i'm on the wrong end of the glass


love in the form of paper

(click to enlarge in all it's iphone glory)

we're bringing tacky back
and gilding it with laughter

Love shall be our token,
Love be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign


we talk

made this a couple weeks ago
trying to capture some of Cole's conversation

it was meant as a possible project for his mom...
hence the set up questions.





The leaves have lost hold of the branches as always
And leaves us with gold and wine colored pathways
-ron sexsmith

Twenty things that trigger happiness

  1. fruit
  2. the full moon
  3. sunflair
  4. dancing
  5. humming
  6. barefeet
  7. ultra fine Sharpies
  8. swinging
  9. fire
  10. driving in the dark
  11. Polaroids
  12. library basement
  13. latte
  14. shades of white
  15. sleeping babies
  16. Papa playing guitar
  17. stories
  18. foreign films
  19. wood floors
  20. Doxology



I have a problem with songs that embody gorgeous waltz music
with unhappy lyrics.

should not be done.
like such

oh well,
perfection is overrated.



now... if they would just load quicker onto the website
this little child is tired

hailing from the abyss of adobe

been editing like insanity
leaked out on my brothers bedspread

Pandora is frozen on the
Iron and Wine station

four grande *bux cups in the wastebasket

the end is in sight
but it's wavering like a mirage



Afterwards none of them could ever remember at all what had happened.
But they never forgot that they had been somewhere where
everything was
easy and beautiful.
And people who can remember even that much are
never quite the same again.

E. Nesbit


truth filled fragility

It might be lonelier
Without the Loneliness -
I’m so accustomed to my Fate -
Perhaps the Other - Peace -

Would interrupt the Dark -
And crowd the little Room -
Too scant - by Cubits - to contain
The Sacrament - of Him -

I am not used to Hope -
It might intrude upon -
Its sweet parade - blaspheme the place -
Ordained to Suffering -

It might be easier
To fail - with Land in Sight -
Than gain - My Blue Peninsula -
To perish - of Delight -

— emily dickinson

Though our feelings come and go,
His love for us does not.
It is not wearied by our sins,
or our indifference;
and, therefore,
it is quite relentless in its determination
that we shall be cured of those sins,
at whatever cost to us, at whatever cost to Him.


soporific days

we're all working through a winter cold.
Sickly ones in Marmee and Papa's bed listening to Redwall.

going to go read this...
and drink tea...
while pumping vitamins into my flushed body



blaze of cold fire

full moon turns me liquid

Chaim Potok took me out on a coffee date:
he told me stories and i gasped.

and suddenly i realized how much i missed voices.
the words are important,
but simply the act of being read to is strangely comforting.
perhaps that what made the summer gold.

like waltzing
or singing

the movement itself has power



i lost my keys and temper simultaneously today

i've started to use a simple question on myself:
"how am I acting like a four year old?"

complaining when things don't magically appear
while standing in a house full of love and blessing

just cause i can articulate my grumbling in multiple adjectives
doesn't make it any less pathetic

thank God for grace which comes daily like manna


things that made me 'happy' this weekend

  • singing with loud voices
  • dancing (two skinned knees to prove it)
  • listening to wise men and women
  • my Kate
  • baby holding *smile*
  • car rides to and from
  • fresh air
  • an abundance of blonde girls
  • watching God's people be happy


momentary child

having a swelling night;
emotion wise

i'm already pitying the poor soul that comes on too hard
shattering isn't too far away
forgive me if i splatter onto your naive face

this morning orions belt had shifted west
and i almost cried

time is playing tricks on me


it's the best time to be redheaded

the satisfaction of coordinating with nature

for the sake of not being so vague:
mercy and i were between shoot and meeting:
saw alleyway and infiltrated.

one of the couples in the houses parallel were very confused
i think they thought we were well dressed burglars.
we only steal light


should be working:

hence the post

drinking: the weakest coffee ever.
why do i get so fearful with quantity of bean?

listening: new music. She and Him
not going to fib. i'm lurv'n it. even the hoe-down flair is swallowable.

reading: The Chosen
after Asher Lev i scrambled for more of the same genius

wearing: clean clothes
some of the last. washer contains tomorrows wardrobe.

wanting: Lines & Shapes
all my stalked blogs are raving about their copies.
may be my xmas present to myself this year.

smelling: honeysuckle
just try to resist smelling like early summer and age eight

being: hope filled
Dum spiro, spero


peter pan

some people wake up with songs stuck in their heads
i wake up to story lines and images

this one in particular this morning

"What's sewn?" he asked,
"You're dreadfully ignorant."
"No, I'm not."
But she was exulting in his ignorance. "I shall sew it on for you, my little man," she said, though he was as tall as herself, and she got out her housewife and sewed the shadow to Peter's foot.


Words, words, words

My photography work has the strange quality of Isolation.
Driving back and forth from equipment swapping...
my car and me and empty silence.

I've spent a lot of time alone this past year.
In the midst of a shoot with kids screaming and my mind chattering lightmath...

In the fight to remain covenanted and be...
I read.
Children's fiction mostly.
Simple stories with simple truths.
Bright colours
Vivid metephors
Laughter and tears
Because simplicity is a delightful foreign concept right now.

In the battle between Isolation and Being,
stories are sharp weapons.

Isolation is the vast Wasteland
When words, thoughts, actions, hopes and failures seem to pass unheeded.
Like wind on the desert.

A story takes the wind and gives it meaning.
A story is evidence of Being.

Moses' years as a shepard and Jesus' as a carpenter.
Not waste,
not barren,
but preparation
but pause
dramatic pause.

So i read.
In a small way;
reading is a way of loving the author,
the artist.

