The Weekend I Met Shand and God
by Hugh Eaton
by Hugh Eaton
Looking back at that weekend now, I wonder why I was so surprised at what happened. Thirty-five years have passed, and now it's pretty clear my faith left a lot to be desired. My parents were Christian, and our family attended church regularly. My sister and I enjoyed Sunday school even though we had to memorize the answers to catechism questions so we could get confirmed. We learned a lot about Jesus, and I suppose that is the point. We learned "about" Jesus, but we really didn't know him.
By 1975 my wife and I were living in Virginia Beach with our three teenagers, a daughter and two sons. We were active members of Baylake United Methodist Church. My wife sang in the choir and was active in women's ministry. Our three children enjoyed the youth group, and I had taught a fifth grade Sunday school class for five years. This gave me continuity with my students, the first of whom was now in the tenth grade.
One of the annual highlights for Methodist teenagers in Virginia came during a weekend in November when about three hundred high school students from Methodist churches all over Virginia gathered at the Methodist Assembly Center in Blackstone, VA, in what had formerly been a women's college. These weekends resulted in lasting friendships among the students, some I am confident are still close today. These weekends gave the students a chance to renew acquaintances in a Christian atmosphere. As soon as school started in September, students all over the state started planning for their "Blackstone weekend".
The fall of 1975 was no different, and five young people from our church, including my daughter, were excited about the prospects of the November weekend.
One October Sunday after church my wife and I were walking to our car, and I noticed these five young people standing around our car. At first I thought they were just socializing, but when I got closer they formed a sort of semi-circle around me and were silent for a moment.
After a few seconds I asked them how they were, and one young lady spoke up, somewhat reluctantly. "Mr. Eaton", she said, "we have our hearts set on going to Blackstone". I told them I thought that was great. She said, "There's just one problem. We have to have a chaperone take us, and nobody will agree to go." There was another pregnant pause, and it began to dawn on me what she was going to say next. All of a sudden I felt a bit queasy.
"Mr. Eaton, will you please be our chaperone? If you won't take us, then we won't get to go." (No pressure here I thought.) I'm not sure if she meant I was their last great hope or they were scraping the bottom of the barrel.
So here's the picture. Here I am, a big strapping fellow who's helped three of my own children get to their teens without serious problems, a former air traffic controller who has dealt with the stress that job brings, a man who served four years in the Air Force during the Korean War with one year in Korea, and a reasonably successful businessman. I'm standing in a church parking lot with five teenagers looking up at me with pleading eyes. And I loved all these kids, having been their teacher, friend and sometimes confidante for five years.
I could feel the sweat begin to trickle down my back, and it wasn't due to the Virginia Beach humidity. I've done a few brave things in my life, but never any foolish brave things. The thought of spending a weekend with three hundred teenagers - all with overabundant energy and bouncing hormones - terrified me. In my mind I could see images of kids standing on window ledges, toilet paper being rolled down the halls and perhaps some young girl getting her first or third or eighty-seventh kiss in some dark corner somewhere on campus. Bottom line - no way was I going!
As I tried to make them understand I had never been a chaperone at a Blackstone weekend, or any other place for that matter, I could see the disappointment begin to cloud their faces. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a tear roll down the cheek of one young girl who was looking forward to her first Blackstone weekend.
I stopped in mid-sentence, and I truly wish I could say I said a little silent prayer for God's guidance. I wishI could say He spoke to me loud and clear that I was supposed to do this for Him, but that isn't what happened. I caved in to five sad faces and agreed to be their chaperone. I think I was about to cry too, but for a different reason. I put on a stern face and tried to regain my compusure. I made them promise to be on their best behavior, and they readily agreed. They all hugged me like Christmas had come early, and then ran to tell the Youth Director they could go.
In the weeks before the Blackstone weekend, I spoke with other friends at church who had been chaperones. Their advice was to stop worrying. There might be one or two instances of misbehavior, but nothing dramatic. But I began to think I would need a buddy on the trip to share the joy or maybe the blame. My friend Leon was a few years younger than me and had never been a chaperone either. We were sort of pooling our ignorance. He took pity on me and agreed to go with our group. At least, I thought, if anything went wrong I could put half the blame on him.
