalier attitude.  "I'm such an idiot," Jack mumbled to himself, as he continued to drift southward, in the general direction he seemed to recall from the previous day's whirlwind of activities.  "I'm a total fool."

Two hours later, the situation was reaching a crisis point.  Jack had consulted dozens of strangers with no effect.  But he decided that he had to try again, after having driven the entire length of both Monroe Street and Madision Street.  So he slowed the car to a crawl, when he saw a well-dressed, middle-aged gentleman standing on a street corner, gazing at the passing traffic.  As the car pulled to a stop, Jack rolled down the passenger window, leaned across the empty seat, and prayed a silent prayer for help.

"Excuse me, sir, could you help me?  I'm terribly lost."  He proceeded to pour out his story, providing every clue that he had at his disposal -- any shred of information that might help to solve the mystery.  Desperation was broadcast across his face.  His eyes pleaded with the stranger for mercy.

The stranger listened carefully, with a look of incomprehension -- or perhaps incredulity -- on his face.  but when Jack paused to catch his breath before continuing his rambling account of the situation, the man smiled and said, "You must be Jack."  Before Jack could muster any response, the stranger continued.  "There is no banquet hall on Monroe or Madison, and I can't think of any places in town with a particularly Irish or Italian name -- but there is a beautiful banquet hall on McKinley Avenue, just a half-block this direction.  It's called the Van Renselaar House -- and it just so happens that they're hosting a wedding reception this evening for my niece, who's marrying a nice boy from Michigan, who has a brother named Jack, who is missing-in-action at the moment, even though the wedding is starting in 20 minutes in that church, right there."  He paused and pointed up the block another 100 meters.  Smiling again, he leaned into the car through the open window and extended his hand to Jack.  "I'm Uncle David," he said.  "We've been looking for you."

Jack felt a rush of relief and embarrassment.  He quickly found a parking spot for the car, planning to complete his original mission later, and he rushed with the bride's uncle towards the church.  The older man put a hand on Jack's shoulder, as they strode towards the entrance to the church.  "I'm glad you made it, young man.  Wait 'til the rest of the family gets to hear this story..."