Posts tagged Everyday Photography
MAGIC MOMENTS

We knew the time was soon coming Mitch would lose his ability to do … everything. Although we were in the early stage of DMD, Natalie and I felt it best to sell our home and find a place that would eventually accommodate his physical needs and give us time to grow roots in a community before the storm came. Mitch was such a young boy and didn't have any idea we sold our home and built a new one just because of him – neither did he have any idea the violent storm that was headed his way and would soon rip his life from him. That storm we were told would surely come, came much faster than any of us imagined.

In this photo we were sitting with our kids in the master bedroom; the carpet had just been installed and our home felt like a huge cardboard fort that we were going to start living in. The kids were so excited ... and the little kid in me was, too. At one point Mitch leaned forward and kissed Wyatt’s forehead. Wyatt, being a tiny little baby, toy still in mouth, tried to love his brother in-kind and give him a sloppy kiss as only teething babies know to do. I marvel how children instinctively know love … and I marvel equally how grownups and nations, who, through time and experience ought to know better, tend to forget how to love and be kind.

Wyatt was a tiny baby, just approaching his first birthday. Mitch loved being a big brother and was glad to no longer be the baby of the family. Mitch, having a younger sibling, was beginning to learn a new dimension of love. It is one thing to love and be loved by a parent or an older sibling, but to reach down and care for a little one … that is a different kind of service, a different kind of love. Mitch was learning to love anew. As his father, watching Mitch love his little brother, I was learning to love anew, too.

Because of the way I photo-journal, I often encounter moments unprepared – but I shoot anyway. I have come to appreciate the true beauty of any photo has less to do with light and composition (though helpful), but rather their true beauty is found in the stories they tell. I would rather have a million blurry photos of love and life than any number of staged moments shrink-wrapped technical perfection. Photojournalism, to me, has become something of a metaphor and symbol of how I try to live my life. If I hold out for the perfect moment, if I artificially construct something that isn't real, I will miss out on a million magic moments. 

This simple, flawed and dimly lit photo captures my heart because the subjects herein are my heart – and this moment of unrehearsed love between siblings sweeps my heart to a peaceful place and it lingers there a while. I am thankful for those peaceful moments. As much as I try to be in the moment, there is a part of me that wishes to go back in time and re-live these magic moments – to drink it in more slowly and to savor every part of it. Though life can hand out great difficulties and bring me to my knees, there is beauty in the details of the moment – more than I had eyes to see. 

To me, it is ironic that when I was young and growing I wanted to race to tomorrow and chase the promise and secrets it kept. Time, like a giant, invisible key was slowly unlocking me from the tyranny of parents enforcing curfews, bedtimes, chores and homework – tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. The minutes felt like hours and months miniature years. Time was an uncompromising tether keeping me from the freedom of the future. But tomorrow has come and gone … over 14,000 of them, in fact. Suddenly I have found my years add up and I no longer want for tomorrow or the quick passage of time, except to see my little son again. The older I get the faster time feels and I wish it to slow down like it seemed when I was young – because today I appreciate the value of magic moments in ways I didn't back then. 

Tomorrow can keep its secrets, every last one … for there is magic in the moment and I will seek after them until my time is done.

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INVISIBLE THINGS THAT SHAPE OUR SOULS

It was only a few years ago we were in Wyoming to spend time with family. My father-in-law was born in Wyoming but lived much of his life in Utah. As his retirement neared he decided to purchase a small cabin deep in the vaguely flat fields of Wyoming. At first I thought it a strange move and often wondered why he purchased a place out there. Then it occurred to me how, at some point in our lives, most everybody yearns to go home. Suddenly I understood.

So on this mid-Saturday morning, sitting in this small cabin filled with all manner of children, grandchildren and in-laws I saw something that swept my heart to the heavens and back. I had just sat on the couch for a bit to write in my journal when I noticed through the chaos of people and things a tender conversation between Mitch and his grandfather. This was the same grandfather who, just a few years later, would give Mitch a puppy to call his own, just weeks before he died. You can watch that sweet exchange here: vimeo.com/58228257

Mitch had just painted a hat and was showing his loving grandfather what he had worked so hard to do. I could tell by the tender look on Mitchell’s face he appreciated how much grandpa cared. Though I was surrounded by the noise of 15 people scuttling about the activities of the day, time slowed down for me and I watched this quiet exchange with tears in my eyes. I hid my face behind my camera, so as not to be noticed or draw attention. I was so grateful for the love and quiet attention my son received – for this moment, among many others, shaped him. 

