The Spirit of Halloween

I love Halloween. There’s enough theater running through my veins to appreciate dressing up, doing something unusual with my hair, and an excuse to wear false eyelashes and blue eye shadow.

I also love Halloween because it brings with it many happy memories of childhood. We rarely had candy around the house, so eating all of the sugar was so novel and magical. I have distinct memories of my friends at school talking about their strategic trick or treating, how they knew where all of the “good houses” that gave out full sized candy bars were, and how they made sure to hit the right streets in order to maximize the candy-to-distance-covered ratio. I remember thinking how cool it would be to trick or treat like that, but knowing for certain that it was not going to be a possibility. Because trick or treating at the Sawaya house was strategic too.

I remember trick or treating at the trailer park, where old, lonely ladies would give us candy that may or may not pass the inspection of what was “recent enough” to eat. I remember walking quickly to specific houses in the neighborhood because someone had mentioned they looked forward to seeing us, or because dad was their home teacher. I remember driving an hour to trick or treat at grandma’s house. And I remember standing impatiently for what seemed like hours while mom and dad took the time to talk to everyone we visited.

I miss mom. She was such an amazing person, and she was such an incredible example of how to live a selfless life. She lived for others every single day of her life, in addition to being very grounded and intelligent. She personified the sentiment that “…there is power in self-sacrifice.”

To be honest, I miss her every day. I think I miss her more as I get older, because there are so many things I wish I could ask her. I wanted to talk to her about the decision to go to grad school. I wanted to talk to her about why heartbreak seems to get harder each time it happens. Living in Arizona now, a place that I always associated with her, I think about how she loved the sun. I want to talk to her about those few and far between, but very real, moments when I walk past baby clothes in Target and an overwhelming sense of longing that almost feels like bitterness creeps into my chest.

Aside from a certain knowledge of her love, the thing I remember most about mom was her testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It’s ironic that the thing she taught me most is the thing that prepared me to deal with her death – a peace in knowing that this life is not the end. It gives me the strength to face the things that are less than ideal. “As we make Christ the center of our lives, our fears will be replaced by the courage of our convictions.”