Choosing To See

Fall leaves come floating down, swirl evidence of the dead and dying. Thanks to a record-breaking hot summer and little rain, the once-alive look crisp and fried like some unseen blowtorch was turned on them, trees showing off their distress. And I feel I've shown my own share of distress as my soul feels like it's been through its own fire and has died a death of sorts, too. Lakes and creek beds slowly drain, and I feel the life draining out of me, also. My homeland isn't the only thing that's in an extreme drought. I think I'm in one of my own.

Maybe this is why I've found myself living in the wilderness-words of David when he cried out in Psalm 63: 

"O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;

my soul thirsts for you, as in a dry and weary land

where there is no water."

Yes, I am parched for the healing rains of Heaven amidst the drought of grief and death and all things ending, longing for goodness when it seems to have evaded me in this place. Clinging to grace-drops like the earth now soaks every shower, futile though it seems to end the thirstiness of this drying, of this dying. 

My only sustaining has been to look for the miracles. To find something whole and living and reminding of all-resurrecting and renewing. I've had my eyes open, seeking some way in which His love might be evident when He feels the most distant. I've prayed to notice the blessings, however small. To bring a sacrifice of praise out of the depths of the heart's deepest darkness. 

A camera lens is teaching me how to do this. 

I've always loved pictures. Loved documenting the happenings of life, scrapbooking my way along so as to remember names, faces, memories, love. To trace the story of life as its played out. When I would travel in younger years, I would take photos of everything and everybody. I would come back with iPhone and camera filled with snapshots of activities, places, people, things. When spending time with others, I'd stop the fun just to take a photo, as if to capture the feeling of that moment. But I'm seeing differently as I get older. 

I bought a professional-quality camera a year ago because I wanted to better savor the world around me. I wanted to better see what He's made. Wanted to better share the miracles I found. But what I instead found is that my photo-taking decreased but my sight increased. The volume of pictures went down but my volume of joy went up. Because life became less about capturing every moment and more about capturing holy moments. Became less about documenting and more about focusing. Somehow, holding that lens became a way to better hold the moments that matter instead of trying to hold every moment and losing the sense of mere breathing existence miraculous. 

That camera became a lens to my soul, a reflection of what I see. More like what I choose to see! And isn't all of life about choosing what to notice? In the wilderness spaces, can I choose to find life? To make the valley of tears a place of abundance merely by where I look? Where I turn my gaze?

I'm finding that, the more I use this image-tool, the more I'm seeing details I never noticed. Angles I've failed to see. Perspective I've neglected to gain. My perception-depth has changed because I'm seeing lower, deeper, fuller simply by what I see through that lens. Yet strangely, I'm taking less pictures than before. But what I am taking carries more meaning. Is a reflection of grace. Is a capturing of the miracle. 

When I take my camera-friend out, I'm a grace-seeker on the hunt. I'm still learning all its functions, and I'm learning the functions of God as I go. I'm eager to find today's photo that best describes a moment sacred I want to remember. And there's usually always one. The holy is forever present if we have eyes to see. 

I returned a few weeks ago from a family trip to visit my 92-year-old grandmother, capped off by a delightful weekend spent with a dear friend I rarely get to see. What struck me is that the entire weekend my friend and I were together, I have very few pictures to show for it. I could've chosen to document it all, to record all of the adventures and ask for a selfie or photo at every point. Some people do that. But somehow, it just didn't feel right. Because I started to realize that pictures can reflect time but can't replace time. Every second spent to stop and pose is a second not spent giving the gift of presence. Some experiences are better left undocumented. Some moments are better left kept in the vault of the human mind and heart. 

On this trip, I spent time choosing to see with my eyes but when I raised the lens, it was to retain something I wanted my soul-eyes to remember. I was reminded that elderly eyes fail and I don't have forever to see these colors, this world, or the faces of those I love in it. Loss has visited my heart often this year. And, while I am glad for every photo I have of those now departed, I find the images I most savor are the ones in my memory - the ones when I simply looked somebody in the eyes, or shared an un-scripted conversation off-record that still brings back their voice, their laugh, their heart. And someday, should these eyes of mind fail, those memory-moments are all I'll have. If I can't look at pictures, I can still re-live feelings, emotions, words, voice-tones, expressions. All things that photos can't retain. And somehow, I'm discovering that I want more of these memories. 

And so I'm choosing what to see. I'm selecting when and why to pick up the lens. Is it out of desperation to hold onto to something that a picture can't fully capture? Or is it to remind me of what God is really after? Of how He calls me to slow, to savor, to listen? When I place my finger on the button, am I seeing through the viewfinder the ways He loves? Am I in touch with the One who has showcased all this beauty for the simple reason of revealing the ways He loves? 

Breeze hits the colors muted of winter's approach and everything continues to fall. But I'm reminded that as I feel my own cycle of falling and rising again, even the wilderness stumbling and the longing for life-giving God-rain is an opportunity to fall yet again into the Grace-arms that forever hold fast.