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“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then but that’s no matter – tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther . . . And one fine morning –   So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

–  F. Scott Fitzgerald – The Great Gatsby

I always hoped the future would bring the dreams I had envisioned. Feared it would bring the disasters I could imagine.

I knew when they were babes in my arms, it would not last. Still I thought maybe it could. Thought I could catch those moments and hold them tight like tiny babes clinging to their mother. I am borne back ceaselessly into the past, rushing forward to what’s to come, hopeful and half afraid. I find it so hard to stop and be – content. To own the space and time I’m in and give it all up.

I wonder if some out there are living the dream or if we all get to a point, crossing the tracks and wondering just how did our path lead here? Looking for a train to sweep us away or run us down. I thought I would live amongst the green and trees, a few acres of bliss, gardens laid out and horses roaming. I would not live in the world where one has to scrape and toil just to keep the home fires kindled, we would bloom and bring forth a life more blessed. Life has not unfurled as I imagined. Neither have my worst fears. I live somewhere between in uncertainty and bewilderment. Lost in the past, surging on towards the future, wondering just how I got here to this present I never could have dreamed. Contentment seems to always be escaping me, racing away as I watch other’s lives and wish for whatever I do not have . . . travel and excitement, recognition and success, quiet and solitude, community, a perfect family – anything – everything – the ability to make it through a day better than I do . . . As I grasp for what I think I need or should have, contentment flees and with it takes the possibility for any gratitude. I stomp my feet, demanding my way . . .

“Left to ourselves we tend immediately to reduce God to manageable terms. We want to get Him where we can use Him, or at least know where He is when we need Him. We want a God we can in some measure control.”

–  A. W. Tozer – The Knowledge of the Holy

But as C. S. Lewis wrote of that great lion Aslan, He is good but He is not tame . . .  when I see feathered boys with shining eyes I know my silliness for pining for my own plans. I could never have dreamed up creatures as magnificent as these dancing through my life, these little men collecting joy like beads on a string. My questions of control and choice fall silent before their creation, ever growing they build kingdoms beautiful out of sticks and simple faith.

I am humbled by this present and all the story surrounding it. And I am Thankful

 

These photos are from our simple Thanksgiving celebration with Jesse’s mother – breakfast and a hike to the beach with our little Indians, followed by dinner outside by the fire. The super rad headdress Aaron is wearing was made by my husband’s mom when Jesse was a kid.

11-22-12 . 24-70mm . VSCO2 Portra 400 UC++

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  • Malissa Waterford - Sharon,
    I want to live next door or at least sit for hours over coffee that grows cold because the conversation is that good. Alas, the redundancy of my own desires bangs its head on the skylight while the invitation to the roof is left waiting in a pile somewhere.
    I love this post. I love the table outside and the growing more handsome faces. I love words put to so many beats of my heart. I cherish you from the ditch! Maybe today I’ll lay down my shovel and throw a tea party or take a nap.
    Loveage,
    MalissaReplyCancel

    • Sharon - oh man I wish we lived closer too Malissa! love you and miss you – hoping to make a trip out your way this fall 🙂 xoReplyCancel

I have been walking the edge of darkness, staring into the abyss

doubt grows heavy and I am afraid

Afraid there might be nothing

at every turn seeing only cruelty in the story and staring into the void, faith slipping through my fingers.

When my breasts burst with milk and no child to give it to, I was wrapped in His comfort, hoping for redemption. A year later the dark birthday’s balloon slipped away from us and I held close new life. Content. Thankful. Two years, two more balloons floated away and all I saw was beauty. Three years and we march to the sand, a date with remembrance. I am numb. And I am angry. Hope waning fast. Hating myself for this ugliness, sinking past confusion to quiet. Quiet aposty crying out to Him to again prove Himself. Prove that when the years wear long, newness fading into a twisted present, that He is still good.

All the talk of story and love, goodness and gratitude fail before the memory of his body lifeless. Meaning falters before news of bombs ripping families to shreds, it collapses before cancer stealing life away and all the little heartbreaks and minor absurdities our race is drowning in. The sun grows dim before darkness all around, fathers absent and mothers confused, all the noise and pain threatening to blot out the light.

So I did not cry out. An ache down deep fading into something so much worse – numbness. Afraid that maybe there isn’t anything, my arms fall to my side – nothing real to grasp

because if there is Goodness more real than the air we breath, than the colors we see . . . then why would it write us into a story of pain and loss, futility?

I didn’t want one more go round of the Sunday school answers “because we sinned, because He gave us free choice, because He wants there to be true love and it’s not bred by compulsion.” I was not born at the dawn of time, I didn’t write the first chapter of rebellion. I was born into this dysfunctional family that is the human race and Why couldn’t He have made us the way we ought to be? Kept us safe. Why couldn’t He? I stared into the dark, trembling. All that happens on this twirling globe doesn’t seem the sort of story a holy author should write. Yes the mountains are majestic and the seas are beautiful, but that all fades fast when you hold your child still in your arms, his breath fled away.

