I thought I had stepped into a Hallmark movie…

For many bizarre reasons, communities in northern Ohio…maybe in all of Ohio as far as I know…choose to celebrate Halloween on different days other than October 31st.  (I still don’t get it!)  But for whatever the reason, it goes without saying that community leaders…and parents…hope that the weather cooperates.  You see, Halloween arrives in northern Ohio at just the perfect time where the colors of the season are at its peak.  The reds and yellows of our trees turn daily images into paintings that would make Norman Rockwell jealous.  And with this change, our daily drives across town are transformed into virtual postcards.  The winds have begun to ratchet up its fall campaign drawing us closer to the first flakes of winter.  And with compliments of the wind, the colors of the trees begin to paint the skies with broad vivid strokes.

It truly is a magical time.

But as you can imagine, a storm..or even a downpour, can disrupt this living picturesque canvas and disappoint hundreds of little ghosts and witches seeking to charm their way into the hearts of the neighborhoods.  Not to mention completely destroy the ‘Rembrandt-in-the-making.’

Today, Mother Nature was a formidable opponent.

All through Sunday School and our Morning Worship Service the thunder crashed, the lightning flashed and rain came down in buckets.  It truly was a celestial backdrop as our Worship Leader led us in a couple refrains of ‘Majesty…Worship His Majesty.’  By the time the last ‘Amen’ of the service arrived, the downpour had slowed to a light steady soaker with intermittent moments of spooky possibilities.

By the time that Denise and I had wrapped up our ‘after church routines’ and had made our way to the parking lot, there was finally a break in the clouds.  After stopping to eat lunch at a local Chinese food knock-off, we began our 45 minute trek home across the rain-soaked landscape that was finally beginning to see a ray or two of sunshine.

The colors were beginning to shake off the beating they had been taking while glimpses of vibrancy were starting to peek through.  The sun was indeed behind the clouds, even if just for mere moments.

Each week, our journey home takes us through the large metropolis of Monroeville, Ohio, a burgeoning community of way less than 2,000 people.  By simple definition, Monroeville is a perfect example of rural Ohio.  A pair of traffic lights, a city park, a waterfall…and a Subway…all nestled in the Ohio farmlands.  To many, this town is nothing more than a ‘wide spot in the road.’.  To me, it’s supremely iconic.

By the time we rolled into Monroeville, slowing down for the solar-powered traffic reminders, it was evident that Trick-or-Treating was in full swing.  Making our way down the broken city streets, we were bombarded with hoards of super-heroes and villains, princesses and witches, ghosts, goblins and yes, even a ‘stroller-turned-gaming-machine.’ each with adult chaperones beaming from ear-to-ear watching ever so closely as their children made their way up sidewalks to homes anxiously awaiting the ‘childish ghouls’ to arrive.

But the thing that captivated this living portrait for me was not the masses of the children, but instead it was what awaited them.  For the seven minutes or so that it took for us to drive from one end of the city limits to the other, I was transported back to a time when communities were communities, not separated by race, religion or political preferences.  The children in Monroeville, Ohio didn’t have to knock on doors for candy…instead, homeowners were greeting the children!  Homeowners were on porches, in yards and even on sidewalks anxiously awaiting the coming throngs.  Every home as far as the eye could see, was prepared with mountains of candy, warm greetings, and tons of smiles and laughter.

For some strange reason, in those seven minutes, time stood still.

The farmlands greeted us as we crossed the city limits.  The roads were still wet from the morning downpours.  As I stared out the window watching the colors reemerge in the tree lines from the drenchings and dreariness of the day, I couldn’t help but wonder what would our world look like if what we had just experienced were the daily norm and the once-a-year exception.

One can dream.  But for now, seven minutes of perfection in main stream Americana will have to do.

For seven minutes, all was right in the world.

And for seven minutes, it didn’t rain.