I hate Halloween. It goes against my personal piety (not necessarily to say my personal Pietism, although I can't plead entirely not guilty of that). Didn't I renounce the devil and all his works and all his ways a while back? But Grandma makes great costumes for the kids, we live in a town which takes the event very seriously and observes not one but two nights of festivities, and I think sitting out of all this would be the first step toward the pastor's family being just a little too weird.
However, I don't think I'm being over the top when I say that some of the stuff people put in their yards is in incredibly poor taste, if not downright offensive. If the babies and I want to walk to the library, we are obligated to take the sidewalk right next to a yard in which a corpse swings from a gallows, other rotting corpses are struggling to disinter themselves from the lawn, various grotesque figures operate guillotines and similar devices (victims included), etc. It is extremely tacky, and the thingamajigs would definitely get a PG-13 rating for "disturbing images" if the yard were a movie. The kids (4, 3, and 1) STARE the entire time we're in visual range. This charming display has been up for weeks, and I've finally given up on the library until the season is past. WHY, PEOPLE?! Grow up.
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We tried shopping in a mall last week and couldn't, thanks to the Hellraiser paraphernalia scattered everywhere. Wretched, wretched country.
But I did have a pastor (the first pastoral Pastor I ever had, in Houston) preach on Halloween once. He encouraged us to celebrate it as only Christians can look upon Death and laugh. He encouraged us to take up that privilege, to don fun costumes, and to join in the frivolity of the day.
He did not encourage us to fill our lawns with frothy gore, to revel in evil visions of a fantastical afterlife.
Since that sermon, I struggle to strike a balance with Halloween celebrations. Death cannot be proud, perhaps, but it does still have its say. Meh.
We're joining with our little cousin to costume up as the three blind mice and the farmer's wife. Hoping it's plenty cute; I'm counting on a big haul.
Far be it from me to pick a fight with the veritably venerable pastor from Houston. I'm glad to have the excuse not to be the meanest mom in town (at least one day out of the year).
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