I usually leave the country when I want a grand adventure. I’m closing in on having all seven continents under my belt, and most of my travel to-do list remains across an ocean, the equator, or both. So, I was surprised to find one of the most incredible experiences of my life to be just over the U.S./Canadian border.
Candidly, the church through history has often made those instinctive journeys more dangerous. We’ve crushed lives and spooked others from progress. Even as we have attempted to build in-roads into secular culture, we have created more hurdles for someone to find their destiny on the other side of their church experience.
It’s been a tension—not wanting to set my expectations too high but interrupting my days with daydreams (and Google searches), having such a huge motivation but not flaunt the prize in others’ faces. If you’re reading about it here, it’s because you want to join me; and I’m grateful for your support.
I’m flying, floating, then riding a bus to what’s rated as one of the most grueling hikes in North America—a rugged wilderness described by trail alumni on YouTube as a place where nobody escapes a battered body. In fact, the Canadian Coast Guard and Parks Canada medevacs or otherwise rescues up to nine people a week from this stretch of ground—when only 52 people per day are allowed to enter the trail.
When I tell people where I’m going, I get two general responses. The first: “That sounds awesome!” and more often: “Not me. Why would you do that?” For the crowd who fall in that second camp, let me walk you through the reasoning.