The Unlikely Messenger: A Slice of Life with Debra Brown
Give, and it will be given to you… For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you” – Luke 6:38 (NIV).
Spanish moss rustled in the oaks. A few red and gold vine leaves glowed against the October sky. I checked the pumpkins waiting to be carved and sighed. Most years, I couldn’t wait for Halloween night, with the porch lit, cider simmering, and a candy bowl ready. But this year, instead of feeling festive, I felt too worn out to care.
As I stood in the kitchen, weighed down, our daughter Meredith, home from college, rummaged in the pantry.
“Where’s the candy?” she asked, her tone cheerful and expectant. “We need to get everything ready.”
“What if we keep the porch light off this year?” I whispered, hardly believing I’d said it aloud.
“What?” She didn’t argue, but her disbelief looked like smoke in the room.
In that silence, I felt a mix of shame and relief that I’d expressed my lack of enthusiasm. Maybe, for one night, I could disappear.
But as soon as I imagined a dark porch, childhood memories rushed back: feet crunching brittle leaves, cheeks stung pink by chilly fall air, pillowcases heavy with candy dragging the ground, and the thrill of spotting a house lit up against the night.
As a kid, I never forgot the house where someone handed out a full-size candy bar. Most homes offered suckers and minis, but every so often, we’d reach a door where the light glowed warm and welcoming—and inside the candy bowl waited, holding something special enough to feel like Christmas morning.
Once we wandered beyond our street, we didn’t know the names of those generous homeowners, but we remembered them. That one full-size candy bar said, “You matter.”
Years later, when l had a porch of my own to decorate and a candy bowl to fill, I remembered the joy from receiving those full-size candy bars. And I made a promise to myself to keep that tradition alive for the kids who came to my door.
Every October, I dressed the porch with pumpkins and mums, draped faux cobwebs across the windows, and simmered cider on the stove so its spicy fragrance would drift outside when the door opened. And always, I tucked a few full-size candy bars in with the minis—“for the wow factor,” Meredith said.
The reaction never failed. Wide eyes, raised brows, and grins stretching ear to ear showed their delight.
“Whoa! Full-size? This is the best!”
And sometimes, from the sidewalk: “Thank you! That made their night!”
It made mine, too.
That Halloween when I almost gave in to weariness, my daughter’s disappointment and my own memories nudged me. Kids would be remembering our house with anticipation. I couldn’t let it stay dark.
“Let’s hurry to the store,” I said to Meredith over breakfast. “We need candy!”
We dashed in and out and came home with bags of treats. Throughout the day, we carved pumpkins, swept the walkways, and tested the twinkle lights until the house looked festive.
When night fell, my dad’s recipe for apple cider simmered on the stove. Outside, the neighborhood came alive. Jack-o’-lanterns grinned from porches. Superheroes, ghosts, and princesses raced door to door. The air smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke. The street pulsed with laughter, barking dogs, squeaky wagon wheels, and the rustle of plastic treat bags.
I stood at the door in the darkness, listening as “Trick-or-Treat” floated through the air from our neighbor’s front doors. I took a breath and flipped the switch, which made the porch glow with light. I gave everyone moving up the line to me a big smile, oohed and awed over costumes, and said, “Pick whichever candy you’d prefer.”
As I watched the kids walk away with their full-size candy bars, I realized it’s often the smallest acts of kindness—a smile, a kind word, and a listening ear—that leave the deepest imprint. Those are the full-size moments: unexpected, unforgettable, and worth more than we realize.
Sometimes, they come when we choose to show up, even when weariness tempts us to hide. Just as the porch light glows against the dark, kindness shines in weary hearts and whispers God’s reminder: love multiplies and is never wasted.
And maybe a child will walk away from our porch knowing they mattered. That’s a memory worth handing out.
Debra Brown’s motto is “Be the Spark.” She has a passion for family, her 3 cats, flowers, pretty food, and health & wellness. Devra is an author, UGA honors graduate/The Citadel MBA.