I spent Halloween evening with Dorothy and the Wicked Witch.
I braided Dorothy’s hair, and helped her buckle her ruby slippers. The Wicked Witch demanded layers of green paint to achieve the desired look. She was determined to look “super-mean,” yet she was, quite possibly, the cutest and sweetest witch I’ve ever encountered.
The girls had a ball.
It’s fun to pretend to be someone else, collecting a sack full of goodies along the way. Behind a mask, you can feel brave. In costume, you can — for a time — be someone you’ve always wanted to be.
But when the sun goes down, and the masquerade is gone, and the green paint is scrubbed away, there’s no place like home. There’s nothing like being who you are — a kid who just wants to feel safe in her own skin, loved for who she is, and tucked in by someone who loves her.
No costumes or masquerades. No pretending. No masks.
Before I go to church tomorrow, I want to make sure I’m not wearing a mask either.
Because on my own Yellow Brick Road headed toward home, I want to be “just me,” a girl safe enough in her own skin to go unmasked. Just like He made me.