A Reward for Stillness

Before dinner, just as the water comes to a boil for our pasta, I head to the backyard and sit down. I prop my arms on my folded knees, zoom in my camera, and I wait: still and quiet.

If you know me, you know that still and quiet don't go well with my style. I'm all frenzy and noise most of the day.

But not right now.

It's because I know what's coming; the reward for stillness will surely be delivered, shimmering green as a hummingbird's wing, if I wait in stillness and silence.

Hummingbird Perching

Hummingbird

Some gifts from God only come in that way.

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These hummingbirds are teaching me so much about silence and stillness. I love watching them!

Baby Hummingbird Photos

Out by the blooming sunflower where our nectar feeder sits, we notice tiny hummingbirds at the feeder. Every once in a while, a much larger hummingbird will circle around the smaller ones. I think we are observing babies.

Baby Hummingbird

What a happy day to have seen them! We prayed God would bring them back so we could photograph them, and we quietly waited on the porch. Then, we snapped as many photos as we could, hoping to catch them in the frame. We did!

Baby Hummingbird

Enjoy these beautiful creatures.

Maybe the Mother Hummingbird?

They are so mysterious and rarely observed. 

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Hummingbirds are so delightful. Have you witnessed something rarely observed in nature lately?

A Way to Conquer the Morning (Besides Coffee)

This morning, I wake up so sluggish and crabby that I just can't imagine walking to school with the children.  As I slump out the door, scowling and overwhelmed, I feel my camera in my coat pocket.

At least it's a sunny morning.  Maybe I'll document this grueling walk.

Woods in the Morning

I look out through my lens to follow the light, and immediately, something changes in me.

I see the trees--really see them--and pause for a minute. 

And then I find her:  Some old crabby thing rises up against the morning light.

Letting the Light Find Her

She's lit up, now beautiful, now conquering the morning, now distinct from the gnarled woods.  Rise and shine.  But she's not doing it; she's just letting the light find her.  

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Do you have a way you like to conquer the morning (besides coffee)?

My Ruined Fall Photos

I live on a street where, when the leaves change in the fall, they seem lit from within like they're going up in flames. "You just have to see the one in my backyard," my neighbor says.  I stand with my neighbor and observe this tree.

I take several other pictures of gorgeous autumn leaves so red and purple that you can't even believe it.  But when I upload the photos, a blurry smudge obscures every shot.  Whatever it is, it's actually on the lens. 

You can't take beautiful photos with a dirty lens.  I think about this very simple and obvious lesson:  I want to cleanse my heart and mind so I can observe with clarity the beauty about me.

I ask myself what ruins my outlook, and it's usually that I'm self-focused rather than God-focused. I wipe the lens with the cloth and return to the task. 

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Journal:  What often ruins your focus? 


 






 

 

What a Change of Background Can Do

I realize today that I love experimenting with background.  The word technically means the "scenery behind the main object of contemplation, especially when perceived as a framework for it."  We distinguish objects and circumstances--understanding them properly--because we measure them against their background. 

Live with Flair is my background.  A different background changes how we understand and see. 

I gaze into a deep, clear lake, and I have to capture the apple tree against that beauty.  What's behind the object--the setting--fascinates me.  It frames and contextualizes.  It tells a story. 

Just as in photography and writing, I think carefully about what background I'm choosing to view my own life against.  What subtext, what ideologies, what memories, what conversations?  Do these frame my life the way I want--in beauty, hope, and joy--or do they obscure, depress, and oppress?

I'm starting to wonder if I can identify sources of unhappiness and despair by asking folks what singular background they view themselves against.  

I chose a different frame the day I started blogging.  I decided to set my life against the background that I've been "blessed with every spiritual blessing in Christ" and that nothing happens to me today that God doesn't use to "work out everything in conformity to the purpose of his will." 


It's been 510 days of seeing life differently.  God is good.  All the time. 

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Journal:  Do I need to change my background today? 

Turning a Storm Into Art (Photos of Strange Creatures in the Clouds)

The storms in Colorado dazzle us!  Midday, I feel the heaviness in the air.

