נפשי ישובב😘Prov28:9

I used to think Halloween came straight out of hell. I had charts. I had printouts. I could trace a demon family tree back to Samhain. Then a man asked me one question in his kitchen, and I had no answer. I grew up an Army brat on bases worldwide, and Halloween was one of the best nights of my year. My brother and I put together costumes from the thrift store, and my mom walked us through the neighborhoods. Sometimes my dad came too, when he wasn't deployed. He was an Army Ranger, and he was overseas a lot. October meant school parties, friends, and Disney Channel marathons. Later it meant The Worst Witch and Hocus Pocus on repeat. Then I met some Christians who told me Halloween came straight from the pit. Satan himself might ride down your street on Pee-wee Herman's red bicycle and snatch your kids. You might accidentally sell your soul while handing out candy. Or worse, your youth group would shun you, and you'd turn into Marilyn Manson. I was young in the faith and insecure, so I went all the way down the rabbit hole. Full Alex Jones on Halloween. Celtic paganism, druid sacrifices, the occult taking over America. I was convinced. Then we got to know a family near us. Homeschoolers like us. Soul-winners. They'd been at it longer than we had, and we respected them. One October day I gave the husband my whole presentation. He let me finish. Then he asked me one thing. "Adam, what other time of the year do lost people come to our house?" I stopped. He said You get Jehovah's Witnesses. Mormon kids. A church canvasser once in a while. But when do the lost walk up to your door and ask you for something? I had nothing. So he invited us over for Halloween. It felt like getting ready for the Super Bowl. Tables covered in candy. Five-gallon Menards buckets lined up on the floor. Stacks of gospel tracts. We sat around the kitchen table with a full house of people and wrapped a tract around every piece of candy until the buckets were full. Then we opened the blinds, turned on the porch light, and waited. Great Pumpkins came up the walk. Snoopy. Ninja Turtles. A few Minions. Each one left with candy and the gospel. A tract, sometimes a New Testament, sometimes the book of John. We gave out hundreds that night. The parents stopped on the porch to talk about church and God. A lot of them seemed surprised a Christian house had the light on at all. The next morning my wife and his wife hit Walmart for half-price candy and costumes for the kids' dress-up boxes. I walked into that house with a binder full of druids. I walked out wondering why I ever kept my porch light off. The Pharisees had the same complaint about Jesus that I had about Halloween. "And the Pharisees and scribes murmured, saying, This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them." (Luke 15:2) He kept doing it anyway. "And Jesus answering said unto them, They that are whole need not a physician; but they that are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." (Luke 5:31-32) You don't have to celebrate Halloween. Paul left room for conscience about days. "One man esteemeth one day above another: another esteemeth every day alike. Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind." (Romans 14:5) But one night a year your neighbors walk up to your door and hold out their hands. Halloween is Saturday. Get the tracts. Turn on the porch light