Faith, Freedom, & the Fire of the Outdoors
When I look back on my childhood, I can still smell the campfire smoke and hear the water gently lapping against the shore. I was around eleven years old when my parents would drop me and a few friends off at one of our favorite lakes—miles from anything—and leave us there for the weekend.
This was the 1980s. No cell phones. No GPS. No way to call for help. Just a few boys, some fishing poles, a couple of tents, and a sense of adventure that was bigger than our fears.
We always brought a little food, but never much—just enough to get by until we caught our fish or harvested something from the land. We learned early that dinner didn’t come from a drive-thru. It came from patience, skill, and a good dose of God’s grace.
We’d pitch our tents, sometimes decide they weren’t worth the trouble, and just sleep under the stars. The night air was thick with sounds of frogs, crickets, and occasionally something moving through the brush that made our hearts race. The truth is, there were alligators all around that lake, but we never really thought about it.
Looking back, maybe that was God’s mercy—or just the bold ignorance of youth. Every now and then, an older man would show up during the day to fish. He might nod or ask, “Catching anything?” but never seemed surprised to see a group of young boys out there alone. That was just life back then—tougher, freer, and simpler.
Those weekends shaped me. They taught me responsibility, courage, and how to appreciate the simple things: a good fire, a full belly, and the peace that comes when you’re surrounded by God’s creation.
“For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse,” Romans 1:20 NKJV
Out there, I didn’t have to be anybody but myself. I didn’t have to prove anything. I just had to survive, learn, and take it all in. I think God used those moments to build something in me that I’d need later in life—a sense of quiet strength, an understanding of risk, and a deep appreciation for His creation.
See, the outdoors has a way of refining men. It strips away distractions and makes you deal with what’s real. You can’t fake it when you’re miles from civilization with an empty stomach and a fishing pole. You either trust what you’ve been taught—or you learn fast. And that’s exactly what walking with God is like. He doesn’t always hand us comfort or clarity. Sometimes He drops us off at a “lake” miles from anywhere and says,
“Trust Me.”
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, And lean not on your own understanding…” Proverbs 3:5 NKJV
Faith is a lot like those camping trips. It’s about being willing to step into the unknown with limited supplies, trusting that what you need will come from the One who made the wilderness itself.
Even now, decades later, that same love for the outdoors still runs deep. Every time I head into the woods or sit beside a quiet lake, I feel that boy again—the one who wasn’t afraid to sleep under the stars and face the dark. The one who learned that God shows up in the silence, in the wind off the water, and in the spark of a campfire.
So maybe it’s time for us, as men, to get back there—to the quiet, the challenge, and the simplicity of trusting God again. Not just in the wilderness, but in every part of life. Because faith, like those long weekends at the lake, isn’t about safety—it’s about surrender.
Reflection for Men:
• When was the last time you let God stretch your faith outside your comfort zone?
• What “wilderness” are you facing that’s forcing you to depend on Him again?
• How can you use the lessons from your past—like those moments of freedom and risk—to lead others closer to Christ today?