because there is always hope

Hope and I have a tenuous relationship at best. By definition, it means believing in the good the future holds, in having expectation of good even when the present may come up short in the category of things we call good. And here is one I cannot escape: hope sometimes seems like a denial of the realities of the present.

Hope means believing there is light when all around you is dark, and when the darkness is so thick that you can't even see the hand in front of your face. Hope means believing that what will be is so full of good when what is is dismal and depressing. Hope means holding the tension between the reality of the present and the eager expectation of what awaits in the future. It means we do it even when it seems like we don't have a good reason.

But we do have a good reason. There is always hope.

Hummingbird
Canon 40D
21 December 2009

On the winter solstice, we experience more minutes of darkness than on any other day of the year. But after that, the days get longer, degree by degree. After that, the door slowly creaks open and gives way to the light of spring. Barren branches bud with green new life. The sun shines on our faces more, and we are warmed.

No matter how cold and dark it gets, spring always comes. No matter how long the night is, the daylight always appears. And sometimes you are reminded even on the darkest, coldest day that something new awaits: life and wings and flight and light and hope.

Because there is always hope.

Blessings and peace to you this Christmas season.

Photo available for sale on RedBubble

reuben

Reuben
Canon 40D
Help-Portrait 12.20.2009
Seattle, WA

While most of our subjects for the Help Portrait event on 12.20.09 specifically requested their portraits not be shared, Reuben gave his express permission.

And I'm so glad he did.

One of the few subjects who was unreluctant and natural in front of the camera, it was my honor to take his portrait and to share it with you here. I continue to be humbled by my Help-Portrait experience and hope that next year, every photographer (no matter his or her skill level) will take the opportunity to participate. I post this in honor of all the brave and healing souls I encountered that day.

sometimes, you will have no idea what you are doing

Me doing my Help-Portrait thang

The Aloha Inn, Seattle
20 December 2009
Photo Credit: orionlee

That describes my experience on Sunday at the Help-Portrait event at which I volunteered at The Aloha Inn in Seattle, a transitional housing facility for individuals seeking to make their way out of homelessness. I was totally on board when I heard about Help-Portrait, which I saw as a chance to meld my burgeoning love of photography with a desire also to be of service to the homeless.

Help-Portrait is the brain/heart-child of Jeremy Cowart, a professional photographer who has photographed oodles and oodles of famous people; you've probably seen plenty of his work without even knowing it. I found out about Help Portrait when I read this entry on Donald Miller's blog in early September. The idea was simple: take portraits of and give prints of them to people who would otherwise not have the opportunity to have a decent portrait taken. No minimum skill level, no fancy camera equipment or skills needed. Just as willingness to show up and a heart to give.

So like I said: I was totally on board. I just had no idea I'd be such a fish out of water, complete with desperate flopping, dramatic flailing in search of a safe pool, and feeling all slimy, slippery, and scaly to boot (hopefully not the smelly part; the team could probably best speak to that point).

Since we've been married, I've joined with James in his passion for serving the homeless, and so this was too perfect an opportunity. But for someone who has been happily clicking away with her DSLR without really knowing what she was doing, I felt like I was thrown into the deep end when I (gulp) volunteered to be the portrait photographer and (double-gulp) somehow ended up at the last minute as the event coordinator. Luckily a lot of groundwork had been laid by others who held their events earlier in the month (the "official" Help-Portrait day was December 12), but until we got there and the event started, I was insanely tense and nervous about my roles for the day.

The lovely Denise, our roaming photographer
Taken with Blackberry camera phone

There is a part of me that would like to say that it all went off without a hitch -- that was a natural behind the camera, that I was a pro at drawing my more reluctant subjects out of their shells. I adjusted my camera settings with ease and kept everything moving along smoothly. This was so clearly not the case.

I had no idea how to set up the lights or where to put the backdrop. The white balance on my camera -- how do I adjust that again? What mode should I shoot in? Why do my test shots look so washed out? How do you find suitable poses for people? What type of memory card do I have? And how in the world (pray tell) have I been taking pictures this long without knowing these things?

These are all things I fumbled through awkwardly, and not without quite a bit of help. Other volunteers helped me with my settings and my white balance, with suggestions and ideas. James moved the backdrop to a better location. Sam happily cropped and processed photos all by himself. Annie coaxed smiles and confident postures from our subjects. All were warm and wonderful people. Instead of feeling like an idiot, I felt like I was being helped myself. I was doubly inspired by the brave and healing souls who were the subjects of our photographs.

