scott's birthday - no good can come of this

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SCOTT!

((Are you my mummy?))

picture taker

I haven't been too good about blogging this year. 

I look at my total posts to date and figure if I'm even going to make it look like "a post a day" I'm going to have to double and triple up on posts from here til the end of the year.

((not going to happen))

My writing habits have never been consistent. I'll go on mad sprees and the words pour like water but then... I don't know. It's not a drought per se, nor could I ever call it any kind of writer's block, but it's just the lack of desire to actually download those thoughts from this addled brain of mine and commit them to paper or post. I suppose that's why photography began to take a firmer hold of me -  it was a new way for me to tell stories, and not just my own, but the stories of all the people I know and love.

I started dating a wonderful man recently and in getting to know each other I began talking out loud and in earnest, I think for the first time, about why photography has become so special to me. Because being allowed into someone's life long enough to take a photo - even if it's a passing stranger n the street, you are being given an instantaneous and unique opportunity to experience their life. To freeze that split second of existence forever. And to be invited into some of the most momentous and important events in one's life? There are few greater honors, I'd like to think.

When I've been asked to photograph weddings, or a child's first birthday, or the excitement mixed with tender trepidation behind the eyes of parents to be - how special is that? Not everyone is allowed into those worlds, let alone with the free reign to get up close and infiltrate the instant a memory is made. 

Sometimes I wonder, when my subjects have no clue that I'm as close as I am, or that my lens is trained in their direction, if those quiet, fleeting moments that land themselves into my photos are the kind of moments that are collected somewhere for us to watch on that bigscreen in heaven. And I'm not just talking about the moments I actually get a picture of, but the ones that happen between shutter clicks, the ones that happen when I'm checking the battery life of my camera, the ones that happen when no photographer is anywhere near and occur before you even realize you're creating a memory you wish to God you could hold onto forever. 

I hope so. 

I hope there is a great giant shoebox filled with all of the snapshots I missed in life but that God was there to capture for me so that someday, when I'm sitting on the floor there in heaven ((because I/m gonna go ahead and assume heaven has a floor and that sometime in all of that eternity I'll have time to reminisce on all the happy moments I had in life)) I can leaf through the images and remember and think to myself how glad I was someone was there to take a picture of all those times I'd want to keep forever.

I think I got more than a little bit off my train of thought there ((I don't know how, that never happens)).

My point in all of this drivel is that even though words have been my chosen medium for as long as I can remember - and though I have absolutely zero intent on ever choosing otherwise - I do believe that photographs may have inched right up alongside my precious words as my favorite way to communicate.

After all, a picture is supposed to be worth a thousand words so as far as I can tell the two were always meant to go hand in hand.

happy birthday, dad!

This is woefully late, but have I mentioned lately how great my dad is? 

I mean really, let's take a moment to think about it...

This is the guy who, though he once claimed he never wanted to have kids, sends me weekly emails just to tell me how grateful he is for the chance to be my dad.

He's the one who has given me pink roses every birthday since I was born, always making sure there is one bloom for every year.

The guy who made me "The Vice President In Charge of the President" of Private Preserve when I was like what, a toddler?

My dad is the one who helped out in my classrooms all throughout elementary school, who instilled in me a love of the written word, raised me to love God and love others and who has shown me time and again, through his actions and his very life itself, that honesty and character are far more important than most everything else.

So here's to a belated, but no less enthusiastic,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY 

to my one and only Dad-n!

on this side

One day you'll see her and you'll know what I mean.

Take her or leave her she will still be the same.

She'll not try to buy you with her time.

But nothing's the same, as you will see when she's gone.

It's foreign on this side,

And I'll not leave my home again.

There's no place to hide

And I'm nothing but scared.

You dream of colors that have never been made,

You imagine songs that have never been played.

They will try to buy you and your mind.

But only the curious have something to find.

It's foreign on this side,

And the truth is a bitter friend.

But reasons few have I to go back again.

Your first dawn blinded you, left you cursing the day.

Entrance is crucial and it's not without pain.

There's no path to follow, once you're here.

You'll climb up the slide and then you'll slide down the stairs.

It's foreign on this side,

But it feels like I'm home again.

There's no place to hide

But I don't think I'm scared.

- Nickel Creek, "This Side" -

__________

It's been an intense year. 

You know that. 

And I can say with no hesitation that my life would not be what it is right now were it not for the prayers and support of not only my friends "in real life" ((because to dis-count them in any way would break my heart)) but because of you all. The friends who have stood alongside and been there to pray and listen and ache, though no flesh and blood meeting has ever occured.

That is something special. That is a unique breed of friendhsip that time and again is touted throughout the blogging world as something we can't fully wrap our minds around but won't dare question because it is just. that. amazing.

So before I get into it, I want to offer a deep, true and eternal thank you. To you. The incredible and wild gratitiude I have for each and every one of you who have sent little notes of encouragement, sent up prayer and reached out with "I've been there, too... I am STILL there, and now we both know we're not alone"... OK, i could go on but I'll probably start crying.

