Halloween

I should start this post by saying that yes, we are a Christian family and yes, we observe Halloween.

So now you know.

But because we live in the country, on a tiny road with no streetlights, surrounded by cornfields (where I'm certain there are children of the corn hiding) and railroad tracks, we don't get many trick-or-treaters.

In fact, we don't get ANY trick-or-treaters. Ever. And because I can't get enough Reese's cups my kids enjoy dressing up for Halloween, we go trick-or-treating each year in one of the towns nearby.

It just so happened that the soup kitchen where we volunteer was hosting a Light-the-Night event for trick-or-treaters with a bonfire, hotdogs, coffee, candy and apple cider and we, who are always up for free fun, were all about it. (Incidentally, this was the first time I tried apple cider. The verdict: I'm not a fan.)

So we trick-or-treated for a while before heading to the church.

It's really too bad he didn't enjoy himself. (j/k)

It's always funny to watch Chancho's stages of Halloween. Each year, he starts off trick-or-treating with caution, slowly approaching each house, quietly mumbling "trick-or-treat" while hiding behind my legs. Then he gets braver and braver as the night goes on. Before long, he's bouncing off of porches, petting strange animals and saying, "No, I don't like those. Can I have those instead?" to the people passing out candy.

Just one more house, please!

Sissy and Bubby were ready to call it quits fairly early, which was fine with Big A and me. After I made sure we had an adequate amount of chocolate coated peanut butter candy, we went back to the church to hang out by the fire.

It's a good thing Bubby ate three hotdogs that night. He's all skin and bones!

My Southern Belle, Skeleton boy and Iron Man. They were fading fast at this point.

What I loved most about this night is just how comfortable the kids are at the soup kitchen. They love going. 

They love serving. I'm pretty sure they don't even realize they're serving. They think it's fun to spoon food onto plates and clean tables and drink all the pop they want and play with new friends. When we aren't able to go, they miss it.

I miss it. Since I got over my fear of being God's hands and feet, the soup kitchen has become like a second home to me. No matter what has happened during the week, I feel better when I go there. And I know it sounds cliche, but I receive so much more than I give. Much much more.

I'm praying that serving and sharing become second nature to Bubby, Sissy and Chancho, that they realize just how much they receive when they give of themselves.

Especially when they give their mom their Reese's.