The mosquitoes biting into my shoulder blades must be the kind without the anesthetic in their saliva. They linger with such confidence. It seems they must know that there is no way I can slap them without taking my hands off the gunwales of the 80-pound wood canvas canoe I am carrying. My shoulders ache from the weight of the boat and my right foot is sore from the rock that's been lodged in my boot since the beginning of the portage. On top of that, it's a scorcher. I am sunburned from several days of paddling on the open lake and each drop of sweat feels like a needle in my skin.
Maybe this isn't the typical way to begin a story about faith -- especially since my story is one of joy rather than suffering.
If you believe this has been sent to you in error, please safely unsubscribe.