Seeing

So, as to making art, seeing may happen at the moment before the shutter button is pressed, within the frame of the viewfinder. And sometimes it might happen, in this digital age, when a "thowaway" shot, enlarged on the monitor, reveals something unexpected, unperceived as the picture was taken. Then the rueful laugh-- "Not what I was after, but I'll take it." Those are the photographs that are gifts, when the work was just being present, and taking a moment before rejecting the unintended .

So I am learning in my art to begin with intention and then be willing to let go and accept an outcome I did not plan. And this is a lesson my mothering could use as well. Sometimes the careful plans I make for fun and connection make beautiful memories, and sometimes they fall flat. And then some mundane moment gives me a glimpse of one of my boys' hearts, some treasured passion or secret hurt, and I have to be right there, be fully present or miss it. Be willing to discard my plans and leave the good and better for the best. Intention is powerful and beautiful, and necessary, but sometimes attention is all that is needed.

And of course, this acknowleges as well that there is a more powerful Love than mine at work in my babies' lives, and He allows me to partner with Him sometimes, and sometimes just be in awe of what He is working out. And then my job is to be, to see, to lean in to look more closely, to bear witness, to interpret, to be humble, and to praise.

Making the Rounds

So, this is what I do, some days. I put my camera around my neck, I slip my little case of close-up filters into my pocket, and I make my rounds, through the house, looking, breathing, waiting. The slant of sun across the table. A perfect piece of fruit. A flower that will be past its prime tomorrow. Some arrangement of objects of beauty or use that pleases my eye and lens. And I shoot and shoot, and fuss with things a little, but the very best shots, the ones that surprise, are usually waiting for me, composed already.

I am legally blind. I can't drive a car. When people use the expression, "Got her nose buried in a book," well, that is really me when I read. Thanks to big text and a large flatscreen monitor, I am not ruining my posture or my back and neck muscles by writing this. So I cannot explain exactly what happens when I raise a viewfinder to my dancing, nearsighted eye.

I cannot explain, but as a person of faith, I know. There is some breath of the Holy Spirit between me and that lens. God made me in His image, and though my eyes are broken, He made me to see. And to bear witness. It is not such a strange thing really-- a God who parts seas to dry land and makes barren wombs fruitful. This is His regular business. But it is holy. And I praise Him.

More on seeing tomorrow. . .

Best Laid Plans

Well, no winter walk, no family adventure. A sleepless night on Friday, a six year old wailing with the pain of an ear infection early Saturday, a fervent "thank you" prayer for a pediatrician with weekend hours. Yucky medicine, homemade pizza, a library bag spilling with books and videos. Parents who had forgotten the grainy eyes and wooden movements that follow a restless night. Lots of coffee.

A snapshot of a weekend we had other hopes for, and yet I am thankful this day that the same six year old went happily off to school, where they are celebrating the 100th day of the year. The three year old sniffles and plays with blocks, and we have nowhere we have to go in the cold this morning. The pantry is stocked, and the washing machine is doing its work.

We are enjoying our library finds very much. Guided by other blogs, we brought home Days to Celebrate and A Family of Poems: My Favorite Poetry for Children. The first one is one I definitely want to own-- it has calendars for each month of the year, with poetry and activities to mark historic events and people. It is a real treasure trove.

The poetry collection came home because I realize I have been remiss in introducing poetry to the boys. They seemed to really connect with the half dozen we read last night. I am thinking of doing a semi-formal poetry study with them in the summer.

This morning is bitter cold, and it feels like a bit more of a Monday than usual. But with that comes newness, and new mercy.

Winter Adventure

Just a little glimpse of what I hope we will be doing this weekend. This was taken a few weeks ago when we took advantage of the spring-like weather and the waterfall book John received for Christmas to find a nearby falls. (Not the one in the Mothering post below-- as I write this, I realize we are rather into waterfalls. :)

This morning it was 26 degrees here, which is chilly for this Southern girl, but tomorrow it will reach 60 and we will find some path or playground to run and climb and exhaust some winter-pent-up boy energy.

I love our excursions, the feeling of the four of us setting off on a little adventure. So much of this happy atmosphere is due to John's easygoing attitude. When I was growing up, any small change in plans, any obsticle, was a source of tension and conflict, something for which blame had to be laid. John is a roll-with-the-punches, figure out a different kind of fun sort, which equips him pretty well for fatherhood in general. Not to mention marriage to this temprmental girl. His goodwill has made me more eager to pack some snacks and some books on tape and head out with the slimmest of agendas. And I know the boys are soaking in this quiet, good natured and simple spirit too.