Storm Clouds Brewing

The sky darkens, and as I look up into it, I see the outlines and shadows of  fairies, butterflies, angels, and even a kangaroo hopping around in the clouds.

Creatures in the Storm Clouds

My daughter points, and together we imagine a whole forest of creatures.  Our fear leaves us.  We lean far out over our balcony (with lightning and fat raindrops all around) and take photos.  We turn the storm into art.  That's what it means to live with flair.

When we look deeply in that storm, we find beauty.  Maybe that's true of every dark and terrible thing in our lives; beauty and wonder trail close behind and often reveal themselves in the contours.  This isn't just a storm--it's an opportunity for art. 

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Journal:  Can you see anything else in these photos?

An Unexpected Photography Lesson

I'm hiking in snow in the middle of June.

It's actually not even that cold (as you can see from our shorts).

The landscape presents an unexpected photography challenge for me.  Normally, I focus on the very small when I take photos.  But not today.  The view nearly overwhelms me, and I have no choice but to change the settings on my camera and try to capture it all in my lens.

I snap the photos, but it doesn't feel as satisfying for some reason.  It is beautiful and majestic, but something is missing.  Then I notice this:  While all the adults gaze at the mountains, the children turn their attention to the chipmunks on the trail.  Every child screams in delight at these little creatures running around our feet. 

Why do children find the small thing to delight in?  I follow their lead and search the ground for beauty.  I discover mountain wildflowers growing in places where the snow had melted.  The flower, held up against the majesty of the mountains, contains equal beauty--equal awe--for me. 

I remember not to limit awe to those things large in scope and grand in appearance.  I will have to come down from this mountaintop and live in the valley.  But I will not leave my wonder and awe up there.

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Journal:  What small thing created awe in me today?

Moving Ahead Despite Danger and Uncertainty

I wait for the Northern Cardinals to leave.   I lean in, snap the photograph, and then get out of there before I'm pecked to death or beaten with a mother bird's wings.

Northern Cardinals Growing in the Nest

I don't even check the photos until I'm safe inside.

Sleeping Northern Cardinals

It's the same caution I take when I photograph a snake or a snapping turtle.  The best photographs involve an element of danger.

Living with flair sometimes includes danger.  We take risks; we move out of comfort zones; we endure the possibility of harm.  Why?  Because there's beauty and joy right on the other side.  I wonder, too, if moving deeper into a life of faith requires confronting danger--seen and unseen--because that's the only way to have a clear picture of the power and victory of knowing God.  That's the only way to grow faith.

If I only move ahead in my life into safe and obvious directions, maybe I need to think more about choosing avenues that call for the kind of faith that I want to have.

So I face the danger, and I move out in faith.  There's a beautiful picture waiting. 


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Journal:  Do I need to move ahead despite danger and uncertainty?

After a Rain Shower

It stops raining, and so we go outside just to take a look at things. The peony might just bloom this weekend.

Peony Soon

And maybe the yellow iris. 

Yellow Iris Almost Here

The weeping cherry won't bloom for us again this year, but if we part the leaves like a great green curtain, we can enter a secret chamber.  The limbs embrace us, hanging low to the ground.  I'm a grown woman, and yet I can't resist burrowing deep within the tree.  From the street, you'd just see a tree with blue garden shoes sticking out from below.

Within the Weeping Cherry

Living with flair means going outside to just take a look and finding yourself inside a tree. 

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Journal:  Do you have tree memories? 

Darkness Turned to Light

I don't know much about photography.  I've never taken a class, and I don't use a fancy camera.  All I know is that taking pictures has become a source of joy and flair.  Just yesterday, I realize that what photographers do best is capture the light.   We have a whole day to observe the light. 

Morning Sky and Cherry Blossoms

When I look at the light all day, I see the world differently. 