My father-in-law has no idea this picture exists and I am quite certain he doesn't remember this ordinary, but beautiful exchange. But I remember this and many more like them – and I have photos of them, too. These moments remembered are like bandages that bind up my broken heart. They remind me that my son had a good life and that he was surrounded by people who loved him – and Mitch felt it. These happy moments give my heart, stricken with grief, a moment of peace and sweet release.

As I look upon this nearly invisible exchange, a conversation that lasted no more than 2 minutes, I am reminded why we are here in the first place. I can’t help but wonder if the Father of our souls lovingly looks at our own messy efforts, despite how critical we might be of ourselves, and is pleased to see we did the best we knew how. Mitch did the best he knew how, and it was perfect. Nothing more could have been asked of him – I was so proud of Mitch.

The older I get the less I fixate on perfection and the more I am satisfied with growth – however fast or slow. I know many perfectionists whose greatest weakness is perfectionism. They are tyrannized by order, symmetry, and technical flawlessness – so much so, their appetite for perfection bleeds into their human exchanges and they often miss the point of things and damage relationships. Oh there’s a time and a place for perfection; I expect a bridge, or a building, or an aircraft be engineered perfectly. But in matters of the soul, we tend to build and rebuild ourselves with materials we cannot see – which makes the struggle of human growth woven with great difficulty.

At least for me, life is an exercise of trial and error, failures and triumphs, stumbling down and getting back on our feet again. In the end, I believe we’ll all come to know the purpose of life is to gain experience and grow. One day, in that place beyond the hills, I believe we will look back on our own struggles and see how, because of them, we were made stronger, more compassionate and more like our Father.

I’ll never forget Mitchell’s messy hat, colored with chaotic splotches from his young, inexperienced hand. It was perfect. Nor will I ever forget this seasoned grandfather, a man who quietly longed to be home, who offered love and attention to my son. Though, mortal and imperfect, in that moment he was perfect.

I hope, at the end of my days, my Father will see far past my weaknesses, which are many, and look upon my heart; for there is love in there, it has been that way from the very start. 

I am grateful for this sweet exchange, and many like them, that remind me to look for perfect moments, not perfect people. Perfection, at least in matters of the soul, has more to do with effort than exactness – the invisible things we do, over time, that shape our heart, minds and souls.

 
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A REASON FOR GLEE

There is a saying that reads, “Do not teach your child to be rich. Teach him to be happy. So when he grows up, he’ll know the value of things, not the price.” I always loved this saying for many reasons and have tried to help my children appreciate the little things: soft pillows, macaroni and cheese, and blanket forts. After all, true value has little (if anything) to do with price –and the things of greatest value cannot be purchased with money. Not at any price.

During his last summer of life, Mitch spent some long-awaited time at his grandmother’s ranch in Southern Utah. On this day life couldn't have been more awesome; the weather was perfect and glee was floating in the air like spring pollen. In the horizon you could see the ancient fingers of Kolob Canyon which stood towering into the sky as a majestic reminder that our lives are but a blink and humans are only transients on this planet … this classroom of rock and water. 

Before my mother moved to her ranch I drove by this canyon a thousand times, oblivious to the true beauty of the landscape I was passing. The highway hugs the mountain range and base of Kolob Canyon in such a way you cannot see it (not even a little bit) because the road is too close to it. Without the proper perspective, everything feels ordinary. But, if you take an exit near the canyon and get a little distance from the highway, you will see the most amazing mountain range. This canyon is one of Utah’s best kept secrets – invisible to the casual traveler.

Once I discovered this, the relationship between the highway and this canyon began to serve as something of a metaphor to me – a reminder that sometimes I can’t see a thing until I step back and look from a different vantage point. 

