Peeling Potatoes

This past weekend was the boys' spiritual retreat. Four of us teachers took twenty-two boys to a mountain vacation home for a time of listening and growth. An unintentional but overarching theme was brotherhood. Each of us teachers shared something from our lives that we wish someone had told us when we were younger; something we wish a mentor had spoken into our lives before we stepped out on our own. All of our "wishes" turned out to be somehow related to the formation of deep community; that stable sense of oneness with another man that you can only comprehend if you've experienced it.

Saturday afternoon, halfway through the retreat, we sent the boys in teams to develop a launching mechanism and collect the stankiest ammunition they could find for a championship round of targeted launches. While they were out bargaining and building, we teachers prepared a feast of barbecue chicken, coleslaw, nasi goreng (friend rice, which goes with everything here), and mashed potatoes. Mike and I toted several kilos of potatoes, two paring knives, and a large pot out onto the patio. The afternoon shower insulated our discussion, and, for nearly an hour, we peeled laughter and potatoes. Mike and I are closer than brothers. He's more than just a friend or an accountability partner; for Mike, I would lay down my life. About the time a raw spot sprang up from holding the blade against my forefinger, a thought dawned across Mike's face. "This is exactly what I want for these boys," he said. "Peeling potatoes in the rain?" I mocked. Chuckling slightly he clarified. "No. This. Deep rooted friendship in Christ. We talk about more than just sports or music or gossip. We feed each other on what the Lord has been speaking to us. My walk with God is not solely my walk; we share it in community. And I want that for these guys so bad."

"Ya," I brilliantly concluded.

Later, as we closed out the weekend, Mike told the group that his favorite memory from the retreat wouldn't be sliding down the staircase on matresses or the food or even the launching of gook from the third floor balcony. The memory that he'll take with him to Tanzania next year is that of peeling potatoes with a brother, chatting away about our love relationship with Jesus. I think that's probably what I'll remember most too.