Purple Flowers in Afternoon

Tiny Spider Web at 3:00 PM

Hello, Late Afternoon Little Bug

Cherry Blossoms as Sun Sets

Twilight

There's a gift to receive because the light shines.  Even when dim and hard to discern, there's a gift.  As I think about the radiance of God today, I remember that a life of faith means I'm a photographer setting out to capture the light.  I open my eyes and see His radiance.  That light reveals truth and guides us to beauty, to hope, and to salvation.   The prophet Isaiah writes: 

I will lead the blind by ways they have not known,
   along unfamiliar paths I will guide them;
I will turn the darkness into light before them
   and make the rough places smooth.
These are the things I will do;
   I will not forsake them. 

With camera in hand, living with flair means I set out in faith that God can turn any darkness into light.  I look through that lens and see it today.  We are not forsaken, and any rough places will be smoothed.  The result?  Radiance!  Beauty!  We are not forsaken. 


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Journal:  Is there a darkness today that God will turn to light? 

Why Searching Should Be Part of This Day

Baby Squirrels

Do you know how hard it is to take a photograph of a baby squirrel?

Hard.  Very hard.  Baby squirrels are fast.

This week, we discover a nest of baby squirrels high up in the front yard tree.  I find myself looking out the window constantly just to catch a single glimpse of them.  They venture from the nest and explore the limbs, but when I approach the tree with a camera, they scurry back into their nest.

Can you just stay still for a second, Little Squirrel?

Baby Squirrel

I decide to bring a telescope to the side yard to spy on them from afar.  Yes, a telescope.  I realize the neighbors think I am crazy.  I wave my arms and point up to the tree.  "Baby squirrels!" I shout.     

Searching with the greatest intent and the greatest care, I finally see them.

All morning, I think about the search to see an unusual and wonderful sight in nature.   To search means to look thoroughly with the intent of finding.  That's how I study this nest in a tree, and that's how I want to approach this day.  That's the way I want to investigate my lingering questions, read scripture, and converse with someone else.  I'm searching--looking thoroughly--for that wonderful and unusual thing in store today. 

If I turn my eyes away, I might miss it.  

Living with flair means I'm a thorough searcher. 

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Journal:  What activities today deserve my looking thoroughly? 

What to Do with Your Fear

Last night, my daughter can't sleep because of nightmares.  She's terrified.  I ask her to come beside me so we can pray for Jesus to take away all her fears.

"Don't ask Him to take away all my fears," she responds.  "I need some of them." 

"Which ones do you need?" 

"The ones that keep me safe, you know, from bad places and dangerous things," she explains. 

Some fear is good, I realize.

Just that afternoon at the pond, I find myself overcome by fear.  A snake slithers across my garden shoes, and I nearly run back home, leaving my children behind.  It moves into the water, and suddenly, the whole landscape changes.

Snake in the Pond

The beautiful pond turns ominous, deadly, haunted.  My beautiful secret pond has trees with claws and thorns set as traps for my arms and legs. 

I actually can't breathe for a minute. 

The Trees Have Claws

Snakes!  They really are out here.  But then I find my camera, and I notice the way the late afternoon sun covers the whole place.  When I see what the sun reflects, I perceive beauty again.  It's the kind of beauty that always lives alongside danger and fear. 

Put back in context, I realize that a little garden snake and an old tree don't have any power here.  There's something greater in these woods.  The fear is real, but there's always something greater than our fear.  It's the power of God.  It illuminates this path, covers everything, and lets us run with freedom. 

Running with Freedom

Some fear is good.  But when fear consumes and paralyzes us, we have to remember who is greater than our fear. 


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Journal:  What fears do I need to put in the right context today? 

I Have Proof!

Bright Yellow Crocus

On the walk to school this morning, I see the crocus blooming.

I turn to examine the daffodils, and a ladybug greets me.

We made it through the winter.

The crocus symbolizes encouragement, hope, resurrection, and joy. It's a victory sign that the unrelenting winter has passed. 

Hello, Ladybug

The ladybug, in most cultures, marks this day as one of blessing, protection, and good fortune.

Nature proclaims something today: hope rises, defying the barren ground and crawling up the stalks.

Right down to the shimmering diamond drops of dew on that ladybug's back and right down to the silky case from which the crocus blooms, life delivers gift after gift.

We made it through the winter.



