My wife and I arrived in Deadwood, South Dakota for what is billed as one of the wildest Halloween costume parties in the world. But as the sun dipped behind the Black Hills and the crowds roamed the streets, something different happened: we decided not to chase the party — and instead, we found peace, laughter, and love in the quiet moments together.
Our decision wasn’t planned. It was subtle. One evening, we held hands in our hotel window overlooking Main Street, and we simply watched the parade of costumes drift by. We didn’t feel the pull to join. We didn’t feel the need to be louder than the chaos. Something in our hearts whispered that this year could look different.
And it did.
The Pull of the Crowd vs. the Grace of Stillness
There’s something magnetic about a big party, a big crowd, a night where you should be loud and wild and free. We’ve done those nights before. We’ve laughed until our cheeks hurt, danced until our feet ached, and awakened in the morning not remembering how we got home. That used to feel like freedom.
But as we’ve grown older — as our faith has deepened, our marriage matured — the “fun” we once chased began to shift.
In the midst of the costume-clad masses in Deadwood, surrounded by revelry, we chose instead to turn inward: to our hearts, to each other, to the quiet. We discovered that joy doesn’t always shout. It often whispers. And peace is found not in the crowd, but in the calm.
This shift echoes what spiritual writers have long pointed out: true, lasting happiness is not a momentary flash, not a wild event, but a steady soul-state grounded in something deeper. “True happiness,” one writes, “is not a momentary pleasure … but a perspective and way of being.” Always Well Within+2Quidnessett Baptist Church+2 In our case, that perspective changed over this Halloween weekend.
A Walk Through Deadwood — with A Difference
Picture the scene: rustic saloon-fronts lit up with orange lanterns, wooden sidewalks echoing with boots and boots again, cowboy hats and zombie masks nesting side by side. The music drifts through the canyon of storefronts, the laughter echoes through the night air, fireworks might pop above the ridges.
We could have joined that whirl. We could have donned costumes, danced on tables, shouted. But instead, we walked hand in hand, slower than the crowd. I watched her smile behind a mask of skeleton teeth, and suddenly the world didn’t feel so demanding.
We paused at a small café tucked away off the main drag. The overhead sign flickered “Live Music Tonight!” Yet we chose the back patio. Two chairs. A single candle. No soundtrack but the wind in the pines. We sipped our coffee (hers cinnamon-spiced, mine black). We didn’t talk much. We just sat. I realized how rare that felt.
As our conversation unfolded, it wasn’t forced. It was rich. We talked about how marriage looks when the kids are grown, when the routines have settled, when the outer noise quiets down. We laughed about silly costumes we’d worn in earlier years, and we thanked God for grace that allowed us to grow into each other, rather than drift apart.
That’s when the shift happened. The party was around us, but we found the real event in our togetherness.
Faith, Marriage and the Beauty of Growing Older with Grace
There’s a verse I hold onto: “Where true happiness is found … in cultivating a life of pursuing the Lord … and daily living under His complete Lordship.” Quidnessett Baptist Church In our younger years, we pursued fun. Now we pursue meaning. A dynamic shift, yes—but one tied to our faith, our commitment, our sense of what we’re building together.
Marriage, I’ve realized, is not just about the fireworks. It’s about the embers that glow long after the bonfire dims. A quiet understanding. Shared glances across a table. A hand squeezed in a moment of silence. It’s not lesser—it’s richer.
So in Deadwood, when the noise faded in my ears and the lantern-light softened around us, I saw clearly: growing older doesn’t mean losing the thrill; it means gaining the depth. It means discovering that joy isn’t always loud. It doesn’t need confetti. It needs presence. It needs love.
And faith? It remains our anchor. It reminds us that happiness isn’t found in the next big event, the wildest night, the greatest escape. It’s found when we stop running and simply sit together in the stillness. When we look around and thank God—not for the party, but for the Person who entered every quiet moment with us.
The Quiet Moments That Changed Everything
Let me walk you through three distinct snapshots of our weekend that illustrate this shift:
- Sunrise on the Ridge
While most of the party-goers recovered, we climbed a small trail just outside the town. The dawn broke in waves of pink and gold over the hills. We stood in silence, letting the air cool our skin, letting the world wake slowly around us. We didn’t speak much. But in the hush of creation, we felt God’s presence more than the loudest cheer could ever deliver. - The Costume We Didn’t Wear
Back in our room, we had planned costumes—hers elegant gothic-vampyre, mine cowboy-zombie hybrid. We changed our minds. Instead, she wore a simple blouse and jeans, I wore my comfortable shirt and jeans too. Because in our hearts, this act of choosing simplicity became a symbol: we let go of performance, we let go of spectacle, and we let in genuine connection. - The Fireside Confession
On our last night, a small fire pit crackled near the saloon’s back lawn. We sat together in the wooden bench, surrounded by low lights and distant music. She rested her head on my shoulder; I wrapped my arm around her. I whispered our prayers—thanks for love, thanks for growth, thanks for the journey ahead. No loud amen, no crowd; just the hush of two hearts linked in faith and hope.
In that quiet, powerful moment, everything changed. The “party” around us faded into background noise. The real story became us—and God.
Why We Didn’t Party This Year—and Why That Was OK
You might be wondering: “Wasn’t it weird to skip the fun? Didn’t you feel like you missed something?” Yes, maybe the crowd wondered. But no—we didn’t feel like we missed anything important.
Here’s why:
- We redefined fun. Fun didn’t mean being the loudest; it meant being true to ourselves. And to our faith.
- We discovered depth. Instead of a fleeting high, we found the high of a grounded soul. One that rests in God, in marriage, in each other.
- We embraced presence. Rather than being distracted by everything happening around us, we were present to each other, to our Maker, to the moment.
- We gave thanks. For growth, for years past, for years ahead. For the ability to simply sit in silence and love.
This might sound radical in a world that values excitement. But I’m telling you: joy doesn’t always demand flashing lights. It often whispers and invites us to listen.
A Message for You — Wherever You Are
If you’ve ever wondered where true happiness comes from, this is for you. Maybe your “fun” looks different now than it used to. Maybe you used to party hard, now you party soft. Maybe you used to chase noise, now you embrace stillness.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
- Stop running.
- Sit down.
- Hold the hand of the one beside you (spouse, partner, friend, God).
- Breathe in the moment.
- Let gratitude rise.
Because life’s best moments often happen when we finally stop running—and simply sit.
And if you’re married, walking in faith, or seeking to love someone well: marriage is not about lighting fireworks every night. Sometimes it’s about lighting a candle and talking until midnight. Sometimes it’s about peace, not party. Sometimes the loudest celebration is a quiet prayer, a gentle word, a shared smile.
So if you’re thinking, “Is fun over for me?” I’m here to tell you: no. Fun has simply matured. Joy has taken on a new form. And if you’re willing to step into it, the blessing will surprise you.
Watch This Next
💬 I’d love for you to take a few minutes and watch this talk: “Where true happiness is found”. Let it speak to your heart. Let it change your story.
Final Prayer & Invitation
Lord – thank You for this still moment. Thank You for love that stays. Thank You for peace that doesn’t fade. Help us to listen when the world is shouting. Help us to sit when the world is running. Help us to find our joy in You, together, in quiet strength.
And for you reading this today – may you discover the gentle power of quiet love. May your next step — however small — be a step toward peace, presence, and purpose.
Thank you for being here.
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