This past weekend I got into a conversation with my mother about how much she hates Halloween. This was obviously no surprise to me as we seem to have this conversation every year around this time, not to mention she never allowed us to dress up or go trick-or-treating as kids. She believes that Halloween is evil and that by dressing-up or carving pumpkins we are worshiping the devil. As I pondered on my mother's hatred toward this day, I started wondering what it would have been like to get to pick out a costume, get all dressed up and go trick-or-treating as a little girl. It was then that I realized that actually I did get to wear a costume as a little girl...the problem was that I was never allowed to take it off.
You see, in a family like mine costumes were a part of every day life. We were taught to never leave home without our costume complete for everyone to look at in amazement. To the world we pretended that we had it all together, that we were a "happy" family and everything was perfect. All dressed up during the day I appeared upbeat and light-hearted, but on the nights when the lights grew dim and my father came to visit his little girl, fear and confusion became my allies. On the inside I was broken and hurting, but I knew that as long as I put on my costume nobody would be able to tell...nobody except me.
By God's grace alone was I able to take off my costume. It came off one small piece at a time. It had become such a part of me that it was difficult to actually let it go. Underneath was the immense pain, the shame, the guilt, the anger, the confusion...all the things I did not want exposed. As hard as it was, it was through uncovering my brokenness that I was healed. With the secret of sexual abuse revealed, the body suit I had long been wearing suddenly fell off. Through the countless hours of counseling, off came the gloves one by one. After weeks of opening up to a support group, I was able to shed the boots that bound my feet. Through the support and prayers of those God divinely put in my life, the wig was detached from my head. As I made a conscious decision to surrender my pain and brokenness to the only one who can heal, the mask I had worn for so long came crashing to the ground. For the first time in my life I was able to see the person God created me to be, and what I saw was beautiful.
It is ironic to me that as much as my mom hates Halloween and objects to dressing up and wearing costumes, that is exactly what she has done and has taught me to do all my life. My mother believes we are dishonoring God when we put on a costume for Halloween, but I believe we are far more dishonoring to God when we refuse to take off our costumes and continue to live a make-believe and counterfeit life. God is honored when our brokenness is healed, not when it is concealed.While millions of kids are running home from school today racing to put on their costumes, I challenge you to finally take yours off...for what is hidden beneath is beautiful.