So on a Friday afternoon in November the seven of us piled in my station wagon and drove two hours from Virginia Beach to Blackstone. Leon and I were comforted the parents of the kids seemed confident their most precious treasures were in good hands.
As I drove, Leon and I couldn't get a word in edgewise. If you've ever been in a car for two hours with five excited teenagers you know what I mean. I must admit their excitement was contagious. My anticipation began to build, although I had no idea why I was on this trip. It never came close to occurring to me God had His hand in this.
Upon our arrival, there were squeals of delight as kids, who hadn't seen each other for a year, hugged and greeted one another. After settling in our rooms and having dinner, we gathered in the gymnasium. Due to its age, the gym was poorly lit but perfectly suited for what was to come.
In the mid '70s the charismatic movement had become very noticeable in the Methodist church. The leaders of the weekend concluded, rightly so, not many of those present had any exposure to the charismatic Christians, so the leaders decided to explore that topic for the weekend.
Most conferences have an "ice breaker", an opportunity for folks to get a little more comfortable with each other. This weekend adults and kids alike would be assigned to small "John Wesley" groups. As our name was called, we would join our group and sit in a circle on the gym floor. Our circle would eventually include a couple of adults and about ten kids. I was the first called in my group, and I sat waiting for the others to join me.
Even now, 35 years later, I get cold chills on my neck as I write this. I looked to my right to see a blonde teenage girl sit down beside me. I smiled at her and said, "Hi. I'm Hugh". She smiled briefly and said, "I'm Shand", then looked down.
I had heard friends speak of moments when they absolutely knew they heard the Holy Spirit speak to them, but I had never had that experience. I wondered if I would ever hear from Him. Well, surprisingly, my turn had come because at the immediate moment Shand sat down, the Holy Spirit spoke to me, and I knew as surely as I knew my own name Shand was the reason I was at Blackstone.
I have no explanation for that moment. Call it mystical, a "God-thing", whatever. Nothing like that had ever happened to me.
We were supposed to wear our nametags around our necks all our waking hours or be fined five cents if we were caught without it. I noticed Shand was carrying hers in her hand.
Since we were to stay with the same Wesley group the entire weekend, we went around the circle introducing ourselves. When Shand's turn came, I watched and listened carefully, since I now knew we were together for a reason. She was fifteen, a cheerleader for the basketball team and the daughter of a career Army officer stationed in the Newport News area. Her remarks were very brief, and she looked down while she spoke. She sounded like a troubled young lady.
On Saturday we had classes in the morning and recreation in the afternoon. Shand continued to carry her nametag and had been fined thirty cents by lunchtime. On one of the breaks I made a point of engaging her in conversation, and by now I was not surprised we felt comfortable speaking with each other. I told her I thought she seemed troubled, and she seemed relieved to have someone interested in her problem. She explained she had just gotten elected cheerleader, was dating the captain of the basketball team, only to find out her dad had just received orders and the family was moving to Germany. Her world was crumbling, and she was heartbroken.
Later that day I sought out her chaperone, and he told me they were worried about her and the change in her normal bubbling personality to one of doom and gloom. He told me although she participated in the youth program she had never accepted Christ. I told him I had established a rapport with her, and he encouraged me to try to lift her spirits.
After dinner that night, we gathered in the dimly lighted gym and sat in our Wesley circles. A minister with a very soothing voice gave a talk on the ways a charismatic's worship might differ from ours. He described how some might use speaking in tongues in worship and actually paused to give permission for anyone in the group who had that gift to demonstrate it. No one responded.
He continued to speak and after we had been sitting quietly and very still on the floor for an hour, he suggested we stand up in our circle for the next portion of his talk. We stood as he said charismatics sometimes use what they call "love balls" to help one of their members who may be troubled in spirit. The troubled person goes into the middle of the circle and the rest of the circle closes in and they do a big "group hug" for the troubled person. He urged each of our circles to try this.
