Introduction: A different kind of devotion
Travellers’ new My Happy Place series invites writers to reveal the holiday destinations they cherish the most. In this installment, I stumbled upon a form of devotion at a Christian camp that surprised me: devotion wasn’t directed toward a deity, but toward people, purpose, and the medicinal quiet of the outdoors. If you expect grand hymns and altar calls, you’ll still find a sacred rhythm—but it’s found in the everyday acts of care, shared meals, and the stubborn hope that comes from gathering with others under an open sky.
Where devotion began: the setting
I arrived at the camp as a traveler seeking a simple retreat. The landscape was honest: pines, a lake that reflected the morning light, a commons area where chairs remembered conversations from the night before. The Christian camp vibe was obvious—prayer circles, scripture readings, and a cadence of routines that anchored the day. Yet the most compelling moments weren’t in the liturgy but in the pauses between activities, when strangers became allies, and everyone learned to listen deeply to one another.
A different object of devotion: community
Devotion, in this setting, shifted from doctrinal certainty to lived care. People checked in with one another during rainstorms, shared verses as small inspirations, and cooked meals that fed bodies and conversations alike. The campers—families, solo travelers, long-time participants, and first-timers—formed a diverse chorus of voices, each contributing a note to a larger harmony. In these exchanges, I witnessed devotion as a persistent commitment to one another’s welfare, a practice of generosity that didn’t demand belief alignment but fostered connection across differences.
Finding spirituality beyond doctrine
There’s a delicate tension in any faith-based environment: how to honor belief while recognizing the sacred in everyday acts. At the camp, I found spirituality not in perfect sermons but in imperfect humanity—humility at dawn as people strove to be better listeners; gratitude spoken over steaming mugs of coffee; the shared discomfort of a late-night rainstorm that forced us to sleep under a canvas roof and still chose to smile at sunrise.
Nature as a consistent tutor
Nature offered a patient sermon. The lake’s surface, unrushed and clear, mirrored a truth: devotion doesn’t have to target a single object. It can be a steady reverence for the present moment—the crack of a camp stove, the roughness of a pine cone, the way light travels across the water at golden hour. In these small, ordinary rituals, I felt a devotion that felt more universal and more personal than any doctrinal statement could convey.
What I carried home
By the end of the retreat, I wasn’t certain where my faith stood in absolute terms, but I was certain about my newly minted vows: to be present, to listen, to serve, and to cherish the relationships that sustain me. The camp’s devotion taught me to honor the sacred in ordinary life—whether that’s caring for a neighbor, keeping a promise to show up, or simply offering warmth to a stranger on a chilly night. If faith has a geography, then this place mapped it as much by human kindness as by creed.
Conclusion: My Happy Place, redefined
My Happy Place, in this context, isn’t a shrine to a deity or a single spiritual destination. It’s a reminder that devotion can take root wherever people choose to invest time, tenderness, and attention. The Christian camp helped me reframe devotion—not as a destination to reach, but as a practice to cultivate: a daily choice to show up for others and for the fragile beauty of the world around us.
