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Monthly Archives: May 2012
He always wants to “day owdi” (play outside) He whines and screams if he can’t follow his big brothers into fun and adventure.
He’s happiest digging and throwing dirt. He grabs peas off the vine and stuffs them in his mouth.
He is amazed by ev. ry. thing.
He loves shoes, grown up silverware, small furniture and insists on drinking out of real cups.
He’s already too cool for school and all grown up in his book.
He throws his arms in the air and yells “yay” for anything he likes, which still include “mum mums” (take your best guess)
He adores Da Da and “dog dogs”. He called our new tadpoles fishies today.
He throws his whole body into running and his whole heart into loving.
He is our gift, our miracle. We have had almost two years in a lovely home with this precious man. We’ve had to work through a lot and it hasn’t always been pretty. We have both wanted to quit, to give up. But as always we keep pressing and our good Father has given us this time, this place to rest and heal.
Baby man thinks he is ready to conquer the world and we feel the season shifting, the winds of change blowing. We are leading big boys running into little men now, no longer babies. In the loosing there always comes the thrill of newness. New adventures, new challenges as we learn this next step. We wrestle with decisions and step cautiously into uncharted territory that will only look clear in the rear view. Our mistakes and trials brushed in bold strokes upon my memory, I struggle against regret to grab hold of all the blessings and lessons.
Learning, teaching always walk hand in hand. I pray for grace and wisdom in this day to prepare them for the next. We find His goodness, His whisper in the growing things, the rain kissed garden and the sunlit wild.
5-23-12 . 24-70mm . vsco + lr . cloudy morning
Something stopped them in their tracks, pretty intensely interested in . . .
all the remote control planes in the sky!
and dolphins!!!
Yes, I was on the hike too. David tried to get them to wait for me while I took a shot of my shoes, what a sweetie.
Down the cliff we went . . .
dug in the sand, caught sea creatures, got wet and were perfectly happy!
Aaron telling me about the wave he encountered . . .
Oh no, the water got a bit to close to baby man and he was not pleased!
It’s Epic everywhere you look around here and I like that. A. Lot.
Amidst a lot of mayhem and stressful decisions recently . . . it was nice to just have a perfect day.
This is why we love it here . . . this is why we do what we do.
Don’t know if a perfect day was handed to us or if we just pushed away all the distractions and grabbed hold of it . . . probably both.
5-20-12 . 24-70mm . cloudy midday
I don’t have a lot to say.
Just that this is my white space. My days are full crowded with noise and work. Recently it’s decisions and worry. But everything has to drop and I pick up the lens to rightly see little boys in golden light. Night falling and they are still full to the brim with energy, running, running . . .
They say the most important part of a piece of art is the negative space.
When you’re putting pencil to paper or brush to canvas, what you’re actually crafting are the untouched areas. The decision to let lie at rest brings the beauty and the focus to the focal point, the point of importance, that one part that truly matters and has something to say in the work. The dancing play of white space lets the work breath, empowers it to speak.
The to do list looms, worries creep in. I try to think it all through, work out the puzzle, control the uncontrollable and I run on empty. Til I remember this cramming of it all in makes for kitsch and ugly paintings. The overworking of the brush strokes muddies the image. So I erase space to take a deep breath. This my white space, garden growing and capturing the moments, sitting with steaming tea and squares of chocolate to see where they will take me. I fell in love with editing my photos while I lay on the couch healing, baby snug on my chest, then as he grew, me at my desk with him lying snoring across my shoulder. Now he gallops through the day, nurses and falls to dreaming in his bed as I sneak downstairs for a few moments of quiet to soak up the day. For a few moments of white space . . . that helps me rightly see them
(I was inspired by a photographer blogging his homemade slingshots. So I got my boys some slingshot bands but they are still in search of the “perfect” sticks for them. While they search they wreak lots of mayhem shooting playdoh from them with their hands. This night baby man joined in the craziness! What could be more fun for a toddler than a giant rubber band? And yes Baby Man’s other nickname is Ninja Baby! )
Do you have white space in your life? If not, get some quick! It could be anything, cooking, crafting, gardening, reading, running, anything you love that puts your mind at rest and lights your heart up . . .
5-14-12 . 24-70mm . dusk
I am a mother to potted plants and a baby flown away.
