Every October, my husband and I like to drive through what might be the most festive neighborhood in town when it comes to Halloween. The good thing is – it’s just a couple of blocks from us.
You enter from one road, then in just a bit, the street curves and circles, so you can either keep going or turn around and head back the way you came. We go there in the spring for flowers, in the fall for foliage and in the winter for Christmas lights – but right now it’s all about Halloween.
Skeletons climb up on mailboxes, ghosts sway from tree limbs, and yards will soon glow in purples and oranges. My husband, who’s an artist and loves light in all its forms, calls it Disneyland.
We both love the imagination of it all – the friendly frightfulness and how every porch seems to wink at you. There’s something almost childlike about it, how neighbors go to such lengths just to make someone smile or jump. It always reminds me that creativity and community can glow even in the darker months.
But there’s a difference, I’ve decided, between the fun kind of fear on Oct. 31– and the kind that can quietly trail us home any night of the year.
Halloween fear is predictable: It pops out from behind a bush, then vanishes when the porch light flicks on. But everyday fear is sneakier. It comes disguised as “just being careful” or “thinking ahead.” It rides along in the passenger seat whispering, “What if this happens? What if that doesn’t?” These are the things that go bump inside – the fears of loss, failure, change or being alone.
Scripture reminds us that those voices aren’t from God. “For God has not given us a spirit of fear,” Paul wrote, “but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7). That verse doesn’t promise that life will never be scary, only that God doesn’t speak through fear. His words come in peace, even when circumstances don’t.
Still, it’s hard to see the way forward when darkness closes in. That’s when faith becomes what I think of as a flashlight – not a floodlight revealing the whole road, but just enough to take the next step. Sometimes that next step is all we’re given, and that’s enough. We don’t need to know the whole map; we just need to trust the One holding the light.
“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path,” the psalmist wrote. It’s that quiet, steady beam that steadies us, too. And remember: Like any good flashlight, our faith needs its batteries checked now and then – through prayer, scripture and time spent with God.
Then there’s another kind of fear entirely – the one the Bible calls “the fear of the Lord.” That’s not trembling in terror; it’s standing in awe. It’s realizing that the One who created light itself walks beside us through the dark. When we live in that kind of reverent awareness, smaller fears begin to lose their power.
So as October deepens and our drives take us past pumpkins and spiderwebs, I’m reminded that fear wears many masks. Some of them glow in the dark. Others accompany polite smiles or try to cover up restless thoughts. But only one fear – holy awe – brings peace instead of panic.
If I’m afraid, I try to remember the psalmist’s simple confession: “I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears” (Psalm 34:4).
The porch lights may flicker. The night may feel long. But faith, like a freshly charged flashlight, keeps shining – leading us one steady step at a time.
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Sallie Rose Hollis lives in Ruston and retired from Louisiana Tech as an associate professor of journalism and the assistant director of the News Bureau. She can be contacted at sallierose@mail.com.
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