Daily Sauntering

A Summer Retreat: One Evening in Nature’s Embrace

Around the time of Independence Day, our church choir held a retreat for unity and fellowship. This year, the younger choir members suggested spending the night outdoors at a campsite, and so we did. Under the theme “One in the Lord” (Ephesians 4:2–6), our gathering became a joyful celebration of harmony among adults, children, and even the elderly—reaffirming our oneness in the midst of nature.

Most participants arrived late at night after finishing work, driving through the dark to reach the camp hidden deep within the forest. The air was damp with light rain, and for those camping for the first time, the forest seemed eerie and strange. Many wondered how they would pitch their tents or sleep through the night in such a place. Yet, as everyone helped one another, tents rose steadily amid the darkness.

Children, hearing the roaring stream for the first time, were frightened. Some clung tightly to their parents, refusing to take a single step away. But soon enough, fear gave way to laughter. By the time the tents were finished, the children were already darting through the woods, their flashlights dancing among the trees, delighting in this new adventure under the open sky.

Near 11 p.m., we finally held our opening worship service. As we shared a simple meal in the rain, our thoughts turned to the Native peoples of long ago—those who once called this land their own, and to the many who shed their blood under the starlit skies to give birth to this nation. In that moment, we wondered whether our lives, so rich in material comfort, had perhaps forgotten the deeper meaning of existence. So we prayed, under the gentle rain, that spiritual abundance might also bless this land as richly as physical prosperity has.

The most beautiful memory from the camp, of course, was the campfire. Watching the flames leap into the night, we were moved to sing with all our hearts—songs of sorrow and joy, of life itself. The world seemed to fall away for a moment. Even without recalling the lyric, “Life is a bonfire that leaves ashes and fades away without a word,” we could hear the whisper of the fire teaching us:

“While you are alive, share your flame freely;
while your light still burns, give love without measure.
Do not wait too long—
when the fire has gone out, no regrets can reignite it.”

To the sound of guitar chords, gospel songs echoed through the forest late into the night. Yet come morning, no one seemed tired. Some adults and children gathered by the stream to fish, shouting with excitement when an eel, sluggishly wandering at dawn, bit the line. Others lifted stones carefully, watching tadpoles swim into their cups, or tiny black frogs, no bigger than beans, hop onto their palms, blinking in wonder. Even the adults, caught in the joy of the moment, became like children again.

In nature, everyone became simple, transparent, and whole. Those whose hearts were wounded, hardened like stone, or darkened by sorrow, found healing in the running water and whispering wind. By the next morning, when it came time to take down the tents, no one wanted to leave.

“One night is far too short! Next time we should stay at least three days!” someone said wistfully.

“Ah,” another replied, “that’s the truth of life itself. We dwell in tents we must one day leave behind. But still, we long to stay. We are travelers—pilgrims on our way home.”

And so, as the sign once read on a distant shore, “Leave nothing behind but your footprints.”
By morning, the tents that had filled the forest with laughter and prayer vanished as if they had been a dream. The forest seemed to wave its long branches in farewell, as if remembering our songs and prayers through the night.

We drove back toward our daily lives with hearts both light and wistful, grateful for the peace and wonder of that brief night in nature’s embrace.
For just as we are glad to have a home to return to, so too are we blessed to have our eternal home awaiting us—and that truth makes this present life all the more precious.