I have a lot to learn when it comes to photography. I am living proof that it's shockingly easy to take beautiful pictures with a DSLR without knowing half of what the darn thing (the "darn thing" being the camera) can do. In the meantime, it's good to know that there are those who can make up for what I lack and who are more than willing to share their expertise without condescension. And for those times when I don't have a clue what I am doing, maybe I will remember that even then, me having it together is not the point.

Sometimes, I will have absolutely no idea what I am doing. And somehow even then, it will be okay.


NOTE: I would love to share some of the portraits with you that were taken at the event. Most of our subjects (understandably) signed forms affirming that they would like their privacy protected and not have their photos posted in any public forum. There were a few brave souls, however, that said they would love to have their images shared. Once processed, I'll happily share those portraits!!

overdoing it, perhaps

When getting ready to leave for a Christmas party last night, I suggested to James that I had an accessory that would make me stand out from the crowd and feel extraordinarily special.

What do you think -- is this too much??

photo by kirsten.michelle

advent mercies

It is Advent now: a season of waiting. I imagine Mary, stroking her heavy pregnant belly, wondering exactly what and who it was she would be welcoming. I wonder if the days seemed longer and heavier and darker as the day drew ever nearer. I imagine that there were times it seemed the day would never come. I imagine that she felt the stretch and ache of it all.

As I peruse blogs these days, I find other writers heavy with this theme of waiting, of as-yet-unmet expectation, of hope in the long dark hours of winter. I am heavy with waiting, too. It seems the days stretch on into an endless succession of nothings sometimes. This is held in tension with the many blessings afforded me this year, the foremost of which is a love I did not expect ever to experience. Some days it seems ironic and others, I know that what I've received has taught me to expect and to hope.

Waiting is an impossible place to be sometimes: hopeful and buoying with effervescence one minute, I can feel deeply discouraged and all but suffocated in the next. I constantly find myself pinging back and forth like a pinball between I know it must happen and it will never, ever happen. Ever.

And yet we are repeatedly commanded in sacred Scripture to wait, to trust, and to hope. This seems unrealistic at best at masochistic at worst in light of the realities we face respectively: the baby that seems like he will never come, the ever-evasive perfect job that suits our passions and abilities, the light of revelation that will lift the fog from our mind or the shackles from a crippling depression. And it's not as if the men who penned these words did not have their share of adversity; they faced murderers at their heels, plotters in their courts, and crowds who spat upon them when the truth was spoken. It is not as if they didn't understand the weight of their words.

I was reading in the book of Sirach this morning, a text of Scripture that is new to me in my journey toward becoming Catholic. Predating the time of Christ by about 175-200 years, this book was often used toward the end of instructing those new to the faith: a type of catechesis, if you will. I found these words I read this morning so fitting -- familiar like a well worn pair of shoes, but also fresh in a way that had me gazing upon this truth as a novel and remarkable thing:

You who fear the Lord, wait for His mercy, turn not away lest you fall.
You who fear the Lord, trust Him and your reward will not be lost.
You who fear the Lord, hope for good things, for lasting joy and mercy.
Study the generations long past and understand; has anyone hoped in the Lord and been disappointed?
Has anyone persevered in His fear and been forsaken?
has anyone called upon Him and been rebuffed?
Compassionate and merciful is the Lord; He forgives sins, he saves in time of trouble.
Sirach 2:7-11 (NAB)

While deeply encouraged by what I read, this encouragement came with the knowledge that I will continue to wait, that I will face discouragement, and that I will be tempted toward hopelessness. It can seem unrealistic and ridiculous at times, this command to wait and to hope. Experience and worldliness might teach us all to throw in the towel, to give up, to put our heads down and plod through life as best we can.

But here it is again: the command to hope, to look up, and to look back toward this great cloud of witnesses:

Study the generations long past and understand; has anyone hoped in the Lord and been disappointed? Has anyone persevered in His fear and been forsaken? has anyone called upon Him and been rebuffed?

No. No, they haven't. And neither will I.

