My beautiful daughter volunteered to be an MDA counselor this summer. This is the little boy she was assigned to be with all week. He is totally and completely adorable. My daughter, knowing his fate, does all she can to help him enjoy ... everything. A few moments after shooting this photo I happened to film them as he tried to fix her hair. I could tell he really felt safe around her and wanted to reciprocate her loving kindness.
There is something magical about service. I have a deep suspicion that most of what troubles the world today could be solved if we all stopped and took time to serve one another. Not necessarily because the act of service will change the life of the recipients as much as it changes the life of the giver. The more we give the more we change. It seems to me that the world has it all backwards: we do not change the world by trying to change it. We can only change the world by changing ourselves, from within. The world is merely an outward reflection of our inward convictions; and the fastest way to change us from within is to serve others.
Mitch had just finished having an annual checkup at Shriners Hospital. I was there with my wife to let Mitch know I loved and supported him. With very few exceptions, I was always there. I never wanted my son to turn around and see and empty chair where his daddy should have been. I wanted him to know I was with him every step of the way. It has always been that way … until his very last day.
As we were leaving the hospital I asked young Mitch if he’d like to go to work with me. He smiled softly and nodded yes. My heart leapt from my chest.
While driving to the office an old friend and colleague who owns a simulation business asked if I could stop by his office to discuss some upcoming projects. I told him I had my son with me but that I’d be glad to. He was not at all bothered to have my little one around – in fact, he welcomed it. This good man was a father, too, and had the same family values I held so dearly.
We met briefly in his conference room and discussed some matters at hand. Sensing business could wait and that there was more important things to do, Reg leaned forward toward Mitch and said, “Hey Mitch, do you want to drive a real simulator?” Mitch was shy and didn’t want to intrude – but the little gamer in him desperately wanted to drive a real simulator. With that, my colleague and friend escorted Mitch to a warehouse attached to the back of his office. This was where he built prototypes. This good man and successful entrepreneur recognized an opportunity to lift a little boy’s heart and expand his horizons.
To think he took time for Mitch, to let my boy know he mattered enough to take time out for him … that warms my heart and soul. It stirs within me a desire to do more of that for others. He didn’t just give Mitch a gift that day … Reg gave me a gift; a gift that still comforts me to this day. I can still see in my mind the smile on my son’s face as we drove out of his parking lot. Mitch said, “Dad, that was awesome!”
Fast-forward a few years and I received an email from this good man … almost exactly a year after my son had passed. He said he felt prompted to send me a message that might bring comfort to my heart – a heart he knew was weary with grief.
“Dear Chris,
I hope I am not trespassing on your privacy. I have been thinking of you this month and was prompted to write this that it may offer some comfort to you to know that your well-being is thought of by others …”
The letter continued to offer compassion and then he recounted some of his own experience with grief and loss.
He described how he was in Heathrow Airport after completing a project in England and was about to begin his journey home. Prior to his flight, Pan Am located him and told him to call home immediately. He then learned his youngest twin daughter, Valerie, had passed away. I wept as I read his words … how he described his feelings of helplessness, guilt, vulnerability and so many other emotional horrors I knew all too well. My tears didn’t spring because of my own loss … I cried because of his. I knew his heartbreak and I was so sorry to hear how much he hurt. My tears were tears of empathy and compassion. Yet, in his very message, he was doing the same for me.
Once again, I experienced the supernal doctrine of mourning with those that mourn. What a powerful principle of hope, healing and a taste of heaven above … to care enough to feel another’s hurt and love.
The more I examine my life, the more I’m convinced everything matters. From trivial pursuits to things of deep importance … everything matters. The key is in knowing and pursuing what matters more. The most trivial of pursuits matter, not because they are important, but because they have the potential to keep us from things that matter more. Even still, when I consider all the things I feel are important, they are not all equal: the fact is, some important things matter more than others.
I hope to always have discerning eyes – so I can know the difference. I am grateful for good friends, like Reg, who have compassionate hearts and good souls … who remind me to take time for things that really matter. In the end, that is all that really matters.
We just found a digital camera that was abandoned a few weeks before the holocaust with Mitch. On that camera were a precious few photos that were taken just before he went into heart failure. This is one of those photos. I love this boy. So very much. I'm so grateful to have found this tender breadcrumb of my fallen son.