I didn’t know what to do or think. My husband knows that when my pain is deepest my busy lips fall silent. So as I did when I was a girl, pigtails and sundresses unsure of life, I fled into crisp pages turning.  I devoured like medicine the words of others who have thought enough to search. I delve into their minds and leave my realm. In every story the battle rages. The one I am wed to is afraid to say too much, he knows the weight this questioning holds. But he says what normally he would not because this time I will not dismiss it as heresy. I am desperate and aching for wonder. “Maybe” he says, “we can not know more than the tiniest fragment. Maybe it doesn’t all play out the way we think. Maybe it’s not pat and tidied up nice like the woman in the pink sweater on stage, reminding us we pray to a Big God, a very Big God indeed. Maybe the angels and demons whirl all around us and battle for our very souls. Maybe even though He stands above all and made everything, maybe He really had to break and bleed, weep and die just to gain the upper hand. Maybe it’s not a story written to humble us or hold us down, one where the author recklessly left us to our own devices

Maybe it is the most epic struggle that has ever existed and there is no knowing or taming it. There is only the fight.

and the Promise. that we will survive. because Good wins.

He says all of this in a few words and a look and my heart stops it’s downward spiral of despair because this rings true. We are not suffering and thwarted because no one cares, or the ruler is Evil. It is because the war is more real than we can know. And we are asked only to be humble. and to be brave.

I am a wimp but this I can take. A fearful battle is much less terrifying than oblivion.

I read stories of ranches and glitzy mansions, rugged settlers, mystics and lovers and then I turn to the science of the universe. It feels like a warm blanket to be reminded that math is mystical and the far reaches of space are rational. And then I read it and faith is cemented deep into my soul again. I read that it is proven beyond doubt, by the best minds and countless resources in labs and universities searching to understand – that we only see a tiny fraction of what is real. There are not only real forces but actual matter that we can not see or reach with our record making machines. Our universe would rip to shreds or fall in upon itself unless this matter, these forces were holding it all in it’s proper place. And even these proper places we can not understand. We bring things down to our level and speak of orbits and gravity while the stars and planets dance across the sky with the freedom of a girl thinking of her lover. They obey an unseen voice while tiptoeing aside with such complex personalities that we can only wonder at their story. And all the time beyond green fields stretching out and stars streaking the night sky, close in our midst and beyond the the edges of infinity we have found that we see only a fraction, a speck of what is real. The unseen and unknowable has been proven and it is as real and present as you or me, the houses we live in or the earth we walk. We are not staring into a void, we are looking directly at Him with eyes that can not see.

 

“I will fall at your feet, and I will worship you here”

these images and video are from our little ritual of remembrance, letting balloons go at the beach in memory of our Joshua’s third birthday

10-30-12

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  • jaclyn - incredible. my heart is so heavy for you and all the other parents who share your pain.ReplyCancel

    • Sharon - I’m just now trying to figure out how to reply to blog comments Jaclyn and I just wanted to thank you for your sweet words, they mean a lot to me. xoReplyCancel

My baby man turned two years old this September and we celebrated for two days. Started the festivities with a trip to Seaworld the day before his bday to see the “fishies”.  Spent that night at a beach cottage and ate plenty of s’mores. Awoke on his birthday morning as the sun was about to come up over the Pacific, and spent hours playing in the sand. Continued the celebration that afternoon with his first trip on a train. He’s obsessed with “frains” since we live along Coast highway where trains are constantly whizzing back and forth, so he was so pretty stoked about riding one. We rode down to Encinitas to eat at the food trucks, missed the return train, made a mad dash to catch the next one and finally made it home well after dark. Next came presents and cake. Normally the peak of birthday happiness, they were a bit anticlimactic after all the excitement we had already experienced. None the less our Jeremiah opened boxes of toy trains, ate a frosting covered choo choo and went to bed a very happy, tired little man.

Amidst all the activity I think I skipped the fact that my baby has grown to be a toddler. Maybe that’s why I planned all the excitement, for his joy but also to ease me through the pain of this mile marker. A monument to passing time. It seems each day recently brings unexpected new wonders and also steals away something I adore. Grateful does not describe seeing him run and play and hearing his voice sweetly stumble over first words. I never saw my Joshua do any of this, I will never see him grow before my eyes. But amidst the thankfulness for a little boy grown strong, my heart is torn, breaking over each bit of babyhood slipping away. I wrote about this frustrated dance I am doing with time recently, maybe it’s just a realization of how foreign a thing time is to my soul.

