For the longest time I walked blind through my own home.
It was as though I moved in this drunken stumble with my hands splayed out at the end of my arms in a pleading gesture, Can someone please show me how to turn on the light? The light. Honestly, I didn't want to turn it on because I was afraid that what I might see wouldn't be what I'd always wanted.
Sometimes what you have is exactly what you've sought after all along. You just have to remember to open your eyes.
You see, there's this boy here. Or rather, he's not a boy anymore. Choosing me, this life of ours, every day has grown him into a man. I'll always love him for that. It was just us for a long while and it was good. And then we thought, Can this get any better? We tried to answer that question and nine months later Behr was born.
So, here we are, two years deep into parenthood, living in that same house I thought we'd be far away from by now. We're breathing alive, warming the spaces next to one another and learning new steps to that dance named Love. We stumble a lot. See our bruises here...and here?
I don't know when it happened; when the blight healed itself from my eyes. But there's a distinct difference from Before All This and Now. I started realizing that sunlight sings gold through these cracked window panes the same way she does every other house. I became captivated by the little-not-really-little-at-all things: the rise of my husband's chest heaving like ocean tide. The milky cream of Behr's skin. How my baby may sprawl out of my arms like a wild growing sapling, but he's still small enough to fit inside the hollow above my heart.
These days look like asking questions and wrestling out answers. Especially in regards to what we want our life to look like, where our photography business fits in, and what God wants us to do with our small handfuls of time on this planet. There's lots of behind-the-scenes work happening and, honestly, it's hard. But like anything good, we see the worth in making these sacrifices.
I can already feel a shift in my perspective. Just look at the images in this post. They're some of the best we've made yet. Why? Because we're seeking to pull back the layers deemed 'ordinary' and reveal the magic present here. And when I look through these pictures, I see just that. I see the juxtaposition of mundane and marvelous. Right here in our under-lit, unfinished, un-perfect life. I see the miracle. Really, I see God.
I can't be the only one who's lived blind and missed out on His glory in my ordinary. I can't be the only one who struggles to be madly in love with the life I have--not the life I want. What's that, you too? Maybe you're reading this, nodding your head and saying, "I've been there (am there)".
So, what do we do now?
We're taking deep breaths and entering the sacred fight for joy. This post is to share that we're on a journey of sorts (as metaphorically dramatic as that sounds) and we're asking you to join us. We're asking you to be brave.
Perhaps if I could start this post over, it would go something like this: I'm an empathic writer married to a kind photographer and, by the grace of Jesus, we've discovered how to really and truly love our life. Sure, we're still growing in this, we still struggle. But we know that living together in these--his diaper needs changed, do you want me to fix you some eggs, can you hold me, would you mind to sweep, see all the stars buddy, i'm sorry for being a jerk, i love you, i love you too--days is really us walking on holy ground.
And now, we're doing everything we can to use the avenue of Light & Letter Photography to help you do the same. Tell me, wouldn't you love to see just how grand your life already is? We can't wait to show you.
ps. as always, the comment section on my latest Instagram post is wide open for you to connect with me about anything that you related to in this post. See you there!