One Week, and All Eternity

It has been a week. One beautifully crazy, busy, insane, life-changing week. The kind of week that reminds me of my travels and foretells future comings and goings.

I drove 673 miles in the BluVader. Without air conditioning.

I spent 45 minutes sharing with a Muslim customer that Jesus Christ is, indeed, fully God and fully man.

I slept one night on a couch, three nights on the floor in a church sanctuary, one night sharing space with a girlfriend, and two nights in my own bed.

I ate four meals at home, five at Starbucks, one in Wal-mart, and one in a gas station.

I watched God withhold sufficient preparation (in both time and content), and then place words in my mouth as I shared with 50 girls that Christ is always good, always faithful, and fully satisfies, even when His goodness feels like pain.

I participated in our annual shaving cream fight, directly followed by a plunge into a nasty pond.

I prayed for my mentor who underwent open heart surgery in the physical realm while I underwent it in the spiritual realm.

I saw God draw a precious 12-year-old girl to Himself as she surrendered control of her life to Christ.

I danced in my chair to the "Numa Numa" song.

I smiled as God actively rearranged my priority lists. I only took 400 pictures, only wrote 14 pages in my journal, and only spent 120 minutes with my cell phone to my ear... but spent at least three hours every day in heart-level, face-to-face conversation with the real people in front of me.

I smiled at and captured portraits of girls who, firmly confident of their position as daughters of the Most High King, applied make-up, primped and dressed up, and walked in gentle beauty because of that princess position.

I saw God make beauty from the ashes of pain in my heart. I saw Him tenderly and faithfully break what sin had built and heal what sin had broken inside of me.

I spent a lot of time with good friends. I tackled and wrestled Meredith in wet grass. I jammed with Holly. I laughed and reminisced under the stars with Kathryn. I saran-wrapped a car with Natalie. I washed Jenn's feet, and sobbed for joy at the precious privilege of sharing such friendship. I spent a whirlwind 24-hours with Christina in coffee shops, playing with Canons and Macs, and enjoying our random kindred-spirit relationship. I enjoyed a ride from and to DC with Jonny. I spend many precious moments on my knees in prayer with Linz. I finally had a phone conversation with Sara. I ran into friends at coffee shops, picked up friends at airports, talked until 1:30am with friends in my kitchen, took pictures of friends, took pictures with friends, and enjoyed the mutual fellowship that comes from mutual pleasure in God.

I worshiped God with my eyes closed, my hands raised, and my heart open.

I watched God captivate my heart.

One short, crazy week in our time. But who knows what this week meant for Eternity.

Blessed are those whose strength is in You, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage. -- Psalm 84:5

What do you do when God says no?

What do you do with emotions that hold on, that refuse to let go, that keep hoping against hope for the impossible?

What do you do when the pain keeps resurfacing, and every time you think you've dealt with it, it comes back again?

How do you walk in obedience, fully confident that God will fulfill Hs promise, when His promises feel like dry crumbs because of the hardness of your soul?

What do you do when your brain agrees with your spirit, but your feelings pull in the opposite direction?

What if the warm, rose-colored dreams you loved and cherished turn out to be only a cheaply-tinted window that cracked and shattered, and now your vision is only comprised of cools and grays and questions?

What do you do with unanswered questions? What if there is no reason why, just the cold facts?

Deep down inside, I know that I want to know God more than I want my dreams, more than I want to love. But my brain keeps telling me that I want my dreams, and my feelings keep telling me that they want to love and to be loved, and my poor will is trying so hard to pull the other two along, but in truth, it's not even sure which way to pull. My soul is one twisted, confused mess. I don't want to be, to feel, to live this way. I cannot.

So, how do I work through this? How do I go from emotional pain to confident expectation?

Oh my God, I cry by day, but You do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest. Yet You are holy, dwelling in the praises of Your people. -- Ps. 22:2-3

My emotions do not change God's character. He is holy when He answers. He is equally holy when He is silent.

There are times in my walk with Christ when my response must be one of determined purpose, not emotion-driven exaltation; times when I remember the work of God in the past, and trust that He who was faithful, still is faithful, and ever will be faithful... regardless of how I feel.

In You our fathers trusted; they trusted, and You delivered them. To You they cried and were rescued; in You they trusted and were not put to shame. -- Ps. 22:4-5

Yes, He is always faithful, and always sufficient. Even when it hurts. Even when the tears won't stop. Even when the pain must remain in the corner crevices of my heart. Even when no one else understands.

My flesh and my heart fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. -- Ps. 73:26

But whatever gain I had I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. -- Phil. 3:7-8

I have tasted of God's grace and mercy, and I find it sufficient. I long for more of His goodness and His faithfulness, in whatever ways He desires to display that.

Things are not as they appear. His grace may feel like judgment, and sometimes His mercy feels like pain and broken hearts. But I do trust Him. I have no reason-- EVER-- to doubt Him.
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Begone, unbelief, the Savior is near,
And for my relief, will surely appear.
By faith let me wrestle with God in the storm,
And help me, my Savior, the faith to adorn.

Though dark be my way, since He is my guide,
'Tis mine to obey and His to provide.
Though cisterns be broken and creatures all fail,
The Word He has spoken will surely prevail.
-- John Newton

Amelia

I had the privilege of doing senior pictures for my sister. She's an amazingly beautiful person, inside and out, and we had a ton of fun.

