View fullsize

I’ve experienced a lot of hard things in life – but nothing so hard as being a parent. 

On this night I took my kids to a restaurant; Natalie was at another function so I was blessed with some one-on-one time with my kids. At one point I said something that hurt my son’s feelings. I don’t remember exactly what happened – I only remember he was sad. When I realized I hurt his feelings my heart broke and I immediately fell to my knees, put my forehead against his and said, “Oh, Mitchie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Sometimes Daddy’s make mistakes – and they don’t mean to. I love you, son. How I love you…” 

Perhaps nothing quite shows the nobility of children as their readiness to forgive and forget. The irony of adulthood is that some hold grudges and try to inflict hurt on others. But children … they are endlessly good. No wonder it is said of them, “of such is the kingdom of heaven.” Sadly, it is adults who bring hell on earth. If only we could love and forgive like children do. If only we could see the best in each other and forgive with loving hearts - oh, how the world might change.

“We spend our lives trying to grow up and out of things - and while growth is necessary, if we’re not mindful, sometimes we leave the best parts of us behind.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

So there I knelt at my son’s feet; a painful fatherly confession was made and a tender plea for his love and forgiveness was shared. Mitch put his arms around my neck and I hugged him tightly. “I love you, little boy. With all of my heart.” Mitch whispered, “I love you too, Dad.” 

Mitch was smiling again – and all was right with the world. Later that night, Mitch and my other kids would snuggle in my arms on the couch as I read stories before bedtime – a tradition Natalie has upheld since our kids were infants. Heaven seldom felt as close as it did that night.

I know I’m not the first parent to upset their child … and I certainly won’t be the last. What I do know, is every time I stumbled I immediately tried to make it right. 

I suppose the point of this post isn’t that I made mistakes and tried to recover; instead, I can’t help but think of the utter goodness of children and how much I have yet to learn from them. I saw in my son this night a most pure and loving heart – something I will carry with me and forever try to be.

We spend our lives trying to grow up and out of things - and while growth is necessary, if we’re not mindful, sometimes we leave the best parts of us behind. 
 

View fullsize

To the friend who made me a husband, the woman who made me a father ... and the soul that made me complete, happy birthday Natalie.

View fullsize

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.

--------------------------

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/

View fullsize

I’ll never forget the glow of the evening sun reflecting warmly from my snow-covered windowsill. By this time, we knew our son was at risk of sudden death and that each moment was more precious than the one before. Time was running short and we were very much afraid. So very afraid.

Natalie reached down and grabbed Mitchell's face, looked him in the eye, and told him how much she loved him. I don't know what Mitchell thought or felt at that moment, all I know is my heart grew a foot or two that day. However cold it was outside, I know he felt the warmth of his mother’s love – and Mitchell’s soft smile always set my soul on fire. A testament that gentleness can wield great power.

We knew death was circling our home and would soon thrash and claw at our door – so we just clung to each other and braced for death. Doctors at the time told us there was nothing left to do – that they had done their best. In a few short months from this photo, my little boy’s heart would stop and we would experience the deepest form of human grief. A place so dark, not even the light of noon day would light the way. And eventually, when we began to see … the broken road of grief would stretch out to infinity.

Like all who grieve, I wish I could go back in time to this very moment so that I could also grab Mitchell’s face, look him in the eyes and tell him that I loved him and how special he was to my heart. I would beg for him to play with me … to build Legos, draw pictures, cuddle and watch movies. I would have set aside everything I was doing to drink in one more moment. I did all that I knew to do … but I wish I did more. That is a burden of grief, too. Those moments of opportunity have long come and gone … and I’m reminded all we ever really keep are the things that we have done. 

I was in a leadership meeting a few months ago where we were trying to deal with some challenges. A peer observed, speaking of someone who wasn’t stepping up to their responsibilities, “Well, he is really busy you know …” he paused a moment then gestured with his hand, “… busy with et cetera.”

I began to think deeply on that simple phrase … “busy with et cetera.” I thought back on my own life and began to take stock of my own life decisions: was I caught up in the froth of frilly things, or was I doing that mattered most? I’d like to think I always made the right choice – but when I’m honest, I know where I could have done things differently … done things better. 

I’m not suggesting that everything in life be deep and heavy … I’m talking about the conversations I could have had with Mitch or my other kids, yet I was lost in my smartphone. Or that thing for work I chose to do on a Friday night, instead of spending time with my family. I’m talking about being anywhere, but nowhere.

It is so easy to get caught up in et cetera; the kinds of things that keep us from living in the moment and thriving … suddenly we find our souls shrinking … on the inside we’re dying. Et cetera: always pretending to be of substance, yet in truth is the thinnest of things … a deception of the heart that is, in the end, really quite mean. Et cetera has us drowning in information, yet ever thirsty for direction, meaning and truth. We get married to material things and lesser pursuits … unaware our once treasured relationships have become the caboose. 

Now, I know I wasn’t that bad, you see … but seeing et cetera for what it is, I know what I don’t want to be.

When I sit at the foot of my son’s place of rest, I want so badly hug and love little Mitch as his daddy knows best. I would trade every et cetera that swept me away … I would give it all back for just one more day.