Like candy to a baby...

Screams were heard outside the house. It couldn’t be missed. Anyone in the neighborhood could hear it. A lingering feeling of dread and despair pervaded the house. Walking or driving past the home, neighbors couldn’t help but feel a shiver, too curious to NOT look at the house, to try and see in the windows; after all, who lived in a house that seemed to be almost haunted? To make it worse there were other hints at spiritual oppression- an ill-kempt lawn, junk hanging from the trees, a general distraction with destruction.

Pretty soon the malaise spread- other homes and even businesses caught the virus. The citizens of the town were under the deception that everything was normal- business as usual. Not one person called the police or talked to the manager at the local ice cream shop when decapitated corpses showed up in a hearse parked out front. One store prided itself on the blood that dripped down the front door. And yet, this is all just good fun. Surely, I was just missing the point- Halloween is just good fun for kids. Right?

We don’t participate in Halloween. The darkness that has always been an integral part of Halloween but downplayed in such things as trick-or-treating and primary school parties has gotten much too dark- and sexualized. Try and find an innocent costume outside of the toddler ages in the costume shops and you will be frightened by what you see. “Naughty” angel costumes replete with crosses and super short skirt and breast hugging bodices, devil costumes with a low décolleté (for size 7 children- approximately 5-8 year olds). Truly the holiday dabbles in things other than the occult. Following suit with contemporary ready-to wear clothes, Halloween costumes are another opportunity for children to be exploited.

One of the main reasons we don’t participate in Halloween is that it is counterintuitive to living a life that glorifies Christ. If we are to emulate Christ (the light of the world, the living water, bright shining stars in the universe) than putting severed heads, glorifying death, and placing flying wraiths in your front yard is not the way to do it.

Our children rightly call it the devil’s holiday. Our neighbors and even some of our church friends think we are crazy or at the least a bit extreme. I think they are either too lazy to look into the real deal about Halloween, or too afraid of being a people set apart and taking a stand for the light and truth of Christ.

Halloween night is no joke for those involved with the occult and Satanism. To borrow from a website that says it best (link below) “Those who oppose Christ are known to organize on Halloween to observe satanic rituals, to cast spells, to oppose churches and families, to perform sacrilegious acts, and to even offer blood sacrifices to Satan. While some may say, "But we only do this in fun...we don't practice witchcraft," those things that represent Satan and his domain cannot be handled or emulated "for fun". Such participation places you in enemy and forbidden territory and that is dangerous ground…It (Halloween) does not have even one single redeeming virtue. It is custom born out of pagan superstition. It is a demon-inspired, devil-glorifying, occult festival. It is an evening holy unto evil, death, and divination. The Scriptures tells us to "Abstain from all appearance of evil." [1Thess. 5:22] “ How can we who call ourselves Christians dare to dabble in a festival based on evil?


http://www.jeremiahproject.com/culture/halloween.html

Spilled milk and Secret Mom School

I won’t cry over spilled milk- but I might about spilled pineapple juice. Tears may result after an event requiring an atypical drain of emotional and physical resources.

****(Camera pans a kitchen, Kitchen counters covered in remains of cookie-making detritus, school work obliterates refrigerator, background noise a din of little feet stomping upstairs, doors slamming, babies wailing, telephone ringing. Camera rests on full length shot of a woman who steps into kitchen only to find her shoe remain stuck in place after she tries to walk. Camera pulls to a tight shot of the woman’s face as it crumples- wrinkles evident around her eyes as they fill.)****

I am not sure who came up with the expression- about crying over spilled milk- but I am pretty sure it was a woman. I know this because there is simple sense to it. It optimistically rebukes the person to not don’t cry NOW without excluding LATER: there are more disheartening things to shed tears over in the future- and after all there is more milk tomorrow that can be spilled (the waste of it all! What a shame, with those starving children in Africa!) and the person to clean it up is Mom. Why? Because when Mom became a mom she took an ultra-secret class where no children or hubbies were allowed admittance, where They taught her how to clean up things so they were CLEAN, where she was the only one allowed to dispense the official “Yes, it is clean!” proclamation because she was the ONLY ONE WHO TOOK THE CLASS. I mean, certainly that must be the only reason that no one else seemed to be able to clean up the floor (the sink, the toilet, the counters…) when the mysterious gremlins came in and made the mess. Right?