Immediately the Spirit told me this was Shand's chance to experience the love of those of us in our circle, but I knew she would never volunteer to go into the middle. So I quickly stepped into the middle of the circle and experienced a hug I will never forget. As they all began to step back, I grabbed Shand's hand and pulled her to me and asked her to let us hug her. By now most of those in our circle knew Shand was troubled, so they rushed in before she could say no.
The hug lasted a long time. It seemed nobody wanted it to end. Shand was in my arms, and I whispered to her, "God loves you and so do we". By now Shand's tears were warm against my cheek, and she said she wanted to accept Christ. We prayed together in one of those "once-in-a-lifetime" experiences, and the circle stepped back. Each member of our circle hugged Shand, who now had a look of tearful joy on her face. She looked like an angel compared to the Shand who had first come to Blackstone.
She went running off to find her chaperone, and everybody in our circle was crying and so overcome with emotion I walked out of the gym to try to figure out what had just happended.
I concluded I had just had my own epiphany with God. On this clear, cold November night, standing next to a hundred year old oak tree and under a million shimmering stars, I knew I had had a personal encounter with the living God. Through my tears of joy, I told God I wanted to do things His way from now on. I finally understood what all those ministers and Sunday school teachers had told me all those years about the way God wants us to live our lives. He wants us to know and experience His love to the fullest and in return wants our worship and recognition He is first in our lives. The kids were right. Blackstone is a mystical place.
By 1975 my wife and I were living in Virginia Beach with our three teenagers, a daughter and two sons. We were active members of Baylake United Methodist Church. My wife sang in the choir and was active in women's ministry. Our three children enjoyed the youth group, and I had taught a fifth grade Sunday school class for five years. This gave me continuity with my students, the first of whom was now in the tenth grade.
One of the annual highlights for Methodist teenagers in Virginia came during a weekend in November when about three hundred high school students from Methodist churches all over Virginia gathered at the Methodist Assembly Center in Blackstone, VA, in what had formerly been a women's college. These weekends resulted in lasting friendships among the students, some I am confident are still close today. These weekends gave the students a chance to renew acquaintances in a Christian atmosphere. As soon as school started in September, students all over the state started planning for their "Blackstone weekend".
The fall of 1975 was no different, and five young people from our church, including my daughter, were excited about the prospects of the November weekend.
One October Sunday after church my wife and I were walking to our car, and I noticed these five young people standing around our car. At first I thought they were just socializing, but when I got closer they formed a sort of semi-circle around me and were silent for a moment.
After a few seconds I asked them how they were, and one young lady spoke up, somewhat reluctantly. "Mr. Eaton", she said, "we have our hearts set on going to Blackstone". I told them I thought that was great. She said, "There's just one problem. We have to have a chaperone take us, and nobody will agree to go." There was another pregnant pause, and it began to dawn on me what she was going to say next. All of a sudden I felt a bit queasy.
"Mr. Eaton, will you please be our chaperone? If you won't take us, then we won't get to go." (No pressure here I thought.) I'm not sure if she meant I was their last great hope or they were scraping the bottom of the barrel.
So here's the picture. Here I am, a big strapping fellow who's helped three of my own children get to their teens without serious problems, a former air traffic controller who has dealt with the stress that job brings, a man who served four years in the Air Force during the Korean War with one year in Korea, and a reasonably successful businessman. I'm standing in a church parking lot with five teenagers looking up at me with pleading eyes. And I loved all these kids, having been their teacher, friend and sometimes confidante for five years.
I could feel the sweat begin to trickle down my back, and it wasn't due to the Virginia Beach humidity. I've done a few brave things in my life, but never any foolish brave things. The thought of spending a weekend with three hundred teenagers - all with overabundant energy and bouncing hormones - terrified me. In my mind I could see images of kids standing on window ledges, toilet paper being rolled down the halls and perhaps some young girl getting her first or third or eighty-seventh kiss in some dark corner somewhere on campus. Bottom line - no way was I going!
As I tried to make them understand I had never been a chaperone at a Blackstone weekend, or any other place for that matter, I could see the disappointment begin to cloud their faces. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a tear roll down the cheek of one young girl who was looking forward to her first Blackstone weekend.
