Growing up along the Front Range in Colorado meant spending Saturday afternoons on long drives through the nearby canyons and infrequent overnight trips through the high country.

The mountains, after all, were the primary motivation for moving from Texas to Colorado in 1962.

Dad had a fun game he loved to play when we had time and gas to spare. We called it the "I Wonder Where This Road Goes?" game.

(Years later, during our one trip to California for Ben's graduation from the Marine Corps I discovered that no matter where else the roads may go, all roads eventually end.

I distinctly remember the feeling of claustrophobia that overcame me when we reached the Pacific Ocean and there were no more roads.)

Back to the high country. These excursions took place in the days before 4-wheel-drive was commonplace. Seven in number, counting Mom and Dad, we were a station wagon family.

Dad was frequently frustrated during these forays. He was the only driver in the family and so could not take his eyes off the road for more than a quick glance at the grandeur around him.

When he came home to Colorado on vacation in latter years, I took him on his favorite trek, up Trail Ridge Road to the Alpine House far above timberline. He was grateful for the opportunity to truly gaze, for the first time in a very long time, at some of God's best work.

However, it is cold up there. The Alpine House is 11,796 feet above sea level and no matter how hot and dry it may be in the city, winter's icy chill greets you there, even on the Fourth of July. And be ready for the wind. It never stops and cuts like a knife.

The panorama is well worth the shivers, but it also feels great to slide back into the well-heated car, closing the door on that relentless wind.

Even with all of the inherent frustrations of packing five kids and a wife who had chores waiting at home into whatever rattle trap we were driving that year for a scenic afternoon in the high country, the "I Wonder" game always cheered Dad up.

It could be another paved road, but usually wasn't. Gravel roads were fair game early in the game, but soon enough Dad grew tired of those and started watching for trail roads.

Inching along, the muffler frequently sending out a raspy protest, Dad would maneuver carefully through the ruts, taking the high sides whenever possible. We never did high center. He always seemed to know his clearances. But he didn't always have a clear view of what was coming over the next hill.

On the last "I Wonder" game that I can remember playing, Dad was gingerly inching his way down the barest of trails.

The trail started uphill, Dad gave the car gas, easy like, gaining confidence and speed with each rotation of the tires. The V-8 felt the load, but was more than a match for it.

All of sudden, directly in front of us, was nothing but clear blue Colorado sky. We had reached the end of the trail -- and were barely able to stop before blazing a new one down the side of the cliff.

This game of "I Wonder" was not unique to Ray Carlson. In fact, we all play a version of this game throughout the days of our lives. Every day, different choices, different roads.

Sometimes the choice comes unexpectedly, we glimpse a never-before-seen trail leading off into the forest of pines and we quickly change plans and venture forth, discovering new delights along the way.

Moving to McCook was just such a road trip for Danny and I some nine years ago.

Other times, we venture off our well-planned route with the best of intentions, curiosity or novelty calling us forth, only to find that the road we thought was just a harmless diversion led us to a place of where trust is betrayed.

Still other times we set out with no particular destination, believing that anywhere we end up simply has to be better than where we are now.

Eventually, we discover that though the view may have changed, all that was wrong with our lives at the point of our departure is still wrong, because we carry ourselves with us wherever we go.

Life offers us many roads. Some lead to paradise, others to destruction. Some end at the side of a cliff and certain destruction, others at the ocean shore with no where else to go.

Only one road leads home. And Jesus tells us it is a narrow path indeed even as he bid us, "Come, follow me."

"I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." John 14:6

Things you won't see in heaven:

Gas stations