"Wait, your mom did what?!"

Got your attention, didn't I? (hehehe)

This weekend I was leading a group of high school students and their small group leaders on a weekend retreat at a resort camp in north-ish western Minnesota. There were something like 250 high schoolers (we were not the only group, thank goodness) and upwards of 300 people total. Well, y'know, mealtimes are shared times, so I was able to sit and eat with all the youth and adults I brought, and a few others. The meals were not your typical camp meals; they were actually house-made, not pulled out of a freezer or unloaded, ready to eat, from a huge truck. That being said, the food wasn't as good as my family's Bed and Breakfast (that's a comment into the future, you just wait), though it certainly was tasty and I heard very little complaining from a group of students that can lend themselves to be a bit complain-y.

At the Saturday evening meal, dessert was served. Each table (up to eight people per table) was gifted with a nine inch pie pan in which lay a freshly baked nine inch chocolate chip cookie, topped with a slab (literally a slab--seriously, a slab) of vanilla ice cream. Our group was spread over five tables. Let me describe each of their reactions:

Table 1: An all girl group that seemed just as interested in the opposite gender as anything else we did all weekend (though to be fair, they really did ask and engage in some tough Jesus-based questions throughout our time at camp). Three of the girls jumped up and served themselves, then passed the pan to the other five at the table. Fair enough.

Table 2: Another all girl group, but one that is much more introspective and somewhat shy--except when it came to CatchPhrase or Charades type games. They waited until their leader served herself first, and then passed the pan around in a patient and lady-like manner.

Table 3: A group of all boys (this was the table I was sitting at for this meal). We nominated one guy to divide the pie/cookie evenly and then passed our plates around so he could serve onto all the plates in an organized and centralized manner. (Mom, you'd'a been proud!)

Table 4: Another group of all boys (have you guessed that they sat with their small groups most of the time?) that are kind of my favorites in this story, but only because it happened at camp. Their adult leader, a kind of grandfatherly figure to most of these boys, stood up to serve and promptly got elbowed out of the way as the boys descended like vultures on the pie/cookie. I laughed so hard other tables around the cafeteria looked at me. These boys had no idea.

Table 5: Finally, a small table of girls, 5 people in total. After passing the dish around to each person and eating their fill, they brought the whole rest of the pie/cookie, still covered with a thick slab of slowly melting ice cream, over to the boys' table where I was sitting. Awesome. Bribery with baked goods goes a long way.

So what does my mother have to do with this whole story? Well, I confided in my table of boys that my mom used to be a professional baker when I was a child. Even in spite of the pie/cookie swimming in ice cream, you could see these boys' mouths water even more, images of endless pies, huge cookies, and layer cakes dancing in their imaginations. One of the guys told me that his mom never baked, another said that they rarely sit down together and eat, and yet another young man, the group leader, reported that he hasn't shared a meal with his parents in years.

My mother (and my dad and my sister and myself and my cousins and my uncles and aunts and my grandmother) all still cook for their family, friends, and even for strangers. I can't help but wonder what life would have looked like if I hadn't grown up in the kitchen, around the table, or even doing dishes. Going out to eat is often delicious, but there is something even about a simple pasta dish at home that makes the whole meal experience more meaningful for me.

Thanksgiving is a month away from today. I will not be spending Thanksgiving with my family. I will be missing my niece's first birthday celebration (which will have incredible food, I'm sure). The next time I'll eat with my family will be two months from now, at Christmas. Last Christmas was the last time I shared a meal with my grandfather, my Papa.

Regardless of where, when, how or how often you eat with people you love, find a time, sooner rather than later. Eat a huge cookie covered in ice cream, eat a slice of pumpkin pie, go out for dinner, make brunch together, meet someone for a cup of coffee, find someway to nourish your body and nourish your relationships. That's what my mom did, that's what my family does, and here's my promise to you: I will eat with you as soon as we can find a time. Until then, the Peace of God and a Piece of Pie be with you.