It struck me this morning that I have a choice in the matter: I can wait slouchingly and with tremendous self-pity, wallowing in hopelessness, or I can look up and look back and say: I don't know what will happen, or when. But I know He will not disappoint or forsake me. He won't. It's not in His nature. And our lives here are not the end of the story.

And so we wait for Him, stretching and aching together, knowing that if we fall, we fall into mighty hands.

Let us fall into the hands of the Lord, and not the hands of men,
For equal to his majesty is the mercy that He shows.
Sirach 2:18

this is what happens when you're home sick for two days

You finally break out the PaintShop Pro X2 software that has been sitting on your countertop for over a week, install in on your computer, and start figuring out how to use it. And then you get addicted to it and get almost none of the rest that you need. I've been pouring through my photostream on Flickr and wondering how I could improve upon some of my collection. The photos below are evidence of how little rest I've gotten and how much I'm addicted to this new toy ... I mean, tool.

Let me tell you, the possibilities are endless. Textures, layers, and textures, oh my!!

NOTE: You can click on any of the photos below to go to the Flickr page where they reside and view the full resolution copies if you like.

Gotta go lay myself and my snotty nose down again. Toodles!!

oooh, shiny!!

I don't know what it is about Christmas that makes me so excited about all things glittery and shiny. Perhaps the cold freezes the parts of my brain that normally suppress such ecstatic outbursts in response to the sight of anything glittery and brightly colored. But I have to admit, I became positively giddy when decorating the tree with all manner of vibrantly colored, shiny, glittery ornaments. It's a wonder there was any glitter left on the ornaments that we hung -- I looked as though someone had fired at me repeatedly with a Bedazzler.

Oooh, shiny!! Sparkly, pretty!! Oooh ...

Sorry. I get carried away sometimes.

Sparkles!! Pink sparkles!!

Now one thing I will say about our tree: we have seven hundred and one square feet of living space (and that extra square foot means something). In that space, we have slightly more than one thousand books. And our bed, of course. And all my camera stuff. Which means that there's really not room for an impressive tree. So after books, bed, camera gear, and a few pairs of shoes, we have approximately one and one half square feet for our Christmas tree.

So without further ado, I am pleased to introduce you to our first Christmas tree. We call him Herb. Blogging friends, meet Herb. Herb, meet blogging friends.

Not exactly a shy one, is he?

So tell me, readers: do you have any favorite decorations or decorating traditions in your homes? As one who is interested in building family traditions, I'd love to know. Please share!!

cleansing my conscience

My thank you notes have been done for months, I swear. About five months ago, they were written, signed, sealed, not all addressed, but at least had the names on them.

And they've been sitting in a neat little pile on a shelf in our kitchen.

Ooooh, they're newlyweds some say. I know etiquette says we have a year to get these out, but honestly ... the fact that these thank you notes have been sitting in our apartment unmailed for over five months is a little embarrassing to me and now that I've told you, my conscience is at least partially cleansed. I have tremendous pangs of guilt whenever I use the mixing bowl you gave me, or whenever I cook dinner with the electric grill and griddle you sent. The kitchen towels? I can barely stand it.

All this to say, these thank yous will be sent out with our Christmas cards.

Now that I've purged my conscience, I can move on. Almost. I think. The silverware is totally getting to me. So if you were at the wedding and gave us a gift and have subconsciously (or consciously) muttered in wonder about what the heck those newlyweds are doing, not sending out their thank you notes after this long, then wonder no more. We're on it, I promise.

One thing I will say is that having had a wedding this year is making gifts for family easy. When asked what they would like, "Pictures!!" is nearly a unanimous reply. So needless to say, Shutterfly is loving me this holiday season. Our thank you notes/Christmas cards will include a lovely photo of the blissed-out newlyweds (or not-yet-weds, as we are in the timing of this in particular photo) wishing you a blessed holiday season. It's the least we could do.

Whew.

Christmas photo card designed at Shutterfly
Wedding photo Copyright 2009 Jen Fox Photography

it is time ...

... for cold weather

... for scarves


... for decorating


... for family




...for watching and waiting.


I watch and wait with you, in hope and expectation.

a particular gratitude

Held & Loved
Canon 40D
November 2009

One year ago at this time, I had no idea that I would be as loved as I am today, or that I would know it for sure. If you had told me at last year's Thanksgiving table that by the same time next year, I would be married, I would have laughed (perhaps spewing cranberry juice in your face in the process) and asked you please to pass the green beans.

