Proof The Bible Is True

I took a long drag on a cigarette one morning as I walked the wooded path toward my tiny cabin deep in the forest of the Bruce Peninsula, about two and a half hours north of Toronto, Ontario. I know, I know. Smoking is bad for you, dangerous and unhealthy.

 

I had tried to kick the habit, prayed about it too, but I couldn’t. Not even when my beloved Aunt Bernie got lung cancer. How many times had she begged me to quit? After she died, I vowed to stop, and did briefly, but inevitably I had started up again.

 

The cabin had been one of Aunt Bernie’s favorite places to stay. Lately, I had earned some extra income by renting it out to folks who were visiting nearby Lake Huron. New renters were due to arrive that afternoon. The cabin has no electricity, so I had to make sure there was enough propane in the tank to run the fridge and the stove for the weekend.

 

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