The old women, wise men, tv shows and self help books answer to the years flying by is –   Be Present.   Seize the Day!   But these commands have always felt like too much pressure to me. It’s like a sage voice whispering over your shoulder that you have to do it all now and enjoy it all fully, take it all in, never be distracted or disgruntled – no pressure – ha! If I just muddle on then maybe I won’t have to think about the fact that we can’t ever be truly fully present in our befuddled little bodies. We can’t actually seize the moment can we? If I could I wouldn’t be in this quandary. The moments just keep running on, slipping through our fingers like so much sand, seconds like rushing water . . . I just can’t work myself up to that bravado or focus or whatever it may be. No offense to anyone who can, maybe I just need more meditation in my life. But one thing comes clear easily.   Contentment.   To be thankful for, content with the moment I am in, that seems feasible to me. Not a fake, plastered on smile, a manic happiness that  ignores the reality of every minute fleeting and less than it was meant to be. But a sigh down deep, a breath taken in gratitude and released in peace. As C. S. Lewis said – thankful for today’s blooms, not grasping for yesterday’s fading flowers, looking hopeful towards tomorrow’s buds. As I bend humbled and flow toward contentment I will never remember it all. But the blooms unfolded will flicker back to me, minutes and days growing richer as the years layer on. Patches of time, frayed around the edges like fabric worn to perfection.

So as we blow out the candles and move into his third year in our arms, my mind retraces, picking out and storing away what I hope will linger – Little rituals I hope will never fade from my mind’s eye, sounds I long to always hear dancing in my ears, glimpses of truth that make my heart glow warm  . . .

his hair glistening blond, the wind and light forming it into countless masterpieces

give me a kiss I say and he puckers up and leans forward to my lips with a smooching sound

“ree book” and we turn page after page, he never tires of sitting on my lap, lost in story

“DONO” everything good to eat is dono, named after his first favorite – donuts from our donut shoppe. if it’s especially good – “Happy Dono!”

he pronounces happy – “hoppy” and his face lights up like the sun and a million stars. he is joy itself spilling over onto our silly tired old lives

I hold him to my breast and ask about his day just as I did his brother. he nods his head to tell me what he liked and I feel his heart beat content

“pool pool” he calls out wether it is the bathtub, pool or ocean, he just wants to be in the water. little blond head bobbing between green floaties. we climb out of the water, pop him in a towel and I trudge home shivering with my dripping bundle. home and we eat popsicles melting as the sun warms us

he adores Nemo with an undying love that borders on obsession. considers all fishies his brothers and requires numerous stories about “fishties” to be read to him. killer whales and sharks are “rawrs” pronounced with the most adorable growl I have personally ever heard

when a train zooms past he screams “frain frain” and wants everyone to stop and furiously make the baby sign for locomotive with their hands

“dog gee, dog gee. dog gee!” he is obsessed. lives to see them and crawls with his pink tongue out, my pretend puppy

he is a momma’s boy who adores his daddy. in awe  of the big man that is so tender with him and flies a “brrrrrr”, asking for a honk as he drives away in the morning, rushing for a hug the minute daddy walks in the door at night

he thinks his brothers are superhero giants, but also is convinced that he rules the world

when he does need something he says help me in the cutest, most pathetic voice you have ever heard “he me, he me”

he gobbles up little mandarin oranges like they are candy

his favorite is waking up and climbing into bed to “feep” between mommy and daddy, blanket tucked under his chin, he’s actually still for a half a moment

“yummineee”

his munchie little toes are reason enough to live and his tummy sticks out just so

he is a dinosaur/monster fierce, wreaking havoc on all who cross his path in the living room

his soul knows saltwater and seabreeze, sundrenched days and winding garden paths

picking cherry tomatoes and strawberrdies off the potted plants in our backyard. he holds the fruit to the sky, announcing “dono” and quickly pops them in his mouth

if we forget to join hands and pray before we eat he stretches out his tiny fingers and calls out “pay”, smiles as daddy thanks God for the food, for our family and Jeremiah – his face lights up, we say amen and he throws his arms in the air rejoicing

he cares so deeply when anyone gets hurt, gently touches their owie, whispering “uh ow” his eyes and voice filled with concern and sadness for their pain

besides mommy the other love of his life is spaghetti

every night daddy and I tuck his brothers into bed while he runs crazy down the hall, then books in the rocking chair, his head on our shoulder we sing amazing grace, lay him down, pat his back singing give me joy in my heart, a kiss on the head and wonder at his legs stretching ever longer across the sheets

He is more than all this. but I fumble at the essence and scratch down a few bits to return to when he is flown out into life. And amidst diapers and temper tantrums (yes even this angel sometimes has them) tiredness and my constant falling short I revel in this motherhood. I hold my blond boy close and try to walk this journey with him openhanded, so that he may find paths his own. If I could catch up all the perfection I would and strain from it the faults. But I know the only way I will ever keep his heart close is to simply sit in contentment, each moment as it comes.

