A Dorm Room, a Slice of Pizza, and the Power of Presence

Here’s a confession: I don’t really like basketball. To me, it's just footballs little brother. I can’t keep up with the regular season, don’t care about trades, and wouldn’t recognize a "mock draft" if it hit me in the face. 

But the NBA Playoffs? I love them.

And it has very little to do with basketball.

The Smell of Beef Jerky and Belonging

Each summer, our church camp kicked off right as the NBA conference finals hit their peak. A bus full of sunburned teens would tumble out—duffels swinging, music blasting, arms loaded with gas station snacks—into the stillness of a sleepy Florida college campus.

It was classic camp—memory verses and melted candy, worship songs and sunscreen, belly laughs and bug spray.

But every night? Something magical happened.

As soon as the last worship song ended, the boys would bolt—flip-flops slapping tile, arms full of pizza, Mountain Dew, and half-eaten candy bars—straight into the dorm’s common room. Racing to beat tip-off. 

No one told them to go.
No one had to.

That dorm, for a few sacred nights, became a cathedral.
Sweatshirts and flannels. Beanbags and busted couches. The buzz of a playoff game echoing off cinderblock walls. One kid sitting sideways in a camp chair, another with socks pulled up and sandals on (always a bold choice), a third balancing nine slices of pepperoni on a paper plate like it was communion.

And here’s what blew me away:
No one was on their phones.
No one was trying to be cooler than they were.
They were just… there.

Present.
Together.
And accepted.

It Wasn’t About the Game

Most of them didn’t know the teams.
Half didn’t understand the rules.
And at least one guy was still trying to figure out how many points a home run was worth.

But it didn’t matter.

Because that room wasn’t about basketball. It was about belonging.
It was about a shared experience that made the shy kid feel like part of the crew.
It was about leaders and students sitting shoulder-to-shoulder—no sermon, no schedule, just presence.
It was the kind of space where names were learned, laughter was contagious, and every kid—every single one—felt like they belonged.

And somewhere between the third quarter and the last slice of pizza, something shifted.

The room quieted.
Voices softened.
Kids started opening up.

For a few sacred moments, adults and teenagers spoke about the beautiful and brutal parts of their stories—the hard, the hopeful, and everything in between.

Not because we had a Bible study planned, but because the walls were down.
Because in that joyful, sweaty, soda-stained room… they felt safe.

What Camp—and the Church—Can Learn from Playoff Nights

I’ve asked myself a hundred times:
Why did discipleship happen there—on a lumpy couch with crumbs in the cushions—but can feel so hard on Sunday mornings after a perfectly planned lesson?

The answer isn’t complicated.
It’s presence.

Real, intentional, no-agenda presence.

Discipleship isn’t a performance.
It doesn’t thrive in perfectly manicured moments with cute take-home crafts and matching t-shirts.
It blooms in the messy spaces. In shared pizza. In laughter. In listening.

That’s the gift of camp.

Camp creates space.
Sacred space.

Just like those playoff nights, camp offers a platform—not for perfection, but for connection.
And when students feel seen, known, and safe? They start asking the real questions.
They start to wonder about purpose.
About faith.
About who Jesus really is—and who they might be, too.

The Power of Showing Up

As summer approaches, it is easy to get distracted planning the theme. The schedule. The worship setlist. Perfectly planning cabin assignments and memory verses. And if we really need to buy more sodas (spoiler: we always do).

But let’s not miss the point.

Camp is a platform.
The NBA Playoffs were a backdrop.
The real transformation? It came through presence.

It came when a student looked around the room, saw a circle of sweaty teenagers and leaders cracking jokes over a playoff game, and thought:
“I belong here.”
“I’m safe here.”
“I’m loved here.”

That’s where discipleship starts.

Creating the Space for Joy to Take Root

Of course, the laughter and late-night talks don’t happen on their own. Behind every moment is a quiet community who made space for it to unfold.

To our friends, alumni, and partners: your generosity builds more than buildings—
it builds belonging.

Because these moments don’t just happen—they’re made possible by you.
Every gift, every prayer, every moment of support builds the kind of place where students feel safe enough to ask hard questions—and loved enough to believe the answers might matter.

At Knox Creek, your investment becomes invitation.
An invitation for kids to laugh loud, live loved, and encounter the Joy of the Gospel in ways they’ll never forget.