What I wanted to say here is that even while Oregon is trapped under an all-too-early cloud of rain usually reserved for I don't know, like, January? I can feel my own cloud finally lifting. The storm, dare I say it, dare I even dream it, dare I even begin to believe it, has passed. 

I feel like I made it to the other side and I feel more myself than I ever have.

And this new season is remarkable.

___________

I was so sad, for so long. And while God was forging me in the fire, I fought it. 

I fought it so hard. 

My goodness, how I wasn't sure I'd make it though without melting, being destroyed.

But He made me from far finer material than could be ruined by the flames.

To tell someone who is hurting, who is grieving, who is just plain trapped in a sadness they can't get out from under is damn near useless. I mean sure, it's a comfort to know that people around you love you and are trying every. last. thing. to try and make you smile again... But at a certain point you don't want to hear it anymore.

"Wait... Be still... TRUST... His timing, not your own..."

I can't tell you how many times I all out SCREAMED at God. I told him I was DONE. I didn't want to feel this way anymore, I didn't want to wait for the storm to pass, I wanted IMMEDIATE rescue, Life Flight, whatever!

I can almost hear the long, deep sighs he must have uttered in response. 

Not out of frustration, but just a simple exhale - probaly more for me than Him, because I was gasping on the inhale but couldn't let anything out. If that makes sense. I know now, and I suppose I knew then though I had a hard time believeing it some days, that He was right there with me. He was feeling the hurt, and wanting to make it all better... But his version of "all better" was different than mine. I wanted immediate satisfaction. I wanted to wake up the very next day and not miss the man I was in love with for so long. I wanted to wake up and not be crippled on the inside with the sadness at knowing he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I wanted to be happy, genuinely happy again. And I wanted it RIGHT NOW.

And I know God wanted that too. But He wanted to make sure I understood why this was all happening. Why things went down the way they did. Because I've never been one to take on the unknown - in this case, the unknown being a life without the person who at one time was everything to me - without some serious bucking and incredible fear of what I didn't know how to do.

Or what I thought I didn't know how to do.

Because as it turns out, I was much better at life than I gave myself credit for. I absolutely still miss my friend, but it took all of that to show me that I am incredibly capable of living an absoltuely amazing life no matter what. That life was beautiful without him.

And what's amazing now is that here, walking in the light at the end of the tunnel, I can see how things had to happen the way they did because I fought every other method He tried to use to keep me from the kind of hurt I landed myself in.

And I have to tell you... 

When I let my heart be open again for the first time in two years, incredible things started to happen.

A new season is not just a physical change in the weather, or colors in the trees. The seasons that change in our souls are infinitely more dynamic and altering. They are a different kind of visible. 

They are that much more magical.

It's competely different on this side than I had imagined. The quick fix I had so prayed for, and eventually reliquished to "Your will not mine" in the last couple months has given way to the most phenomal things, I can't believe it.

Somewhere between embarking on a wonderful new adventure with my career ((more on that soon)) and meeting an incredible man ((also more on that soon... maybe... this is where I'd probably issue a coy wink if I was the coy winking type)) I can only see this light getting brighter and brighter.

And I'm not so scared anymore.

I've always loved autumn and this year, I think I love it more. Because it's my own autumn. Because even when one season ends, and it looks like something is dying, it's not...

It's making way for something new.

So I watched the leaves fall
All of the way to the ground
And I knew that that was what love was
To die so that it could be found

- Ben Rector, "Autumn" -

seven

Every year my church takes part in a citywide happening we call Seven. 

It’s pretty amazing. 

Over 25 churches around the entire city and even into its surrounding small towns gather together in prayer and fasting for one week, hoping to see a move of God in the place we call home. It’s actually a pretty loose game when it comes to how you want to participate – you can fast for one day, you can fast for the whole week. You can pray with your church, your family, your friends, whoever.  There is no right way to do it really, so long as your heart is in the right place.

Last year I took part in it for the first time. For one week I really only consumed a few protein shakes and ate a couple of small bites on the days that I worked because a) I’d never fasted before and wasn't trying ot be a hero about the whole thing, and b) in a physically demanding job, I felt very quickly the effects of not eating. I remember by Thursday, I was unloading a couple pallets of wine and could feel how my physical strength was almost gone. It was sobering. And what it really made me realize was how much I thought about food and eating and drinking, when I could be using that valuable brain space to focus my thoughts toward prayer. And that was alarmingly humbling.

The final day of Seven, all of the people who want to be a part of it from all the churches citywide gather together on the waterfront in Portland down by the banks of the Willamette River. Now that was something. I went alone and, because I’m still a  recovering introvert, I stayed on the outskirts of the group. Not because I didn’t trust that I would be welcomed into any of the little groups of people huddled together in prayer, but because I was scared.