My experience with Mitch taught me the same thing. As I travel the long road of grief, when I step away from my sorrow and look upon the landscape of this experience from a different vantage point, I see beauty. I also see reminders this place is not home … that I, too, am a transient and will one day travel to a better place. 

I love this photo because it reminds me Mitch lived a good life. If there were one image that best illustrated my son, this is it. Mitch was happy – not because of things, but because he was loved by his family and he discovered ways to find joy in everything. I have recently discovered many videos of my family where you can see Mitch skipping in the background (unaware he was on camera) because he was simply happy. Although the road he traveled was hard, and he could have found a million-and-one reasons to complain about life not being fair to him, he always stepped away from his limitations and appreciated life from a different vantage point. He saw the canyon. 

While having lost my son has been a source of great sorrow, he is also a great source of inspiration to me. And though I walk imperfectly, I will learn from my little boy. Like Mitch, I will find a reason for glee. For indeed, as I step away and look upon my life differently, I can clearly see there is beauty all around me.

Thank you Mitchie, for teaching me to be happy – to always find a reason for glee.

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DOUBLE WIN’S

This was Mitchell’s last time at his grandmothers – the place, other than home, he loved to be above all others. I’m not sure if it was the chocolate cake from Costco she would get especially for him, or the small 4-wheelers he could ride into the woods, or if it was the escape from life as he knew it, maybe it was the unbridled love he received – but whatever it was, he wanted to be there. 

As we stood at the door and said goodbye my mother reached behind Mitch, who is as shy as he is sweet, and kissed his cheek. I could tell Mitch felt so good inside. I think everybody deserves to feel good inside. 

I captured this tender moment with my phone. As we left her place there was a certain heaviness in my heart. I didn’t know where my feelings were coming from – I just sensed something was happening. Something significant. As we drove away I struggled to swallow the lump in my throat. Had I known this was his last trip there, I would have begged to stay another day or two. My mother said after we left she just sat on the floor and wept. Perhaps her soul, not knowing the end was coming, was being prepared for this loss.

It was the last few days of November and the Christmas holidays were just around the corner. I could tell Mitch was excited to see what Santa would bring –but he was even more excited about the gifts he was going to give everyone else. Mitch always gave to others freely. I think deep inside he felt no matter how much he gave, he always got more in return. 

Even when Mitch was home on hospice, he spent his hard-saved money on a collection of Warheads (very sour candy) and gave them away. I remember sitting with him on the edge of his bed as he separated the flavors. He softly pointed to the blue raspberry ones and said almost in a whisper, struggling to breathe, “These ones are rare. They’re my favorite.” He then grabbed my hand and put the precious 3 candies in my palm, then closed my fingers and pushed my hand back to me. I said to him, “Oh, no Mitchie, these are yours. You keep them because I know you love them.” As I reached to give them back he pushed my hand back to me with a gentle smile and said, “No, you keep them. And I want you to eat one right now.” My heart sank a little because I wanted him to have his favorite treats, but I realized in that moment that letting Mitch give was the gift he really wanted. 

So, I opened one quickly and put it in my mouth. Mitch began to smile and giggle as I puckered and writhed over the intense sour candy that was destroying my taste buds. Mitch finally burst out in laughter as he saw me cry out “I can’t take it!” For Mitch, giving was a win to him. And seeing me almost gag over the super-sour candy was a second win that paid dividends of giggles and laughter.

I still have those other two candies in a special box that contains treasures from Mitch. 

Mitch reminds me daily what it means to win. Sometimes life gives us double-wins when everything turns out as planned. Other times we do our best and appear to fail; but if we are honest and do our best we have already won, regardless of the outcome. What is winning, really? It is doing the right thing – no matter the cost. Mitch always did the right thing. And more often than not, he won twice.

With all his double-wins, my little boy lost his battle with life … yet he won his soul by the way he lived it. And, by the grace of God, while I stumble and fall a million times as I chase after my son, I hope to hold him once more. I hope to look into his innocent eyes and thank him for helping me understand to do good and be good is what it means to truly win.

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