9-7-12

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  • Tracey ornelas - I love your video and song i just got the Vimeo app but can’t figure out how to edit my video and add music would you be so kind to let me know 😉 your kids are adorable 😉ReplyCancel

    • Sharon - Thanks Tracey! I am just trying to figure out video also… I use Lightroom and Final Cut Pro, but I know iMovie is also super simple to use – hope that helps 🙂ReplyCancel

Time is an unfair friend

It’s insistent march bringing me all that I have and ripping everything away, piece by piece, minute by minute.

I have felt the cruelty of it’s cadence with every fiber of my being recently. It’s more than a reluctance to march in step, it’s a knowing rising up, a certainty that I was made to float free of it’s constraints. It feels like all the movies and books you have ever read of time travel, where the characters get stretched and torn almost limb from limb as they are hurled from one era to another. And then they are there, in one piece, miraculously. And that strain is weighing on my bones, because why is it any less epic that we should travel half a decade or more on this globe, constantly gaining, changing, always losing… til we end – poof – in a puff of smoke. It makes no sense and yet this is how we live. Imprisoned.

The other week I was floating so full of life I felt as if I could step right out of my skin. Eternity felt close, just on the other side of a scarf drawn thin across our eyes. I walked the sidewalk imagining the real me, stepping right out and into all we can not see, right into his arms, into the arms of all who we live apart from. But we don’t join hands between this world of time and forever stretching on. I can’t even grasp a single instant and command it to stay in this world of clocks and earth. If new days didn’t spring up I would not know my children. Yet the sun falling from it’s place over and again steals away everything I call my own. Life a constant mourning of all that goes away. The baby’s laugh as fleeting as a summer breeze. Nothing can we quite hold in our hands, it’s all just slipping through.

But who would want to live in a stale moment? The leaves fall and new winds bring seasons as they should be. A string of family photographs. memories filed away, thoughts, sensations piled up and forgotten. My heart torn to see the days fade like old film and thrilling to hope of what may come.

My baby turned two and all he wanted to do was go on a train. We hurtled through night and day. Looked out the windows and saw only ourselves and streaks of light like nymphs racing into eons. I want to hold him to my breast forever, how can I survive the day he no longer climbs upon my knee? I’m afraid to know him as a man. Who will he be? But I long for him to wrap strong arms around me and tell me he remembers our story and that it is a good one.

And deep inside I know the saying is wrong. They say you can’t take it with you. I know it’s all coming along for the ride. As we whir past train stops, I know the bad and the pain will fade away. And I will be left with the good. He has given it to me. The beautiful moments are forever mine. Nothing else will matter.

9-7-12 . canon ae / tri-x

 

As the photographer, there are very few photos of me with my children. So my sweet man is learning the camera to make images of us together. I just got back the first roll of film we shot together, on our baby’s birthday. Seeing this image was beyond words for me

This image means everything

When I am afraid there is nothing I will look at it. When I want to wish away the past I will look at it. When I fear the future I will look at it. When my face is full of wrinkles and my children stand grown I will look at it.

 

What miracle that this child was given us. What magic, my man catching in a moment all that cannot be spoken

“The little ones leaped and shouted and laughed and all the hills echoed” – William Blake

 

canon AE1 / tri-x . taken by my love as we walked to eat by the sea on Jeremiah’s second birthday . 9-7-12

 

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  • Bernadette - This is a beautiful picture. It’s far too often that I avoid being in front of the camera.

    I realized recently that I never thanked you for your compliments on our work. So thank you, it means a lot coming from someone who takes such gorgeous images.

    Not to sound like a complete stalker but I really hope we cross paths someday.ReplyCancel

    • admin - I agree! It would be awesome if there was a reunion for all the years 🙂ReplyCancel

  • Bernadette - This is such a beautiful picture. It’s far too often I avoid being in front of the camera.

    I realized recently that I never thanked you for your kind words. It means a lot coming from someone who makes such gorgeous images.

    And not to sound like a complete stalker, but I truly hope we cross paths someday.ReplyCancel

    • Sharon - Thank YOU for your kind words! It’s scary but so good to allow someone to capture us with the camera 🙂 And yes I hope our paths cross too, no stalking involved – we are both part of the DGU community! xoReplyCancel

  • Sue - Beautiful lady
    Beautiful baby
    Wonderful manReplyCancel

  • Wendi - Oh my I love that photo too! Good for Jesse for taking pics of you (and good for YOU for letting him!)! Loved your Joshua Tree pics/video also. Awesomeness.ReplyCancel

    • Sharon - Thanks Wendi! It’s fun to be in the picture isn’t it 😉 love yaReplyCancel

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