I stopped in mid-sentence, and I truly wish I could say I said a little silent prayer for God's guidance. I wishI could say He spoke to me loud and clear that I was supposed to do this for Him, but that isn't what happened. I caved in to five sad faces and agreed to be their chaperone. I think I was about to cry too, but for a different reason. I put on a stern face and tried to regain my compusure. I made them promise to be on their best behavior, and they readily agreed. They all hugged me like Christmas had come early, and then ran to tell the Youth Director they could go.
In the weeks before the Blackstone weekend, I spoke with other friends at church who had been chaperones. Their advice was to stop worrying. There might be one or two instances of misbehavior, but nothing dramatic. But I began to think I would need a buddy on the trip to share the joy or maybe the blame. My friend Leon was a few years younger than me and had never been a chaperone either. We were sort of pooling our ignorance. He took pity on me and agreed to go with our group. At least, I thought, if anything went wrong I could put half the blame on him.
So on a Friday afternoon in November the seven of us piled in my station wagon and drove two hours from Virginia Beach to Blackstone. Leon and I were comforted the parents of the kids seemed confident their most precious treasures were in good hands.
As I drove, Leon and I couldn't get a word in edgewise. If you've ever been in a car for two hours with five excited teenagers you know what I mean. I must admit their excitement was contagious. My anticipation began to build, although I had no idea why I was on this trip. It never came close to occurring to me God had His hand in this.
Upon our arrival, there were squeals of delight as kids, who hadn't seen each other for a year, hugged and greeted one another. After settling in our rooms and having dinner, we gathered in the gymnasium. Due to its age, the gym was poorly lit but perfectly suited for what was to come.
In the mid '70s the charismatic movement had become very noticeable in the Methodist church. The leaders of the weekend concluded, rightly so, not many of those present had any exposure to the charismatic Christians, so the leaders decided to explore that topic for the weekend.
Most conferences have an "ice breaker", an opportunity for folks to get a little more comfortable with each other. This weekend adults and kids alike would be assigned to small "John Wesley" groups. As our name was called, we would join our group and sit in a circle on the gym floor. Our circle would eventually include a couple of adults and about ten kids. I was the first called in my group, and I sat waiting for the others to join me.
Even now, 35 years later, I get cold chills on my neck as I write this. I looked to my right to see a blonde teenage girl sit down beside me. I smiled at her and said, "Hi. I'm Hugh". She smiled briefly and said, "I'm Shand", then looked down.
I had heard friends speak of moments when they absolutely knew they heard the Holy Spirit speak to them, but I had never had that experience. I wondered if I would ever hear from Him. Well, surprisingly, my turn had come because at the immediate moment Shand sat down, the Holy Spirit spoke to me, and I knew as surely as I knew my own name Shand was the reason I was at Blackstone.
I have no explanation for that moment. Call it mystical, a "God-thing", whatever. Nothing like that had ever happened to me.
We were supposed to wear our nametags around our necks all our waking hours or be fined five cents if we were caught without it. I noticed Shand was carrying hers in her hand.
Since we were to stay with the same Wesley group the entire weekend, we went around the circle introducing ourselves. When Shand's turn came, I watched and listened carefully, since I now knew we were together for a reason. She was fifteen, a cheerleader for the basketball team and the daughter of a career Army officer stationed in the Newport News area. Her remarks were very brief, and she looked down while she spoke. She sounded like a troubled young lady.
On Saturday we had classes in the morning and recreation in the afternoon. Shand continued to carry her nametag and had been fined thirty cents by lunchtime. On one of the breaks I made a point of engaging her in conversation, and by now I was not surprised we felt comfortable speaking with each other. I told her I thought she seemed troubled, and she seemed relieved to have someone interested in her problem. She explained she had just gotten elected cheerleader, was dating the captain of the basketball team, only to find out her dad had just received orders and the family was moving to Germany. Her world was crumbling, and she was heartbroken.
Later that day I sought out her chaperone, and he told me they were worried about her and the change in her normal bubbling personality to one of doom and gloom. He told me although she participated in the youth program she had never accepted Christ. I told him I had established a rapport with her, and he encouraged me to try to lift her spirits.
