Halloween is coming and I’m feeling nostalgic. So many warm memories come to mind this time of year.

My sentimental feelings rise in the fall when school starts and the leaves begin to turn color. I get wistful about my grade school days and how I loved outdoor excursions where we collected red, brown and yellow leaves. Orange pumpkins and black witches flew in a border around the classroom walls, and I’d eagerly anticipate the Halloween party complete with kool aid and cupcakes. Given black construction paper, I’d invariably draw a cat prancing on a white fence under a yellow moon.

Fall is also a special time of year for me because it’s when I met my husband, when we got married and when my boys were born.

I met Woody my second year in Bible school. He asked me out on our first date to celebrate his Halloween birthday. I knew I was in for an adventure when he picked me up in his 260-Z and promptly informed me that he wasn’t going to tell me where we were going or what we were doing.

First, we stopped by Kentucky Fried Chicken, then drove to a city park and climbed to the top of a hill where he spread our feast. Along with the chicken he had also brought a mystery bag from which he pulled other surprises. A goblet ornately carved out of olive wood which he had brought back from his trip to Israel. A cluster of grapes. Gallantly he poured the drink of Martinelli’s in my fancy goblet.

Finally, at the end of the meal he grinned mischievously at me and said, “And now, what every girl dreams of on her first date with a guy.” I about fainted, sure he was going to kiss me. Instead, he reached in his bag and presented me with a gigantic lollipop. This memory still makes me smile.

I see the harvest decorations adorning my neighbor’s houses and it takes me back to the days when my front door used to look just as cheery. One year our boys, Justin and Tim, grew pumpkins in the garden and harvested about fifty, bringing them all to the front porch for decoration, an impressive arrangement. A ladder accommodated their glowing jack-o-lanterns on every rung. Our boys loved Halloween and proclaimed it their favorite holiday.

Another year they grew one giant pumpkin with great excitement and pride. I’m sure it could have won a contest. With much effort we lugged it to our front steps to nestle in a happy display of corn stalks. The following morning the prize gourd was gone. Stolen. The boys were devastated, and I was madder than a witch deprived of her broom that someone could so heartlessly do that to little kids.

To my exasperation, the boys never chose conventional Halloween costumes. When Justin was old enough to go trick or treating, I asked him what he wanted to be.

“A house,” he said.

“Are you sure? Why not something easy, like dracula or a ghost?”

“Nope. Wanna be a house.”

I couldn’t persuade him to consider any other ideas.

So I rigged up a cardboard box, painted on windows and doors, put him inside, added a little roof, and he was happy as a blackbird in a corn patch.

Another time Tim wanted to be a rocket. Oh right. How would I pull that off? I envied the lucky moms who could just go to the store to buy a cheap costume! Again cardboard served me. I cut out a crude rocket (I’m not a great artist), painted it and hung it around his neck.

Justin finally graduated to a “real” costume as an eighth grader when he informed us that a super scary outfit was in the works. He appeared in his dad’s business suit, complete with briefcase and homemade business cards stating “IRS AGENT,” which he then gleefully passed out to homeowners. My entrepreneur-minded husband agreed that this costume truly invoked the fear factor.

Every year family friends came to celebrate Woody’s Halloween birthday and take the kids trick or treating in our neighborhood. I’d put on a crock pot of apple cider, light the jack-o-lanterns and revel in the scents of cinnamon, cloves and pumpkin pie in my house. While the men took the kids on their rounds, we women stayed cozy and warm, visiting between the call of the doorbell and neighborhood treat or treaters. It became a cherished tradition.

Our children are all grown now and we don’t get together for Halloween anymore. Seasons change and we must grow with them.

But today I’m indulging in the rich cornucopia of memories. And I feel blessed.

This summer I attended a Wayne Cordiero leadership conference. He told the biblical story (Mark 5: 25-34) of the hemorrhaging woman who came to Jesus and touched the hem of his robe for healing. When Jesus asked, “Who touched me?” the disciples were baffled because they were in a crowd and everyone was jostling him. It seemed like a stupid question. But this woman pressed in to Jesus for her deepest need, and power went out from him.

