Have you ever been in a place so still that peace sinks down into your bones? That is one of my best attempts at describing Joshua Tree National Park. One evening late in our trip, the four of us traveled about a hour from our hotel to arrive at the park before sunset. Our sons were hesitant to go. They were tired and had just spent two days at Disneyland. How could rocks, trees, desert, and sky stand up to Disneyland?

It stood up pretty darn well.

We drove into the park and found an area to pull our car into. We piled out to see trails working their way towards these piles of rocks through brush and these trees-that-weren’t-really-trees with their branches bending in all sorts of Seussical directions. The boys and I scrambled up the rocks until we couldn’t go any higher. We rejoined EA on the ground and took in a land unlike any we’d seen. We took pictures. Then we found another way up the rocks and made our way to the top.

All the while, the setting sun painted the sky in shades of glowing orange, gold, and salmon pink on a canvas of steel blue. And we would just watch. For awhile, we sat on rocks high above the ground. Then we returned to the desert floor and we gazed at the rocks, trees, desert, and sky. My heart rate slows just thinking about that view.

As we joined a throng of people walking from various Anaheim hotels to Disneyland, there was a guy with a sign and a bullhorn. He was…not preaching, but pontificating at every passerby; telling them that they did not need fairies, princesses, and heroes, they needed Jesus. By going to this land of imagination we were being an affront to God. And he informed us that we—hundreds of people he’d never met—were going to hell for partaking in what the Mouse had to offer that day. A few people snapped back at him and he snapped back.

Despite having a litany of reasons for why he was wrong, I didn’t say anything because I am a conflict-averse person and I can’t imagine a worse start for your kids’ day at Disneyland than their dad getting into a theological argument with a stranger when the park is just a few hundred feet away. I reminded our sons that his yelling and condemnation was not what our faith in Jesus was about. Then we went on to have a lovely day at the Happiest Place on Earth.

Yet over a month later, I wonder what I would have said to him had I stopped. Granted, the best means of communication would be a two-way dialogue although people who have a bullhorn are typically not interested in a conversation (which is a pity, because it is actually quite fun to have conversations with people while you are using a bullhorn).

“I hope I see a bear!” This is what our youngest exclaimed as we wound our way down into the valley on our first evening at Yosemite National Park. His wish was granted ridiculously fast; like so fast that we would have tried to get him to wish for something even more grand using his heretofore unknown power of conjuring.

Before we even parked the car, we noticed that the two cars in front of us had stopped in the middle of the road. EA noticed one of the passengers was pointing at something in the tall grass to the left. I threw the car in park and the car practically tilted as we all looked left. Sure enough, there was a bear about 15 or 20 feet away. He appeared to be a little guy with his head just poking above the grass.

Yosemite Valley is wild. It is like no place that I have ever been before. There are bears and waterfalls throughout. Trees reach to the sky only to be dwarfed by massive rock formations like El Capitan. Words do not do Yosemite any justice. Pictures succeed better, but only by a little. You need to be a speck in the midst of that creation to truly grasp it.

I don’t know about you, but most of the time when I am trying to get from Point A to Point B, I want to get there as quickly and efficiently as I can. I want to take the fastest route. I want everyone to utilize bathroom stops so that we don’t need to needlessly take another one. That’s how I operate even when I walk. My then-girlfriend/now-wife kept encouraging me to slow down by adorably saying “Don’t be Point A to Point B. Be Point EA.”

All of which is why we made an official statement of travel to our boys at the beginning of our roadtrip: We will not let our ultimate destination dictate the day but will allow ourselves the freedom to stop and chase whatever we come across. If there is a beautiful sunset then we are going to pull on the side of the road and enjoy it. If there is an intriguing billboard advertising a destination, we might go see what it’s about. If there is a scenic route, we’ll likely opt for that over the quicker interstate.

This strategy naturally flies in the face of the question that natural law demands every child to ask of their parents: How long until we get there? There was an ETA, but we were holding that ETA loosely.