Daddy, tell me a story

It is a well-known fact that little girls love stories, and Eppie was no exception. Every night in that magic hour between dinnertime and bedtime, Eppie made her way to her father's side, squared her chin with determination, grabbed ahold of his knees with her little-girl hands, and scrambled up into his lap to listen to his stories.

It was the same every evening, for as long as they both could remember. She loved sitting in his lap; he loved her head nestled in the crook of his arm. She loved the sound of his voice; he, her fascinated mind. She loved stories; he loved her love of stories.

"Daddy, tell me a story," she would say. No other words could be spoken. It was as if she held the key to an entire kingdom full of treasure, and "tell me a story" was the spell needed to enter through the gate.

It was the same every evening.

Tonight was no different than any other night. Eppie made her sacred march across the well-worn living room carpet to her father's side, climbed into his lap, and snuggled down with a quiet sigh. But before she made her usual request, she sat in silence for several minutes looking at her hands, and obviously deep in thought. Her father watched in fascination, wondering what was going through that beautifully inquisitive mind. Her brow furrowed, then relaxed as she finally raised her large blue eyes to match his equally large and wise blue eyes. She smiled as she stared up at him, ad he wondered at the question in her expression, but she spoke only those magic words:

"Daddy, tell me a story."

What kind of story do you want to hear tonight?

"A good story."

A good story? I thought all of my stories were good.

"No, no Daddy. I mean like at good story. You know." She spread her hands emphatically to emphasis the importance of her words. "Like a love story."

A good story like a love story. Hmmmm... well, well, well. This is a first. Just any old love story, eh?

Eppie's eyes grew wide with exasperation at her father's teasing. "Daddy!"

Okay, okay. What love story do you want to hear? A princess story, like Cinderella or Beauty & the Beast? Or a real-life story, like when Daddy & Mommy got married?

The furrow returned to Eppie's brow as she again looked down at her hands and again raised her eyes to match her fathers'.

"No, Daddy. I want my love story."

Her father looked at her tenderly for several minutes before he spoke again, his rich voice deepening and mellowing with emotion.

My darling, I cannot tell you a story that has yet to be written.

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"Abba, tell me a story."

It is a well-known fact that big girls, like little girls, also love stories. The big-girl Eppie is no exception. Almost every day a desire wells up inside of her to know, in a similar way that the child-Eppie wanted to know the story. Words are important, as are all the elements of a good story-- joy and sorrow, love and pain, victory and defeat, loss and gain; the stark contrast between the hard times and good times make the best stories. And every night in that magic hour between saying goodnight and going to sleep, she makes her way to her Father's side, focuses her mind with determination, and looks up into her His face.

Eppie loves her Father's arms. She loves coming to Him with boldness, knowing that Christ intercedes for her. She loves resting her weary head in the crook of His arm and resting, as the cares of the day ease away. She loves the sound of His voice, and she delights in following after His beckoning call. She loves His stories-- the ones that He weaves in her life every single day.

"Abba... dearest Father..." No other name can be spoken. To Eppie these sweet, simple, childlike words mean that she doesn't feel the need to verbalize the wonder of His many attributes to gain His approval or sound like her relationship with Him is deeper than it already is. It is the key that unlocks the gate to the kingdom garden full of the riches of His grace in her life.

It's the same every evening.

Tonight is no different than any other night:

"Abba, tell me a story."

What kind of story, My child?

"A good story. A true story. A love story. You know the one..."

The same one you ask to hear every night?

"Yes! That one! Oh, it's so good. Will You please tell it tonight?!??"

Darling, you know as well as I do that it's too early for the part of the story that you want to hear.

"But why? You don't have to finish writing it, do You?"

Oh, no. It was finished before the foundations of the world, since before time began.

"Then why can't You tell it to me?"

Because I want to show you your love story, and let you live. You don't want Me to spoil the ending for you, would you?

"No. But it's such a good story!"

But waiting until the end is part of the story.

[sigh] "It's just so hard to wait for it."

Yes. Waiting is always hard. But if you know Me, and you do know Me, then you know the end well enough.

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"And therefore the Lord earnestly waits, expecting, looking, and longing to be gracious to you; and therefore He lifts Himself up, that He may have mercy on you and show loving-kindness to you. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed (happy, fortunate, to be envied) are all those who earnestly wait for Him, who expect and look and long for Him- for HIs victory, His favor, His love, His peace, His joy, and His matchless, unbroken companionship." -- Isaiah 30:18, Amplified Bible

Jenna

Last week I had the privilege of doing portraits for my best friend, Jenna. She is an amazing woman of God and a beautiful reflection of Christ, and I always enjoy time spent with her.

Noah's Tol

I had the privilege of documenting Noah's first birthday party last week. The Tol (first birthday) is one of the most important events in a child's life, and I was glad to be a part of the celebration.








With his grandfather.








The food was amazing!


A traditional ceremony where the child "chooses his destiny." Each item on the blanket symbolizes an occupation or an status that he will have in life.

Ren & Katelynn

My friend Lauren (or Ren, as I call her) moved to Colorado this morning to live and work with a dear family friend whose 12-year-old son has cancer. Before she left, I had the chance to drive down to Williamsburg with Ren to visit her sister Katelynn, who is going to William & Mary, and to do a photoshoot of them. I had a blast hanging out with them that day. Thanks for a great weekend, guys!