Sidenote: I’m still incredibly shy when it comes to gathering up with people in prayer. Even people I know. I want so badly to be able to circle up with a group of friends and be able to speak beautiful prayers ((Nathan is particularly good at this, he always seems to find the right words)) but alas, I clam up every time. I’m talking all out panic. I hate praying out loud in groups to the point that just thinking about it now I can feel my anxiety levels hitting alarming new heights – “but you keep it all inside”.

So anyway, I stood back and watched and listened and sang quietly by myself along with about a thousand people who love Jesus lifted the words of “Amazing Grace” to the city of Portland. I still felt a part of it. I was still there. But especially at the point I was a year ago, I was not in the right place to jump in fully.

So fast-forward now to this year.

Seven began on Sunday and all that day I fasted, drinking only liquids throughout the day at work. Boom, boom, done.

I continued this through Monday and Tuesday, sipping on green smoothies for lunch and having some soup for dinner each night just to get a little nourishment ((again, having learned that running around the winery for 8-9 hours a day with nothing in my system is not the best idea if I’m going to do my job well))… But for three days something wasn’t setting right. I could feel in myself that this year my heart wasn’t in it fully. And what little it was, I’m not sure it was for the right reasons. My head would redirect me to prayer and remind me why I was doing this, but I wasn’t feeling it. And I don’t mean that to sound flippant by any means, just that this year I wasn’t as “all in” as I was last year. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about they was God likes to do things, it’s that if you recognize you’re not doing something for the right reasons, it’s best not to.

“Nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate” and such.

Not that I wasn’t doing it with love for Jesus, I was. And I wanted to do it to honor Him. What I wanted to do what mind-over-matter that shiz and not let Him down!

But in thinking all that over, I noticed something. I was more focused on not letting myself down. I was doing this more as a test of my own will power, is what I realized. I wasn't doing it to glorify God or doing for my city. I was seeing if I could go a week without eating. Not great, Lairen. And then in turn I started to worry that God was going to be disappointed in me - for not following through with the fast, for not doing it for the right reasons in the first place. All of it came crushing with guilt ((of my own creation, it should be noted)).

I mean, Jesus knows I’m going to eff some things up in life – that’s a given. And He loves me no matter what. That I know for sure. So while it’s always good to be aware of trying to be a good and faithful servant, why was I allowing my pride tell me this was going to be some straw that breaks the camel’s back?

So after thinking about it and wrestling with it for the past few days, I woke up this morning and decided to end my fast. And you know what? In its own way I think it has made me more prayerful this time around. Last year I was absolutely praying for a move of God. And I saw it – I saw it with my own eyes the power of those prayers.  This year, not being able to focus my prayers as much as I’d have liked, I was instead coming face to face with a conviction that I’m guessing was a long time coming – who are you doing these “good things” for? It brought me to my knees knowing that if I’m not doing something this important for His glory, I ought not do it at all.

Does this make me a bad Christian? I don’t think so.

I think it’s just real.

I am nowhere near being “the perfect Christian” and I hope never to think so highly of myself as to claim that.

I am messed up, I am broken, I am a walking natural disaster. 

And I don’t say this in a “woe is me, please boost me up!” way but simply in an honest, here it is, lay it all out kind of way. We’ve all said it or read it at some point, that if you’re only posting what makes your life look like something out of the pages of Kinfolk and making believe that life is perfect, if only on the scrolling pages of a blog, you’re lying. And Lord knows, I’m not trying to hide some of the crap that’s gone on the past couple of years. So why would I think that simply by not holding strong to this week of fasting I’m somehow backsliding into God-knows-what? 

I’m not sure what I was thinking, but I think it was somewhere along the lines of “everyone at church will know I’m not a dedicated a Christian as they are and oh NO I feel like a fraud!”… Which is even more ridiculous because my friends at church are nowhere near that kind of people! The people at my church are amazing, loving and open-minded – what am I worried about? Oh, that’s right, my own BS. How fair of me to let that ricochet off my own ego and onto them. Oy. 

___________

I will not hold myself to a standard of perfection, but rather a standard of honesty. And honestly? While I love prayer, I kind of hate fasting. Which is probably a sign that I should do it more. But that's another post for another time.

I’m still navigating this whole world while following Jesus. He promised it wouldn’t be easy, and if nothing else He said rings true that’s the one thing for sure. I’m good with that. I understand that my chances of getting it “wrong” are far greater than getting it “right” but like I said, He loves me. He loves. And all the fasting in the world can’t make Him love me any more than He already does.

Isn’t that amazing? No, you know what that is?

That’s grace.

Amazing, amazing grace. 

it's a brig-y kind of birthday

Happiest of happy October birthdays to my favorite little wombat!!! 

Brigette: 1/3 of my other 2/3, the one who sprang the greatest adventure of my life ((moving to Portland)), a little bit Anne Shirley/a little bit Kathleen Kelly, lover of autumn & reflections in spoons, so far away ((but we still keep buying the same clothes and dressing alike from 1,000 miles away)), but loved 

ALL THE WAY FROM HERE TO THERE!!! 

And now for a rousing chorus of Las Mananitas!