A camp in Canada was my home for a month this summer. Through days of lengthy light, thick bush, clear water and impossible circumstances, I learned a lot. I don't want to forget a thing: not the knack of opening certain doors around camp, the smell of a burning mosquito coil, the sandy dock, or the bonfire that smoldered all summer. I don't want anything to fade, even though some of it already feels like a dream, now, a week after returning south.
No matter what I do or where I go, the lake will be there, and it will be beautiful.
And no matter what, the God who led me to the North is with me yet.