After dinner that night, we gathered in the dimly lighted gym and sat in our Wesley circles. A minister with a very soothing voice gave a talk on the ways a charismatic's worship might differ from ours. He described how some might use speaking in tongues in worship and actually paused to give permission for anyone in the group who had that gift to demonstrate it. No one responded.
He continued to speak and after we had been sitting quietly and very still on the floor for an hour, he suggested we stand up in our circle for the next portion of his talk. We stood as he said charismatics sometimes use what they call "love balls" to help one of their members who may be troubled in spirit. The troubled person goes into the middle of the circle and the rest of the circle closes in and they do a big "group hug" for the troubled person. He urged each of our circles to try this.
Immediately the Spirit told me this was Shand's chance to experience the love of those of us in our circle, but I knew she would never volunteer to go into the middle. So I quickly stepped into the middle of the circle and experienced a hug I will never forget. As they all began to step back, I grabbed Shand's hand and pulled her to me and asked her to let us hug her. By now most of those in our circle knew Shand was troubled, so they rushed in before she could say no.
The hug lasted a long time. It seemed nobody wanted it to end. Shand was in my arms, and I whispered to her, "God loves you and so do we". By now Shand's tears were warm against my cheek, and she said she wanted to accept Christ. We prayed together in one of those "once-in-a-lifetime" experiences, and the circle stepped back. Each member of our circle hugged Shand, who now had a look of tearful joy on her face. She looked like an angel compared to the Shand who had first come to Blackstone.
She went running off to find her chaperone, and everybody in our circle was crying and so overcome with emotion I walked out of the gym to try to figure out what had just happended.
I concluded I had just had my own epiphany with God. On this clear, cold November night, standing next to a hundred year old oak tree and under a million shimmering stars, I knew I had had a personal encounter with the living God. Through my tears of joy, I told God I wanted to do things His way from now on. I finally understood what all those ministers and Sunday school teachers had told me all those years about the way God wants us to live our lives. He wants us to know and experience His love to the fullest and in return wants our worship and recognition He is first in our lives. The kids were right. Blackstone is a mystical place.
Epilogue
On Sunday, as we packed the cars and said our goodbyes, I ran into Shand's chaperone and told him what had happened. He smiled and said when she came running up to him on Saturday night after the "hug", he knew something had changed her life.
Shand found me in the parking lot, and we hugged a long time. Although words weren't necessary, I told her it was nice to have another Christian daughter. It was a joyful goodbye.
When I got home I wrote Shand's mom and dad a long letter, describing in as much detail as I could remember what had happened. Parents should know the details of their child coming to Christ. Her mom wrote me a nice letter in return, saying she knew Shand had changed when she first got home.
I wish I could say Shand and I have stayed in touch all these years, especially now that the doc tells me I'm on the exit ramp of life, but that isn't the case. We corresponded for a few years, and I last heard from her when she was in college in South Carolina. I often wonder how her life has turned out so far. Who she married, does she have any children, where is she living? I still pray for her and hope the relationship we began with God and each other on that wonderful, mystical night in Blackstone, means just as much to her now as it did then. I know it does to me.
Shand found me in the parking lot, and we hugged a long time. Although words weren't necessary, I told her it was nice to have another Christian daughter. It was a joyful goodbye.
When I got home I wrote Shand's mom and dad a long letter, describing in as much detail as I could remember what had happened. Parents should know the details of their child coming to Christ. Her mom wrote me a nice letter in return, saying she knew Shand had changed when she first got home.
I wish I could say Shand and I have stayed in touch all these years, especially now that the doc tells me I'm on the exit ramp of life, but that isn't the case. We corresponded for a few years, and I last heard from her when she was in college in South Carolina. I often wonder how her life has turned out so far. Who she married, does she have any children, where is she living? I still pray for her and hope the relationship we began with God and each other on that wonderful, mystical night in Blackstone, means just as much to her now as it did then. I know it does to me.
Copyright 2010 Hugh Eaton
Labels: The Weekend I Met Shand and God
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