So this weekend I am hoping for crafting, and knowing there is some needed shopping to be done, there are piles of books and Netflixed movies, but I hope sometime Saturday finds our car bowling down some dappled road, the hills and valleys a thousand shades of caramel, wheat and dove gray, backpack full of apples and cheese and crackers, camera loaded and ready. And four faces in the windows, alight with contented togetherness.

Mothering

A bit of last May to temper this bright but cold day. This was taken on Mother's Day weekend last year, at a nearby state park. It was warm enough for the boys to wade in the little pool this falls cascaded into. A picnic and a pretty place were what I wanted to celebrate the day.

Motherhood is the job I was born to do and the one that frequently leaves me breathless at my inadequacy, my failings, my weaknesses that seem projected, larger than life, on the wall over their little faces. To live in that dichotomy of uniquely suited and woefully underequipped-- and to feel it is all speeding by and I am only catching at the vapor trails of it-- that is my life. And I would not trade for one day of something else.

Peaceful

It is just a peaceful morning here, listening to Elizabeth Mitchell with Sam, assembling the note cards a kind person ordered, taking the time for that full presence in the moment. As my soul quiets, I feel stealing in the unmistakable Presence, God's balm to my spirit.

There is a wonderful discussion over at the exquisite The Sacred Everyday on the nature of peace, the inner cultivation of a peace that passes understanding when our outer surroundings are less than tranquil.

From here, I invite you to take a deep breath, whether your hands are making or mending, soothing or cleaning, and feel His embrace. Wishing you all a day of grace.

Filling

I think this little Willow Tree angel is called the Angel of Good Health, but I always think of her as the Angel of Bounty.

She is how I would love to be, my hands, arms full of good things, spilling over for my family and friends. This notion of being filled up, fully nourished in the soul and sloshing into my world and the world keeps coming back to me. Partly because so much of this year I have felt very not-filled.

And in my life of faith I have come up against the reality of seasons-- that this has been a season of lack and emptiness, and there is no quick fix. Sometimes it has been the result of being poured out-- intenionally giving to others. And sometimes it comes from being spilled-- hurt and lost and empty. And none of it is outside God's provision and reach.

Only in emptiness can I really empathize with those who feel empty, only with unfilled hands can I grasp another's hands and say, "Yes. I know what you mean." And beneath it, know that He is there.

I have resisted this season, and filled my hands with all kinds of "busy nothings." And the last few days, all my pretentions have come crashing down. And now I think I am ready to say, "OK. What's next? I am waiting, with open hands."

This morning I had music on, and Sam said, "Mommy, dance with me." I haven't felt like dancing much. But even down to my heavy feet, I know no three-year old invitation lasts forever. So I jumped up, and we whirled and twirled and I swept him up and spun him until he was laughing and dizzy. He lowered his head to my shoulder and was kissing me with lots of tiny smacks. And I received and kissed back. And laughed and cried and prayed.

"Thank you."

Leaving the gate open

It has been a lonely year. That is a hard thing for me to write. In a way it feels ungrateful. This year has been a catalogue of answered prayers, from John's job to the move into our beloved home, from photography and art and a return of creative energy, to closer proximity to the mountains and streams we love.

But with the move, with the shift in our lives to the northern part of the county, relationships have shifted and changed, and all but ended. As a one-driver family, we soon discovered we needed to find a church closer to our new home, if we were to be truly involved in the way we would like. And meeting other people has been slow. And my girlfriend-loving heart has been lonely. I have felt forgotten by old friends and shy of new ones.

It is hard for me, in such a time, to leave the gate open, to risk knowing and being known, to risk being disappointed and overlooked. I've been hurt and mad, and felt discarded. So I draw back farther. . .

This morning we returned for the second time to a church nearby. And in that cosy hour, I could hear the latch loosening, the hinges creaking, as friendly people greeted us, as we heard corporately the good news of forgiveness and grace, as we were invited to return. My heart could open here, I thought. Perhaps this is the place. . .

We don't know yet for sure. But I felt hope today, and it was nice to feel something other than a cool breeze where it fluttered.

A happy day

The amyrillis is gone now, but I loved its fiery burst at the perfect time, when the Christmas trim had just been put away and the house looked a little forlorn, bereft.

A happy day here-- my sister and her family stopped by and we nibbled on sausage balls and cappucino brownies and talked and flipped through library books. She is the seamstress of the two of us, and has promised me two aprons for my birthday in March. :)

Those dear ones have gone now, and I am listening to George Winston while the boys play Legos on the floor by me and husband naps on the couch. I treasure these days. The boys are still young and do not belong to the wider world yet. We are all cosy here together and we are still the ones they most want to be with. Though this mommy often feels the need for more "me" time, today I remember that soon I will have perhaps more of that than I want.