When I was a new mother over 9 years ago I was having a conversation with a stay-at-home mother (SAHM) who confided to me that she found that the women who worked outside of the home were “different” from the ones who stayed at home. From her voice there was little doubt that she meant this in a negative way. Knowingly she promised- “You’ll see.”

This conversation occurred about 6 months before I was forced to return to work (30 hours a week) and attend school (full time) to finish my art degree. While I longed to be at home with my babies, I had just spent a grueling 10 months with twins as a single parent (though admittedly with a great deal of assistance from my mother) and must say that going back to work seems like a bit of a vacation. True, it was exhausted commuting and keeping the various plates spinning, but it contributed to my superwoman desire to “do it all.” I did feel a little guilty when I took pleasure in my work, constantly feeling like I “should” be at home with them. It felt unnatural and almost irresponsible that I was having someone else was raising my children. I really only had about 4 hours a day with them- and not the pretty bask-in-motherhood moments. We rushed to daycare, we rushed home from day care, we rushed dinner and baths, and then it was bed time.

Periodically I would see this woman and wonder, what was it that made the SAHM different from me? As time passed I was regretful of different things I was missing or missed having input on- I was envious of the day care mom’s insights into my toddlers’ life, bristled at the concerns she was having for them that I had not wanted noticed by anyone but me, cringed at a few of the movie choices that were shown to their innocent eyes without my input. Was this what I was missing? I wanted to have it all- and I could, but there was a cost. To gain financial stability I traded a loss of intimacy of my children’s days and ways. I have to give up on the small battles (food choices, questionable t.v. content, control of nap times) so that the bigger picture of quality day care was achieved. I had no choice. I HAD to work. I had a good situation with the day care. I had an excuse to pursue my own selfish desires too.

I met an amazing man, we married, I was able to cut back working to a flexible schedule that allowed me to work from home 1 day a week, and ultimately was able to resign. Suddenly I was home. All day. I maintained a freelance business for a period and enjoyed the novelty of being at home in the daylight hours during the week. I drove the kids to school and back, did homework with them, shopped and was available to my whole extended family. My prayers had been answered- all the things I had wished for became a reality.

Then I knew. I realized what the woman had talked about how SAHM are different. I knew what I had been missing. It was the crestfallen face of my daughter being harshly dismissed by a friend. It was the burst of joy over the loss of a tooth- not the end of the day report told with a bit less enthusiasm. It was me not being irritated over traffic and being preoccupied rather with how we could navigate our evenings as a family in a graceful, peaceful and intentional way. I was no longer schizophrenic in my thoughts. I could do the 15+ jobs that all mothers do- at home. Not from multiple locations. Not feel guilty having to leave work early to pick up my sick child from school, and then feel guilty for feeling frustrated at having to leave things at work half-done. My loyalties and devotions were to one place- my home and family. My energies were directed singularly. It was liberating. I felt free.

Women exist in a conflicted time- this is already well documented. For those who work outside of the home by choice there are many questions. Am I a selfish mother if I choose to work instead of spending my time raising my children? How much money is enough? If I dare to leave will I ever be able to return? Do I use my God-given gifts to pursue the things that I was doing before I had children that were worthy endeavors?

For the woman who chooses to stay at home there are equally tough questions, in part because her work is often (from the worldly point of view) not considered worthy of note. (My favorite question: “What DO you do all day at home??”) Now that I am at home I sometimes miss the work I was doing, the enervating conversations I had with intellectuals, the “beat” of the downtown to which I was part, the ability to actually finish a project. The nurturing work in the home is never finished. The little souls entrusted to us are always needy. It is not tidy, this lifestyle. I did not have an end-of-year review where I could report all my good jobs to get a raise. I don’t regret my decision to stay at home. I could never trade this life for my old working in the city one. I don’t want to miss the first laugh from my baby, the way the light shimmers over my daughter’s hair in the afternoon, the ability to serve my family with a whole heart and not be divided constantly pleasing a host of people.

One thing I have learned- the woman at home and the one who works outside the home needs to find her value and approval in our Maker- in Him alone- to have peace.