Sometimes our church would host a Hall Festival, Hallelujah party, or some other variation that allowed our kids to dress up. We didn't want them to feel left out. And if they dressed up like Bible characters, that seemed to sanctify the celebration a little more.
We Spencers sort of gravitated towards trying to be the place where the neighborhood kids wanted to come. Instead of being perceived as the cranky Christians, we wanted to give out the best candy on the block, showing them that Jesus. Is. Fun. And we liked to hand out tracts about not being afraid or Jesus being sweeter than candy.
This year our church hosted our second Trunk or Treat as an outreach to the neighborhood, especially the elementary school nearby. We fed them and their parents chili and hot dogs, passed out enough candy to send someone into a coma, and shared the love of Jesus.
I'm smiling as I write this, because I know many of you can identify with the flopping around, trying to find our place as we are in the world, but not of it. We're still finding our way, aren't we?
But what I want to share is far more personal than all of that.
Fact: I got sick on Halloween candy this year.
I went to the store with good intentions. My plan was to purchase candy I wasn't really all that fond of so I wouldn't be tempted to devour it. Frankly, I like almost all candy, but I really hate green apple anything. So I figured I could find something in that flavor and be safe from my own propensity to pig out.
After all, my weight loss goals are going really well, and I have only six more pounds to lose.
So I wanted to continue on the path of self-discipline. And I know myself. A big chunk of getting--and keeping--victory is realizing weaknesses and avoiding temptation in the first place.
But when I saw the neatly arranged bags of Snickers, Butterfingers, and Almond Joys, all in fun sizes, I caved. That little voice on my shoulder lied, assuring me I would only eat a couple. That most of the candy would go to the super heroes, princesses, and hobos ringing our doorbell Halloween night.
And I had Gospel tracts, for crying out loud. Surely I could curb the fleshly nature.
Who was I kidding? How many 6 year olds do you know who actually like coconut and almonds?
I got a little bit panicked the afternoon of you-know-who's special day. I sent Tracy to the store to get a bag of something the kids might like better. So he brought home some kind of taffy and other citrus-y sweets. I didn't admit even to myself that I was more concerned with not having enough of my favorites to indulge myself than whether or not the children would like my favorite candies.
Gulp.
Well, we did give away lots of candy. And tracts. One dad even came back to thank us for our attempt to reach the kids with Good News.
But once I opened the first Butterfinger, I was doomed.
For me, sugar can be like booze is to an alcoholic. I wasn't even interested in asking God for help.
Just pass me the candy bowl, and nobody will get hurt.
A family member who will remain unnamed joined me when the doorbell slowed down and we could horde the leftovers to ourselves. We ate every last piece.
That night.
Even the citrus taffy.
Hoo boy.
Now don't get me wrong; I didn't wallow around in defeat for the next few days. I learned a long time ago that it's best to "agree with my adversary quickly along the way." So when the mental accusations began, I admitted my failure, asked for forgiveness, trusted in the power of the blood of Jesus and His grace to forgive me and cleanse me of all sin.
Fresh slate.
And a renewed commitment not to repeat my performance next year.
So that isn't what sickened me in the next few days. Nor was it a tummy ache from all the sweets I consumed.
It was what I heard on the news. Did you get the newsflash?
Americans spent 8 billion dollars on Halloween.
You read that right. With a "b," not an "m."
Oh, Lord God!
$8,000,000,000 on candy and costumes for just one day's fun.
And I contributed to that, wholeheartedly.
So I wrestled with the facts for a few days, asking the Lord to do more than just forgive me. I cried out for Him to change me!
How can I look at my African brothers and sisters without guile when I know they are hungry? Uneducated? Desperate? Waiting? And I'm stuffing my face with junk that hurts my health and makes me fat.
Sickening.
Please understand, I know God loves to bless us. But I've been struggling with the questions for over six years now: How much is enough? And how much is too much?
It's a personal question.
How you answer it is none of my business. (Or NOMB, as my friend Dianne says.)
But there is another question I want to ask you directly:
Can we raise $8,000 in the next month for the kids in Swaziland and Mozambique?
Not as a sin tax.
Not as a guilt offering.
Just as a joyful statement of love and faith to our God, Who loves orphans!
A fraction (one-one hundred thousandth) of what we Americans spent on one day of entertainment can change the life of countless African children.
We can feed 450 children for a long, long time with that kind of funding. Or send 26 elementary children to school for a year. Or finish a plumbing job to provide toilets to 16 boys at Hope House or . . . you get the picture.
That makes me want to do something. Right now.
I hope it inspires you, too.
I'm not saying we should all quit having fun and reaching out to our neighbors. But I do think perhaps in this economy God is asking us to weigh our choices.
If you want to contribute, you can go to http://www.grandstaffministries.com/donate.php or mail your check to Grand Staff Ministries, Inc., 406 West Avenue A, Buhler, KS 67522. Of course, all gifts are tax deductible.
Maybe you have a friend, relative, or Sunday school class you can share this goal with.
Thank you in advance.
I plan to put in the first donation.
And next year, I'm searching for green apple taffy.
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