Metter, Ga., sleeps somewhere between Savannah and Macon, and just north of Interstate 16. Though I have driven I-16 a number of times, I had never stopped in Metter.
This changed last fall when I was asked to speak at the annual “Metter Men’s Retreat.” This event is sponsored each year by the First Baptist Church of Lake Wales, Fla. A member of the church owns a small piece of property in Metter and the men and boys have gathered there each year for almost 40 years. I jumped at the opportunity to join them for the weekend.
The property is positioned on a dirt road about a mile off the closest black top. In case you don’t know, a “black top” is a paved road. There is no grand conference hall, no high and lifted up platform, no paved parking; just an old home with low porches, painted red and showing the wear of many years of memories. Beside the old red house is a clearing surrounded by southern pines and a small pond.
Behind the home is an open well maintained field-lot-lawn, something that means an open space of about two acres and it too is surrounded by pines. Beyond the red home is a less maintained open area, again, surrounded by pines.
Here on this non-descript plain, men and their sons, and their grandsons, camp in tents and campers, and gather for what has to be called men’s time with God. On the acreage beside the house, a large tent top is erected. Tables are lined up beneath the tent top and chairs of every color and shape are strewn.
Meal time coincides with worship times. The sound equipment is good enough for a speaker but never good enough for the music guys.
Two little boys about 8 years old haunted the small pond with rods and reels in hand every available second. I don’t recall seeing them catch a single thing. They were as passionate about their quest as if they had landed a world record bass, bream, or cottonmouth. They were in their own heaven.
On the field behind the house, men and boys gathered in a game of football with dozens on each team. It was raining. Dozens were playing football, two were fishing, and to the west side of the field several were throwing axes. Yep, kids and axes. The sound of athletes, axe-throwing kids, and young anglers was regularly interrupted by the boom of a 12-gauge shotgun blasting skeet. Did I mention it was raining?
I stood on the back porch of the old home and enjoyed the view of my childhood. Kids fishing, shooting, throwing sharp objects, playing mud football and not a permission slip or notarized legal document disavowing responsibility in case of death or dismemberment in sight! It was awesome! This is how it is supposed to be! Kids being kids. The entire weekend was free of electronic distractions, video games, and adult supervision.
Kids, of all ages, just doing what comes natural.
Remember the feel of the warm water on your legs when you rode your bike through a puddle of water after a summer rain? How long has it been since you just experienced the exuberance of simplicity?
Meet me in the rain.
Aaron Johnson is a contributing writer for Yellowhammer News and the pastor of Christ Redeemer Church in Guntersville.
