“It’s odd, isn’t it,” I commented to my dad as we were going home, “that I’ve lived in this town all my life and I still couldn’t tell you the way to…anywhere?”

My dad seemed to think awhile, then he said, “I’m gonna make you learn!”

My dad was a jokester, and I didn’t freak out…until he said, “We’re gonna play a game.” Great! I love games. Then he continued, “You’re going to tell me the way home.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Yep!” Dad nodded. “You tell me where to turn and I won’t correct unless we’re halfway to Canada, eh. And don’t worry, we got two-thirds of a tank, so we got time.”

Time for me to fail miserably, I thought. I looked at him, shocked. Me? Tell a truck driver the way home? I could see the places and the paths in my head, but I couldn’t piece out where one connected and the other didn’t. And I was going to lead Dad home.

“Are you serious?” I asked again and he nodded. “Like, really?” Again, he nodded.

We came to a triangle in the road and to my right was a ransacked house in the forest. I’d seen this place, we passed it often, but was it straight, or right? I finally decided that right was right. . . . Maybe.

“Turn here!” I shouted. Dad slowed abruptly and skidded into the small stretch. Now, was it right or left? I tried to piece it together.

“I think it’s right,” I said tentatively.

Dad turned right.

“You’re seriously serious?” I asked again, hoping he had changed his mind.

Dad nodded.

“Ohhh,” I sank deeper in my seat, “why are you doing this to me?!” I was overexaggerating like I’m usually apt to do. I was quite enjoying it. (Well, I noticed that after the fact.)

I guided us a little farther. A few more rights, a few more straights, and maybe one or two lefts. Finally (and to my great relief), we got to the house. Surprisingly, without a wrong turn. It was fun.

And you know what? Doing it spiritually should be too. In the end, Satan will try to deceive us all. We must be ready. We need to know the landmarks of God to find our way to Home.