Wayne asked, “Do we come to church to just ‘bump into Jesus?’ Or do we come to really meet him, to touch the hem of his garment for healing because He is our only hope? When we come as this woman did, determined to just touch him and believing if we do we will receive our healing, then the healing power flows.”

A friend attended the conference with me and was deeply moved by these words. She has suffered much over a long period of time.

She commented, “I’ve been suffering from a bleeding heart for years. I, too, long to touch the hem of the Lord’s robe for healing. I want to plead with Him, ‘Lord, please stop the flow of pain and let me be whole again.’”

Jesus was sensitive to the cry of a desperate heart though He was surrounded by a pressing crowd. Are you desperate enough, tired of what is hemorrhaging in your life? Reach out and touch the hem of his garment. Our gentle and sensitive Savior still stoops to attend desperate hearts today.

And He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace and be healed of your affliction.”

The seventy-two returned with joy and said, “Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name.” He replied, “…do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven. (Luke 10:17-20)

The kind of power Jesus gave the disciples was pretty heady stuff. No wonder they got excited. I rejoice over much lesser things.

At first glance it may appear that Jesus is raining on their parade, but if we look closer, we see that He’s giving the disciples a handle on how to deal with success. He points out that while success is a wonderful gift from Him, it too is fleeting.

The next time I’m hopping up and down high fiving everyone, I want to remember this verse in the following “translation”:

“Do not rejoice that…

You’re moving into your dream house
You landed your dream job
You won the lottery
You lost fifty pounds
Your husband suddenly changes—God answered your prayers
You are going on your dream vacation
Your team won the championship
Your kid won a full-ride scholarship to a prestigious college
You found your soul mate friend
Your book got published
Or_________________________

…but rejoice that your name is written in heaven.”

Thank you, Jesus, for a grounded perspective for all flights to cloud nine.

By Ruth Wood

“To play without passion is inexcusable!”
~ Ludwig van Beethoven

• You have to endure the boring moments to get to the fun.
• You’ll learn faster if you slow down.
• Practice makes permanent, not necessarily perfect.
• Take time to problem solve difficult passages.
• Discipline yourself to do things right the first time.
• Be passionate in the moment.
• Play loud.
• Play soft.
• Express the full range of your emotions.
• It’s all about the journey. When you get to your destination, it’s over.
• Own the stage.
• Love others with the music in your soul.

Be still and know that I am God. (Psalm 46:10)

I hate writer’s block. You know, when you sit at the computer, stare at the screen and don’t have a clue about what to say. You wonder why you ever thought you have something to offer. No creative ideas pop into your head. Worst of all, a deadline looms and you’re feeling pressured and irritable.

My relationship with God can feel that way sometimes. I struggle to connect with Him; I long to reach His heart. Just like in writing, sometimes when I pray, the words and the feelings don’t flow.

In dealing with writer’s block I’ve used a technique I call scuba diving. I go somewhere quiet, mentally submerge myself into the depths of the subject, and record my observations. I’m simply exploring without the pressures of having to perform. The longer I stay “submerged,” the deeper I usually go and the more treasures I find.

This technique can benefit our relationship with God as well. When I feel distant from Him it’s time to slow down, listen, and submerge myself in His presence. Taking time out from my usual routine helps—a bike ride in the park, journaling by the fire, a quiet walk under the stars.

For years I’ve read the Bible regularly and now the words are so familiar that I too easily skim over them. In order to go deeper with God, I need to abandon spiritual snorkeling and graduate to scuba diving. Scripture memory and meditation is one way to collect truths unhurried beneath the surface knowledge of God. In depth Bible study is another. Recently I read a secular book that challenged my beliefs. By studying scriptures to help me sort out subtle lies as well as truths in the book, the Word came alive for me in new ways.

Praise and worship also helps open our hearts to the depths of God’s love. I love singing to the Lord in the car on long drives (when I’m alone). A couple time I’ve danced to praise music on my backyard patio, but I couldn’t fully relax. Still too worried someone is going to see me!

Are you longing for refreshment in your relationship with the Lord? I challenge you to try spiritual scuba diving!