I'll post some of the other photos on Instagram
instagram.com/mitchells_journey/
Tiny Mitch had tripped a few days prior and his little bruised eye was on the mend. You can bet he received a lot of extra kisses and cuddles. We were at his grandfather’s ranch in Wyoming spending time with family. Though Mitch was weak and unable to walk long distances, that didn’t stop his appetite for exploration and adventure. And sometimes his desire to be like the other, stronger kids, got the best of him and he would fall and hurt himself.
Mitch was busy following a kitty that he loved to pet. Grandpa was helping Ethan over a fence so he could explore and Natalie stood in the background drinking in the moment as grateful mother and chief protector. I love her. Then this photo happened: a perfect moment if there ever was one. We weren’t doing anything extraordinary or unique. In fact, it was the most common of days and we were doing the most ordinary things. What made it perfect was spending time with family. I took this photo and a thousand other photos this day … captures of ordinary moments unrehearsed.
The older I get, the more I believe it’s the ordinary photos that matter most. Ordinary captures of ordinary moments … those are the images I long to see. Recollections of love and life and the way things used to be. This image is one such photo.
A few months ago a follower-turned-friend asked if I would participate in a photography series she was working on for her blog. I plucked a series of ordinary photos and wrote a little about each image. She also asked some reflective questions; here are my responses to two of them:
QUESTION: What type of photos do you wish you had more of from your childhood?
ANSWER: Personally, I would trade every single family photo taken in a studio, with hair perfectly primped, necks wrapped in turtlenecks and ugly sweaters and those awful corduroys my mom used to make me wear …. I would trade all of that (every single one) for just one photo of my life as it actually was.
That great American tradition of family portraits is in many ways our greatest American tragedy. We trade the illusion of moments for real moments. We stand in front of canopies, under a tree, or in a field next to a vintage chair … color coordinated and dressed in our Sunday best. Sometimes we mix it up and wear casual clothes – as though we accidentally wore the same matching white t-shirts and jeans. Those portraits become the storefront of family tradition and about as meaningful as a thinly veiled advertisement.
However, the real canopy of life is never staged in a field or in a studio. They are camouflaged by the ordinary and mundane moments we so often overlook.
When we reminisce on our lives, we don’t say to ourselves or others, “Hey, remember when we stood in that studio or under that tree and took those family photos?” We don’t say, “Remember that time mom told us to stop and smile in front of the camera?” We don’t seek those photos out because they are not real and in no way represent our actual lives as we lived them.
I wish I had more photos of me playing in the sand or in mud puddles. I don’t want to see photos of me smiling into the lens … but rather the look on my face concentrating on the thing I was doing. I wish I had photos of my mom holding me as a toddler by the window on a warm summer afternoon … wiping away my tears after scraping my knee. I wish I had photos of my dad in the garage tinkering with tools or just sitting on the porch reading a magazine. I wish I had photos of the blanket forts I used to make. Not just the outside … but the stuff we did inside. I wish I had photos of the Star Wars bases I made out of shoe boxes and tape. I wish I had photos of making dinner as a family and those nights we ate scones and had syrup all over our faces. I wish I had photos of my empty bedroom with toys on the floor and homework on the bed.
I wish I had more photos of my life, unrehearsed. Ironically, the photos that were taken in the 70’s and 80’s that may have seemed like accidents back then are more treasured to me than all of the “hey smile for the camera” shots combined.
I want dirt and tears. Cuddles and cries. I want to see the life I lived through my childhood eyes.
QUESTION: What is one tip or piece of advice you would give to help people take "better" every day photos?
ANSWER: It is precisely the moments you don’t think about capturing that are the most valuable. If ever you’re tempted to not take a photo because the moment seems ordinary or routine … capture it!
Don’t ask people to stop what they’re doing and smile for your photos. Take photos like a paparazzi. And when you’ve taken 100 photos, take 200 more. Let your knees and stomach be your friend. Get on the floor and take photos from the angle your children see things.
Whatever you do, don’t capture photos. Capture moments. Moments unrehearsed.
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Here is a link to the entire blog interview: http://lindsayrossblog.com/2015/03/every-day-photos-interview-chris-jones/
Ordinary photos of our ordinary life:
instagram.com/mitchells_journey
instagram.com/christophjones/