It looks like the way of the light coming up from the bottom of an endless sea,

the way of her eyes, deep brown and dancing

the way of a sister who brings out the beauty

… and the way of a woman who knows she is loved.

“There are three things which are too wonderful for me, four which I do not understand: The way of an eagle in the sky, the way of a serpent on a rock, the way of a ship in the middle of the sea, and the way of a man with a maid.”

Proverbs 30:18-19

Would love to fill the comment box with the way of grace today. What are the things too wonderful for you, things which you do not understand — whimsy things that bring a little bit of awe and a whole lot of wonder? The way of …? 

May you have some moments this weekend to untangle your thoughts, not in a teeth gritting, must-figure-this-out worry type of way, but in restful surrender. May you receive the gifts of summer like porch waves from an old friend – let the fruit refresh, the sand delight, and the sunset remind you of your smallness. And also, your belovedness.

May you truly see this summer: the yellows and blues and the watermelon reds. Soak them all up with the sun and the water. Laugh with your sister, drink the morning coffee, and remember it’s better with a friend. Celebrate the days of marriage, release your tight hold on familiar, and fly a little. May you embrace the important, have less emergencies, and breathe in deep this daily grace.

And I’m learning, again, what it means to abide in Christ in the midst of the same and the not-so-same. I’m thinking of them and of us and of all the land and water in between. I’m shocked at my ability to compartmentalize. I grieve it. And yet, I question if that’s what this is. People here need me, and so I carry on. But I do not forget. This foggy sadness tells me so. Music helps a little. Prayer helps more. I wash the dishes and whisper short pleas, small longings, and lots of questions into the silence.

As I continue to process, I’m sharing with you a little piece of happy today. These photos are from the wedding I shot before I left for the Philippines. You know, the I-can’t-hold-it-together-so-I’ll-just-pray-over-the-SD-cards wedding? That one.

I look at her lovely face, at the way the light hits her just so, and I think of new beginnings, of life just starting and keeping on, of a God who offers hope and a future. I think of every good gift coming down from the Father of the Heavenly lights, and how marriage is a good gift.

I think of the posts I’ve written on art, over 40 of them by now, and I consider how pursuing our art in some ways feels extravagant when you consider the mother living from meal to meal in a one room shack.

But we don’t stop living simply because others live hard. Seeing them could shut us down if we let it. Or it could open us up. It is not for us to feel bad about where we live, what we were born into, what we have been given. But it is for us to reconsider the gifts, that perhaps they are just that: gifts. Not entitled, not owed, not earned. But gifts.

They have gifts too, ones called grace and mercy and forgiveness and love. Sometimes those of us who have much have to dig through all our provisions to find peace and contentment sitting small in the bottom of the bucket instead of holding grace with simple hands, embracing the nothing, and feasting on Jesus.

Life keeps right on, and we celebrate because there is much to celebrate. We swallow down joy in big, breathless gulps. We must. And then, we grieve when it all gets to be too much, and that is as it should be.

But if the grieving begins to linger too long, it can be good to circle around to the gifts again; to whisper thanks, to receive the blessing, and to turn ourselves outward. Grief closes us in. Gifts spin us around to thankful, and thankful opens us wide for the giving.

I have to keep coming back to that, the life raft of thankfulness. I have to believe in a God who knows things that I don’t, in a faith that is bigger than the shadows it casts, in the simple beauty of life–even when it’s hard. And I pray with open hands for the Lord to use the art of words and pictures to spin you and I back around to His goodness, ready to give however He may ask.

Shared with Dawn on this beautiful Friday.

The wedding engagement comes with suitcases lined up and filled with lists and planning, and soon your fuzzy someday dreams are outlined in black and white with pink hearts in the margins. The new job comes with a desk filled with papers that belong to you, and now you are being paid to make a difference. The new house has rooms filled up with hope and possibility, and you get to pick out the paint. Still, there is disappointment when you can’t afford the reception you wanted, when your boss expects the impossible, when your roof springs a leak and the grass won’t grow.

I took photos at a wedding this weekend. I’ve been anticipating it for months, and in the looking forward, I got tangled up in fear. What if my camera breaks? What if I miss the kiss? What if I forget something? What if she hates them? The morning of the wedding, I woke up a wreck. I knew I could get good photos. I just wasn’t sure I could breathe in the process. Turns out I am not cut out for the pressure.

The bride and groom are responsible for the promise. The pastor is responsible for the charge. The parents are responsible for the money and the planning, the friends are responsible for the celebration. But me? The photographer is responsible for the story. In the photos, all the planning and the money and the promise and the celebration blend together to make one beautiful, complete, almost human personality. And those tiny cards that would be hanging out in my camera all day carried within them the DNA. I desperately needed them to work.

In a moment of overwhelming worry of all the technical equipment deciding to take a day-long nap, I grabbed the photo cards I had for the wedding, placed them in the palm of my left hand and covered them over with my right. I prayed for beauty, for blessing, and for peace. I prayed for God to give me a creative eye, a heart tender to the quiet moments, a bigger picture. It may seem ridiculous to you, praying over tiny SD cards. But to me, it was freedom. Because that’s when I remembered this verse.

“He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.” Colossians 1:17

Every day is the same to Him, loving morning and faithful evening. There isn’t one that stands out heavy to Him. They all rest weightless in Him, held together safe. And so are we. Is there something you need to place in the palm of your hand and cover it over with beauty, blessing, and peace?

Beth is making art. And she is inviting you to take part. Three years ago, she lost her twin boys when she was only 19 weeks pregnant. Now, she raises money for the March of Dimes to honor them. She writes about life and love and American Idol at I Should Be Folding Laundry (beautiful blog, photography, soul, mama, the works).

A few weeks ago, Beth emailed me to ask if I wanted to be a part of an art project called June Afternoons. It is an Etsy shop in memory of her twin sons, James and Jake. She wrote the most beautiful post last week on being their mother that I have perhaps ever read.

June Afternoons is a shop filled with photos donated by bloggers and photographers. Basically, if you buy a print, a gallery wrap, or a book from the shop, Beth will have them professionally printed and sent out to you, with much love and gratitude.

“Every penny from the sale of these prints—from now until May 31—will go to the March of Dimes in honor of James and Jake Fletcher. Since 2008 Team James and Jake has raised more than $23,000 to help moms and babies receive needed care, counseling, and research that saves and sustains lives. This year, these gifted and inspired photographers from the blogging community are joining Team James and Jake by donating some of their favorite images.”

from the June Afternoons Etsy shop

So basically, just think of it as donating a bit of money to the cause, and she will send you a free print as a thank you. If you would like to browse the photos in June Afternoons, visit the shop by clicking here. And thank you to Beth for allowing me to play the tiniest part in this beautiful and redeeming cause.