LASDI©
I often hear from people “Halloween is my FAVORITE holiday!” It never ceases to amaze me that with all the wundafull holidays we celebrate in this country, Halloween would be the Chosen One by so many. But over the years I have been able to surmise the main reason why.
I know some people like the gore, and some people like the haunt of it all. I also know some people like receiving the treats, and some people like giving the treats. And I know that some people like giving the tricks, too!
But none of those are the main reason I think so many people adore this day of festivities. As a card-carrying member of the “I’m A Bit Different From Everyone Else” club, I figured out the reason is of clandestine nature. Nothing mysterious, mind you, but just a chance to be someone or something else for a time. Yep. It’s the COSTUMES.
People get to dress up and be what they don’t get to be every other day of the year. Whether it is ghostly or ghastly, sinister or sweet, they get to slip on attire that invites them to let their imagination run wild.
Personally, every day is a costume situation for me. It can be anything from a season-appropriate kaftan for lounging at home to a full-on gala event gown and every single reason in between. I have always loved being unique and separated from the norm. But I don’t hide behind the garb – I celebrate ME in it! I enjoy the creative aspect of it, and love how it, in part, represents who I am. This has come with wisdom and seasoning, living life in full through the peaks and the pits. And though it is ever-evolving, I have definitely become comfortable with who I am, different though I may be.
That wasn’t always the case, though. There was a time when I was unsure, insecure, and had zero confidence. I would mostly dress to please others and not myself because I never felt I was enough. I did whatever I was told and became whoever I needed to be for those that were of importance to me in that season. And, as a matter of importance to this story, I was not a Follower of Christ. I mean, I believed in God, or that there was a God or some higher power of some sort, and I had been raised in various different religions as it were, but I had no singular reference to the One True Living God. I respected churches and what they represented for the most part, and I valued (and still do) that people should be allowed to worship how they want and choose what they want in that arena when it comes down to brass tacks.
And so there was this one Halloween…the one I’ll never forget and the one I look back on and realize I didn’t quite have the respect I thought I did – to others or to myself. Though I was married at the time to my first husband, I felt like a single parent. It was my two kiddos and me against the world – in every way. We lived in a land that was not a fairy tale, and I did everything I could with the best of my ability to make sure the three of us were a team. It wasn’t always easy, and it didn’t go without my copious share of mistakes, but it was the most I could give with what I had to give it with.
I had heard through the grapevine that there was a church in the area that was giving free candy to all who entered. It was called “Autumn Fest”, I believe, and I was prepared to take my kids anywhere and everywhere they could trick-or-treat – especially if I felt safe there would be no tricks!
The eldest wanted to be Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, and her brother wanted to be The Incredible Hulk. No problem! Mommy would make it happen! And they looked AMAZING, if I do say so myself. And as a parent who participated as much as possible, I knew I needed a costume, too. But what could I be? I could have chosen like they did, and said I wanted to be an imaginary character; a superhero or a strong damsel in distress that conquered a realm of duplicity. But only one thing kept coming to mind over and over again.
Satan.
Yep. The devil.
Why? I really don’t know. I know that though I was trying to be the best mom I could be at the time, I was not living a life of peace, or comfort, or joy, or – other than my children – of love. I felt rotten inside, and I suppose I wanted to rep that in the costume I chose, because, like everyone else, I could get to be someone or something I didn’t get to showcase the other days of the year. So, I chose what I felt inside – wicked, unworthy, and sullied.
Could that be the worst part of the story? Unfortunately not.
Dressed in black with a red satin cape and huge, red horns, (and let’s give that drawn-on mustache and goatee the credit it deserves!) I walked into that local church with my two toddlers. I was undeniably unaware of my costume choice as we walked around, from table to table, getting candy for the cute bags they were carrying. Not one person attending a booth made me feel unwelcome or outstanding in any way, so I was thoughtlessly comfortable.
It was when I turned and saw the cross adorning the wall of the building we were in that my face turned hot, and I felt the embarrassment that would engrave itself in my memory. But why? I hadn’t come to know Jesus yet so why would His cross make me feel the shame I felt? Certainly, it could have been a symptom of years of me searching for rescue. Or it could have been that my spirit knew I would eventually come to devote myself to The One Who had died upon that cross for my sake. But the momentary reason was that I knew I had come into others’ place of worship and desecrated it with my disrespect. I was dressed as their arch enemy, and with reckless abandon taking as much of their offering and generosity for the community as my little demon hands would allow. And I was teaching my children to do the very same. I took them by the hand and led them out of there as quickly as I could – there’s some irony for ya…the devil fleeing from the house of The Lord.
It wasn’t until two years later I came to Christ. But during that time, that afternoon haunted me often. Through no coincidence and what could only be the works and wonder of The Lord, I made that profession in the very same church of the story. I’ve still experienced dark times, and make my fair share of mistakes, but the inside of me is different, no matter what I’m donning on the outside. I have innate joy and peace that surpasses all understanding. And my mistakes are forgiven.
When I see people dressed in costume for Halloween, I think back to that time in my life, and I do my best to reserve judgment. Who knows what lurks beneath their costume choice? We live in a world that celebrates horror and death at least once a year, and I have the privilege of celebrating the life that conquered death for me every day of the year. Why are we drawn to monsters and the unholy instead of drawn to The Holy One?
I’m grateful for that Halloween costume. It no longer haunts me but rather encourages me. It’s a reminder that I am flawed, and a reminder to value that others are, too. It’s a reminder that I am responsible for my own actions, and to take accountability for that. Humans possess free will, personal choice and moral agency. While external temptation exists, the final decision to act rests on me.
And perhaps that is the greatest lesson that Halloween costume ever taught me.
We are all responsible for the choices we make, even when the world around us, our circumstances, our hurts, or our temptations try to convince us otherwise. We cannot always choose what this one life we’ve been given hands us, but we can choose what we do with it. And when we get it wrong, there is something remarkably freeing about owning it, learning from it, and allowing grace to do what shame never could.
I spent years believing I needed to be someone else to be enough. Turns out, what I needed wasn't another costume. It was a Savior.
And that cross, the very one that made me turn red with embarrassment so many years ago, became the reminder that I was never beyond the reach of His love. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
So this Halloween, when I see the costumes, the capes, the horns, the halos, and everything in between, I hope I remember to look beyond them. Because I know firsthand that what's on the outside doesn't always tell the story of what's happening within. And I know that the person wearing the costume may be carrying a story I haven't the faintest idea how to read.
The devil didn't make me do it. I chose it. But the Lord, in His goodness, used even that moment to teach me something about myself, about others, and about grace.
Perhaps the moral of the story is this: Don't let the costume define the person. Don't let the mistake define the life. And never underestimate what the love of Jesus can redeem.
Happy Halloween, Y'all. May we all find a little more grace beneath the disguises.