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Journal:  What did I notice in nature today? 

Dew on the Ladybug

Some Pictures of Hope

The landscape in Pennsylvania, for the most part, still frowns with the weight of winter. 

Trees raise their arms in surrender to a blank sky.

After church this morning, my youngest daughter pulls on a double layer of pants and says, "Mom, let's go on a hunt for daffodils."  (How can I not follow her outside?  I'm struck by how I need to listen to and follow children more often.)

The hunt!  I put on my winter coat, and my old camera dangles from the strap around my wrist. 

We journey to the side of the house, the hidden territory in front of the gate.  With frozen fingers and faces, we hunt.

We hunt, and we find.

Lilies burst forth; daffodils announce victory over winter.

To hunt means to chase relentlessly.

Lord, let me be relentless in my hunt for hope. 


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Journal:  What gives me hope today?

A Picture of the Friend I Want to Be

A local photographer arrives for a photo shoot in my home.  I need a professional head shot for my writing, and I have the worst time looking natural and being myself.  I never look nice in pictures!  But I have a secret weapon today:  I invite a friend over who I know tells the truth and helps me be myself.

We're knee deep in snow, and the photographer asks my friend to assist her by holding the "reflector."  It's freezing outside, and I'm standing by my favorite winterberry bush.  My friend positions herself beside me and holds up the circular shade.  She accomplishes two tasks:  she reflects the light toward me (so light bounces off her shade towards me), and she diffuses the harsh sunlight that's overpowering the shot.

It looks something like this (only imagine the snow, the wind, the freezing cold, us shivering, and plain me since I look nothing like this model):

I'm smiling at my friend, suddenly feeling just like myself.

I want to be a friend like this.  I want to reflect the light towards her, and I want to diffuse whatever attempts to overpower her. 

I can't wait to show you the pictures!

Living with flair means I'm a reflector and a diffuser. 


(photo by Mila Zinkova, Wikimedia Commons)

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Journal:  How can I reflect the light and diffuse what's harsh in my friend's life today?

And There Was Light!

We're slumped upon the kitchen table.  One daughter labors over math homework while the other colors slowly on paper.  I'm answering an email, sighing.  The day feels sluggish and old, dark and spent. 


Then, light invades through the kitchen window.

An hallelujah chorus of dappled light dances all around us.  For days--months--we've been in the dark shadow of winter.  The sky looks more like a sidewalk.

But not now.  Not for this one glorious moment when light breaks through.  The forest sparkles with it.  The sky has never seemed so blue, so wide, so clear. 

We bask in it. 

To bask means to derive great pleasure from something.  As I open wide the door and feel the sun on my face, I realize what makes this moment so pleasurable.

It's because it's been so very dark, so very gray.  

I'm thankful for contrast in my life.  I realize that's the only way I learn to bask.  The hot showers I love because I've known the freezing ones; the deep breath of air I relish because I battled congestion for a month; the authentic community I cherish in my neighborhood because I've walked the road of loneliness; the joy rising up in my heart, so precious, because I once knew the despairing days of depression.

The beauty of contrast:  what we bask in because we've seen its absence.  A blessing, a mystery.




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Journal:  Can we only know joy by contrast?

Snowflake Photography

Early this morning, the children race around the house to announce the news:  Snow!  Just flurries, but still the excitement mounts as the sun rises on our town.

I grab my camera and go outside on this blustery morning.  I'm in thin pajamas--no hat, no gloves, not even my coat--and it's amazing how I don't notice the cold.

First Snow on a Berry

It's because I see something so magnificent it diminishes me for once.  I'm not even aware of my own frozen fingers. 

Snowflake on Concrete

Is it true that each one is different?  And why does this design delight? 

 

Snowflake on a Stone

Close up, I see something so wonderful, so miniature in its grandeur.  

Snowflake on a Log

The beauty of these tiny designs keeps me outside too long.  But I don't notice what comes against me; I don't notice myself at all.  That's what beauty--real beauty--does to a soul.

You get caught up in the awe of it, and even in the cold gray of a winter morning, you are set free from yourself.