I just spent a week directing a camp with 70+ kids, ages 14 to 18.

The day after camp, Kristina shared the narrative of the Norway attacks, where Anders Behring Breivik opened fire to a youth camp, ages 13 to 18, on an isolated island, with no escape. He lured them, pretending to be a police officer. 68 are now dead, with even more wounded.

I've been sick to my stomach ever since hearing about this. The naiveté of children and the cruel intentional violence. I imagined directing at that camp. I immediately thought, "I'd rather be among the dead than to survive that horror."

I thought about the kids at my camp. I love those kids. I love those kids. This year in particular, I heard a lot of stories of rough homes. Telling the state is not enough, I want to protect them forever, but camp-- a place meant to be safe--is all I can give them. That's what camp is all about for many kids. Escape from tough home lives. The thought of an intruder bringing danger at camp-- I cannot bear it.

I'm taken aback by just how affected I am by a news story from the other side of the world.