Children grown in pots, filled lovingly with soil and whisked off to the next home every few years. I want them to send their roots down, shoot out for miles and soak up the California soil, but I am afraid. Fearful to let down my guard, loose control because the earth is years and years, generations of life and death all mixed together. My pots are handpicked, filled exactly with what I “think” is best and they are a heavy but transient load to hoist and take to the next stop on our journey leading where? Do you know this fear, this uneasy unrest, the constant question . . . what do I have to give, where should they grow, when should I trim, how under heaven do I feed them what they need?
And the baby flown away, he reminds me the darkness in this world, he whispers that all will be well in the someday of eternity. I loose track of his blond curls, his sweet face and I forget he is a man running now, more real, more alive, more himself than we. I know that he loves me because he told me in a dream and I wonder why. Me a failure of a mother and carrying these children the only thing I’ve ever done that really matters.
Do you know this pain of feeling failure, of babies flown or never given? Is this day beauty or a scar? Can it be anything other than both? Questions, questions and they’re all I know anymore. Resting in their equilibrium the only thing to do. Soaking up the searing pain and scandalous beauty intertwining because they feed each other. Symbiotic and the death feeds the soil, the blooms making it worth all the sacrifice. Only today’s bloom can be held but it carries in it the seed of tomorrow’s sweet smell. Falling to the ground to rise again.
So we dig our hands down in the soil, no matter where home lies, no matter our space on the land. Blessed by the sun and rain and the Maker of this grand globe. Tiny specs pressed down and we wait for them to spring up and surprise with the miracle once again, bellies filled and tongues thrilled.
Questions swirl and my heart beats fast and frail, but this garden is so good. So good and the one to come is better. I thank him for these seedlings given undeserved, blessed children and the one He holds tight. Beg for wisdom to be a good gardener of little hearts and thank Him for the rain and sun that I could never shower on them.
No matter your journey or who you hold in your arms, I pray you can rest in His love this Mother’s Day.
Many days I’m blind. Hands placed decidedly across my eyes or hiding behind a wall, to timid to peek out. Some days just too dead tired to lift my head and look.
But the story is still there, revealed by each artist, shared by His body – wether I choose to witness or not. To see takes cutting through all the noise, stepping purposeful and looking what is important square in the face.
Strength comes from seeing his body sharing the same struggles, being nudged toward the same goals – longings, dreams and wisdom mingle online. I don’t know if it’s because we hear each other, wake to a thought and echo our own – or if it’s because He is leading us in similar seasons as a whole. Maybe both are intertwined, maybe He uses our words and images to speak to each other.
This week at worship the world overwhelms and I keep my lips shut tight, eyes clouded with tears. Come home in the dark to the man I love and see more clearly in His arms. Us silly kids, friends, lovers battle scared and road weary – one body we are, laying down our defenses, showing eachother the way back to being beloved.
And then the week starts frantic, nose to the grindstone makes it hard to see straight. He comes home, tells me I’m doing the right thing, just don’t give up. Calms my heart enough to hear a familiar voice that I have never met speak truth, beautiful radiant truth into my harried mess. I read and I see more clearly. A friend’s text and I know I’m not alone in being hard pressed. An email and I’m sharing past pain in order to give hope. I remember all the body giving each other sight, strengthening our arms for His work. A family who I know only from their words and images ringing true – remind me I’m not alone in the hard task and blessing of growing new life. They share my longing for space and wonder where to call home and inspire with their contentment in all seasons. A musician‘s iPhone photos open my eyes again to all the exploration and beauty that I forget in the day to day. Another family inspiring with their nonstop adventures overflowing with laughter, taking time to teach me how to capture my own moments. Mothers laying out Bibles and scooping up light spilled on children. A daughter and mother crafting loveliness locally and spilling joy on everyone they meet. I could go on and on . . . His body broken for each other, sharing our scars and feeding each other with beauty and hope. It only takes a shred of courage to open my eyes a bit, just a peek around the corner with a faithful gaze to recognize His handiwork, to see His church amidst the fury of this world. And it takes a moment to slow down, to tear my gaze away from the whirling chaos that demands my attention, to hear and see Him speak through story, through art and through each other’s lives.
The photos above are from this session I shot of my friend and her boys recently. I didn’t ask them to pose like this, these images just came from them exploring interacting with the camera. Children are so raw and real, they seem to know it’s all about seeing – or not. I envy the honesty they know to look with, that honesty we forget as we “mature”.
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