Tomorrow brings a second visit to a church nearby. We are barely into the search for a new church home and I already feel boundless relief that there is a place we feel like going back to a second time. That first walk in is so tough, the figuring things out, the new faces, the unmistakable sense that we are Other in the midst of Community. But it will be worth it in the end, worth it to find the place we can grow and serve.

Friday at Home

This post will be either really peaceful or really boring, depending on your perspective. I've spent the morning tidying the house, picking up and putting away and cleaning and washing and folding. And I've had one of those windows of time when the housework has transcended the "have tos," the tedium of repetition, and become something that sprouted peace in me. I stopped to notice the slant of sun across the hardwood, the pleasant fluffiness of clean clothes, the competent and comfortable sense of tucking in, making ready, and putting right. My sister and her family will be stopping by tomorrow, so part of it is wanting things to look nice, but another part is the delight I take on Friday nights, when my work is done and done well, "all are safely gathered in," and our home is comfortable and ready for play and rest.

Many days I hurry through my tasks, I watch with despair as the first dirty clothes hit the hamper that was only empty for a few minutes, and I don't summon the energies for extra niceties like linen spray and fresh greenery. But when I linger, when I am fully present to the moment, I feel a link with generations of women who have combined necessity with beauty, who have put love and care into the work of their hands.

Almost, but not quite

Yesterday there was the prediction of snow, or at least sleet and freezing rain, starting overnight and slicking the roads by daybreak. I had already pictured a blissful family day, with my elder son and husband home from school and work, and hot chocolate and books on tape.

But this morning is frigid, and wet, and nothing else. And I am dragging myself through routines that yesterday were no chore, my attitude low because of disappointed expectation.

My husband has a theory that a lot of irritation in life is the fruit of disappointed expectations. He is not thinking of the life-altering, big-deal kinds, but the daily bumps of feeling assured of little outcomes that do not happen.

He is a very chilled-out, go with the flow kind of guy, and after eleven years of marriage, I am still hoping he will rub off on me. Too often I build houses of cards of ifs and maybes, and then my inner three year old stamps her foot when they fall flat. Over things that are not worth it.

For me it is a discipline to accept the new day with an open hand, to receive and then to make what I can of what is put into my hands. Photography has helped me with this. I've read the books, I've practiced and studied, and all that goes into my eyes and fingers when I'm shooting. But the very best shots are still gifts, and it takes time for me to receive them and hear what they are saying.

I would love this synergy in my larger life, receiving and making, listening and growing, loving and working with what is and not falling in love with pretty sets of conditions on my days and the ones that I love. I suspect that freedom and art alike are found in that open hand.

Wednesday Like a Monday

This is a week when I will be mixed up about what day it is until Sunday comes. We spent the long weekend with our dearest friends at their home in North Carolina. These are people we have known since college; we were all friends before we paired off into couples. We shared the same idyllic acres, the same music, the same books and the thousand other threads of history at a formative time of life.

In a sense it is the cliche that it seems no time has passed between visits when we come back together, but it is better than that. God has kept us close and now we can meet on even ground about the challenges we are facing right now. Our kids are two months and two weeks apart in age respectively, so now we talk about parenting and mortgages and aging parents. And all the time we keep it real.

I told my friend in an e-mail when we got home that she had filled up my heart. And (though I would move her in next door tomorrow if I could) I feel filled up and satisfied, and ready to pour it all out in photography and poetry and cooking, and family and home. Feeling all that love from somebody who definitely knows all my dark sides is like fuel, like a flame bright burning, to see by, to warm this winter Wednesday.

Cold Morning

So, here I go. . . This image is frosty-looking to me somehow, so appropriate for this morning, when the grass has furry white tips and the air in the unheated mudroom was breathtaking when I collected Joshua's coat and bag for school. I dragged myself to my video-led workout, and it was odd to be sweating away in the heated house white I looked outside at shivery birds, clustered about the feeder.

The A.M. workout is part of my New Year's intention regarding balance. Care for spirit, care for body, focused mommying time, creative time, where I both receive the creativity of others (blog reading, net surfing, magazines) and yet leave time to be creative myself (photo art time, scrapbooking, home decor), care for the mind, which in my case means using my meager reading time for mostly brain-stretching reading, and not mental junk food, and the discipline of rest.

Whew! I am not finding this easy. And I am not sure how this blog fits in to the list above. But this pursuit, even just the pursuit, has to be better than careering from gorging on one area to another.

So, 2007. May it be a year of grace.

Making a Beginning

I am really not at all sure about this. But the blogging world has been a source of delight, creativity and fun for me, from the receiving end, for some time. Time to give back a little bit. So, to begin, with an image and a shy hello.