I've said it many times before, but it bears repeating: when James came into my life again just over a year ago, I had believed for some time that I was meant to live as a single person. I do not know whether this belief was the product of revelation, a personal response to my circumstances, acceptance of my state in life, or some melange of that list. Frankly, I'm not sure that it matters. I do know that it was a decision to guard my heart in a way that perhaps, I always should have been guarding it. I had been too open. I had committed many sins, many had been committed against me, and my heart bore the hurt and the memory of those things.

A celibate life was something I accepted both with resignation and enthusiasm, that I celebrated and mourned. I counted the loss this entailed, but I could also count the possibilities that might arise from such a choice.

But God ...
(My favorite stories begin with those two words)

But God had other plans. And if you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, you know what those other plans entailed. I still look at him in wonder. I see him and shake my head as though trying to shake off sleep; like waking from a dream, I'm surprised to see that all of this has not been the product of an overly fanciful imagination. I see him and know: this is not of my own doing. And I'm thankful. Grateful. Exceedingly so.

Married just over six months now, I still lose myself in wonder over it: that God could part the curtains of chaos in our universe and see me so particularly, to see me and to know what I needed for my holiness and my happiness, to see us and to know that we needed each other for those things. To see us and situate us such that His purpose and His plan were alarmingly clear, to compel us in a way that we could not deny, but at the same time, in no way limited the freedom He gives.

And it has been clear from the beginning: This is not my doing. This is not anything I've earned. This was given, gifted to us, but is not for us alone.

I am not in any way trying to quantify my gratitude. I would not say that I love and appreciate my spouse more than any wife has ever loved or appreciated her husband. I would not dare say it, because I know those cannot be quantified. An attempt to apply any form of measurement to love would be to minimize it. I am finding to be true what I've been told a hundred times by those with marriages I respect: you love much, the most you ever have, and yet it grows. And grows, and grows, and grows. You get the idea.

There are many things to be thankful for this season, but this one arises as prominent in my mind. As we go tomorrow as husband and wife to the place where I celebrated Thanksgiving last year (the same place at which we were married), I offer this particular gratitude for what has been given, for what continues to be given, and for what will be given. For the hand I hold, for the arms that embrace me, for the lips that kiss me, for the body that warms me when I am cold, for love received and given ... I am infinitely thankful and growing up into thankfulness.

It is more than my hands or my heart can hold.

studio work

Yesterday, the friendliest of UPS men brought a long-anticipated and very large package to my door. Yes, friends -- it is the studio equipment I ordered last week (which, by the way, was a mad screaming deal on eBay). In spite of my excitement that it had finally arrived, I was game for a nap after a long day at work. But when James started opening the box and removing plastic wrappers, I became positively giddy and couldn't resist getting in on the action.

Part of the reason I ordered it (aside from the sheer mad screaming-dealness of it all) was the work I'll be doing with Help Portrait on December 12 with other (mostly amateur) photographers in the greater Seattle area. But also because it's no secret I want to turn my love for shutter and lens and all those things they capture into a way to generate some income. This purchase seemed like a logical step.

And did I mention the mad screaming deal I got? Before you roll your eyes (again) at me making a big deal of this, let me just say that just for kicks and giggles, we searched the web for comparable kits from other sites. Um yeah ... we could have paid $600 more for the same stuff. We're talking umbrellas, lightbulbs, stands, backdrops, backdrop frame, and so on. And it's not as if what came out of the box yesterday was some low-grade equipment made out of cardboard and paperclips. It's good, sturdy, solid stuff.

Anyhoo ...

You know I couldn't resist playing, don't you? You knew that once that backdrop was up, I couldn't resist hamming it up. Hopefully the evidence does not disappoint your suspicions.

Yeah, this is going to be fun!! And you must also know there's more where that came from. (wink, wink)

And in other oh-my-gosh-this-girl-is-obsessed-with-photography related news, I recently had my first sale on RedBubble!! I made a profit which will not even suffice to buy me a double-tall soy latte at Starbucks, but it's a start. Someone spent their hard-earned cash on pictures I took and that's validating for someone who longs to make a career out of making art. James says this sale makes me a professional (and I'm thinking, yeah, a professional who can't even buy a latte), but it is something, isn't it?