What to Do with Halloween

Hi Friends,

Our Haunted Trail event is all scheduled for next week! Here's why we, as Christ-lovers, do what we do with Halloween. 

Transforming Halloween

Unlike some, we don’t choose to ignore Halloween. We don’t choose to scorn it. We want to transform it. We want it to point to the wonder of what Christ has done for us. So every year at Wonder Wood Ranch, our charity ranch for disadvantaged kids, we do a haunted trail event the weekend before Halloween. The kids, of course, love it.

But I love it more.

We pile kids on the backs of horses and begin the trail just as darkness falls. Blacklight flashlights illuminate the path and the decorations. Horses climb a short hill and encounter a glowing sign. “The thing that I fear comes upon me,” it reads, from Job 3:25 (ESV). 

Kids-on-horses then continue along a trail through the dark woods that’s decorated with skeletons, white bed-sheet ghosts, and green and orange florescent eyes peering from under bushes and between trees. Warnings and cobwebs line the trail. A headless horseman greets the guests and leads them to a graveyard (with funny tombstones) which sits near the end of the path. Then finally, the horses climb another small hill and encounter one more sign. “Who will rescue me from this … death?” the sign asks. And it points to a huge wooden cross, lit with solar lights. 

I love the experience of the haunted trail at night because in our lives, and in the lives of our guests (often kids dealing with gang or domestic violence), there are many things to fear. Too often, life is like a haunted trail. The things we fear come upon us. Death comes, cobwebs invade, evil scratches at the corners of our lives trying to defeat us. 

Sometimes we have a child flirting with death and nothing we do helps. Sometimes we have a financial, health, relational, marital, spiritual crisis and all we can see are bones and scary glowing eyes along the path of our lives. Sometimes we tremble.  Sometimes we fear. Sometimes we don’t know how we can go forward anymore. And that’s the trail we walk. 

But in Christ, the path doesn’t end with a graveyard. It doesn’t end with a skeletal horse and rider. It doesn’t end with death and defeat. It ends with the cross. It ends with hope and life and victory. And sometimes, you just have to keep walking in the dark. You just have to dare to hope again, believe again. You have to hold to the wisps of faith you have and be honest about the faith you lack, be honest about your failings and fear. You have to keep going, knowing that Christ himself defeated death for us all.

That’s the power of the haunted trail. 

It reminds me that no matter what is happening in my life, whether I can see only a foot in front of me or not at all, no matter the spooky ghosts or scary places where death seems threatens, God is leading me through and speaking to me the words of Isaiah 41:10-16 (NIV): “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand … For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you. Do not be afraid …you will rejoice in the Lord and glory in the Holy One of Israel.”

In the face of what frightens us most, when we encounter darkness and there doesn’t seem to be enough light, we need only to keep walking with God and know that he will not only save us from this death but he will also cause us to rejoice and to glory in him. 

The path won’t always be dark. It won’t always to scary. Light is coming. And it shines on the cross of Christ. 

Lessons from Autumn Leaves and Letting Dead Things Fall

Hi Friends,

Are the leaves falling yet where you live? We don't have a lot of leaves that change and fall here, but the ones we do have are just starting to change. There's still some green with the mostly-yellows. And as they change, I'm reminded of this story that Bryan told me years ago, and I'm reminded of the beauty of letting dead things fall away in our lives ...

Let the Leaves Fall

            I remember the smell, and the crinkle, and the varying shades of brown, yellow, and orange.  I remember the crispness of the air, and the scraping of the rake against dry leaves.  I remember a Nebraska autumn and a lawn covered in fall’s leafy quilt and my little brother and I leaping with reckless abandon into piles of musky sweetness.

            I remember a time when raking up the dead and fallen things in our lives meant not sorrow, but joy.  Not regret, not fear, but hope in what was to come.

            If I close my eyes, even now, I can see the sheen of sweat on my dad’s face as he leaned over the rake.  I can hear the sound it made as he pulled it over the dead grass toward him.

            “Bryan, grab the little rake from the garage and help me.”

            “Okay, Dad.”

            I trotted to the garage, pulled down a rake that was bigger than I was and dragged it outside.  Then, I swished the tines across the leaves to gather them into a tiny pile.  

            Dad added more leaves to my pile.

            A moment later, my three-year-old brother toddled out of the house.  He clapped his hands.  “Oh, yay! Can we jump in them yet?”

            Dad shook his head.

            The pile isn’t big enough.  Why don’t you gather some up with your hands and add them to the stack.

            Justin did.  Little by little, the pile grew, with Dad adding great bundles of leaves, me adding small bundles, and Justin adding a few here and there, as much as his little hands could carry.

            Soon, the lawn was clear, the pile a gigantic heap of potential-fun, and the rakes were safely stored.

            Dad sat on the steps and rested while Justin and I squealed and ran and threw ourselves into a mountain of fall colors.  Dad smiled as we played and played and played.  We tossed leaves, we burrowed in leaves, and we laid in leaves while gazing up at the gray sky.  

            And we never, ever wished that the leaves would turn green and go back onto the trees again.  We weren’t afraid of their falling.  We didn’t feel bereft.  

            Instead, we knew that fresh, green leaves would come in the spring, while these dead ones had fallen to bring us joy . . . and a little work.

            So why, all these years later, do I grumble and moan and fear when dead things fall away in my life?  Why do I clench my hands so tightly around things that no longer bring me life? Why don’t I let them fall and bring me a new kind of joy?

            2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV) says, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”

            When I hear this verse, I usually think about it as if it only means that sometime, way in my past, when I accepted Jesus I became a new creation in Christ.  But as I think of the falling leaves of autumn, I wonder if it doesn’t also mean that Christ continues to make me new, renew me . . . and cause the old, dead things to fall away like autumn leaves.

            And when they do, when the leaves scatter on the dry ground, I don’t need to fret about what I no longer have, what I no longer am.  Instead, I can look forward to new, green leaves in the springtime, and for now, find joy in the crinkly, brown piles in my life.  

            Now, as I gather dried leaves for my own kids, I think about those days long ago when my dad did most of the raking, the piling, the working.  I helped.  My little brother helped.  But I know now that dad did the real work.  And I remind myself that when dead things fall away in my life, it’s my heavenly father who is doing most of the work then too.  I help.  Others may help.  But it is God who is clearing away the crusty brownness of old habits, dead plans, and things that are no longer vital, living.  

            So, when dead things fall away, I want to stop worrying and instead revel in thankfulness for God’s work in my life.  I want to lay on the leaves in a heap, look up, and know that spring is coming.  I want to trust God enough to rake beside him and rejoice when the work is done.