(Though my hands haven't gotten the message)
I think like an artist.
I know what they desire...
to be heard,
to be reacted to,
(possibly against)
to be 'true' enough to make welts on the brain.

Though I can't converse or touch Asher Lev,
(current character on the floor next to my bed)
I have the honour to listen
to care
to question
to acknowledge his Being.

Takes faith to believe the loving will be of good.
All those verbs are love.
Once Isolation hits,
my little heart goes numb,
and opening to be vulnerable...
(for all love will make way for pain)
...is the wildest sacrifice.

After hours of blinding photoshop,
the last thing I want to do is respond to my family.
But in doing so I accept my dependence of Being lies with them.

Here is the impossible miracle;
That I can give all to my work,
which involves invariably Isolation.
Turn, and give all to my dear ones,
which involves Being and Love.

Only because my Being was never mine.


what shall I say unto them?
And God said unto Moses,
and he said,
Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel,
I AM hath sent me unto you.
Exodus 3

Seeing God, Job forgets all he wanted to say,
all he thought he would say if he could but see Him.

George MacDonald

I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer.
You are yourself the answer.
Before Your face questions die away.
What other answer would suffice?
Only words, words;
to be led out to battle against other words.



Love is wild for reasons, and hope though short in sight,
Might be the only thing that wakes you by surprise
Jars of Clay

i have photos that hit me at the ribcage
such is this one

someday my children will look at me with that delight


you wish...

... you were with me and mine ...
because we amaze the living daylights out of colour

(that makes about as much sense as this photo)

and both contain laughter
if you're bold enough to look


George MacDonald

(click photo to enlarge)

The current bathroom book is a collection of George MacDonald quotes.
It's edited and prefaced by Lewis, who says of MacDonald's work:
"The quality which had enchanted me in his imaginative works turned out to be the quality of the real universe, the divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic reality in which we all live."

So as I work away the moments tonight, I am encouraged by the grace of God, who covers my meager faithfulness and calls it "good".


this weekend:

my motto...
or should I say epitaph

there's going to be a massive amount of brave failure.


just to prove i do read...

even if the level of mental movement is slight


what i do

ask people to be awkward...
then record the moment.

my brain is going to explode with all that's undone that should be done.

*squeltches scream*


even with...

well crafted picture books make me happy
as do kisses and window light
there is truth in them things


"ah ha!"

there are those books that melt themselves on your childhood
this is such a book

had forgotten the title and author
just used google to hunt it down
sadness that our library doesn't carry it

i don't want roses
i want books in ribbons


job perks come in all shapes and sizes...

book crush

i'm rereading this one so slowly.
dreading the last crayon defaced page.
favourite line so far... *points down*

(click to enlarge)

someday I too will be a duck,
and all else described.





The little kids are watching an educational alphabet video

Tumpy: They always use zebra for Z, like nothing else.
Glory: what else would they use?
Tumpy: Gah-Zoo-type
Glory: That starts with G. Gahzootype.
Tumpy: Oh fine... they could use Zzz.. zebra... oh wait.

I think she meant Gesundheit...

momentary hopes



... i would like to be here



i can only edit so long...

before my heart starts to hurt

blessings on this house


can't go wrong...

with a book containing the warning:
The Willoughbys by Lois Lowry

with company like this:

with songs like this:

don't try to argue


gold words

Because we love something else more than this world we love even this world better than those who know no other.




If I had all this time on my hands
Well I would love to share it with you
And though our days have made other plans
There is nothing I'd rather do
Than sit and talk with you
My beautiful view
~Ron Sexsmith

one of my all time favourite songs:
just for Papa

(after the first verse the song no longer applies...
but perfection can be short lived)


on worship

Everything that is not exhausted by being given away is not yet owned as it ought to be, so long as we hold on to it and do not give it away.
St. Augustine


night brink

halfway between tired and hysterical
need to shut down everything
computer to imagination



*breaths huge sigh of relief*

well it's over.
and it went very satisfactorily.
i'm booked to do a bunch of others.

learned a LOT though...
shooting manual is a whole new beast...
i usually shoot semi-manual,
but fall back on automatic often.

alright you Canon Creeps.
obviously you can't really compare...
because my Nikon is way below the performance of the Canon i was shooting
it was nice just to have that kind of range
not to mention shooting in raw is like finding gold in hay

*goes back to pretending to accomplish things*


bravery of the dawn

(the photo is completely unrelated to post)
(we watched last night, and it's dancing in my head)

today scares me.

i shoot my first portrait shoot
as assistant photographer
under Sommer Photography.

i'm still trying to figure out how she thought me qualified.

this will also be my first shoot to use Canon.


okay, well there isn't an "and"...
just a throwback to the,
"scares" part of this monologue.

*big breaths*




i love being able to navigate my childhood home in the dark
because memory assists my feet better than any light bulb

i also love high speed internet

and that family...

i love them too


when the sky is awake

swollen moon anoints the canopy

chin upraised, eyes leaking

barren places wither slowly

palms parallel to the horizon

mercy comes pounding upon the temples

tender peace flows down light traces

doxology, redemption, always


holiday spaces

i often go out pacing when all i want to do is stay inside
and look out the window with you

i'm on my 18th day of away-from-home-ness

just about the fullest eighteen days ever

since i am horrible at gathering time into words,
and for the sake of not becoming completely incoherent,
we will just skip over that period of moments.
evil child, i know.

let's talk about my Abba.
because He's been a constant factor.
He loves me so hard,
i would shatter if it weren't for the protection of His Son.

let's talk about worth.
the miracle of how i am worthy to glorify the Creator,
not because of anything that i've emitted...
but through the adornment of those about me.
let's marvel on that.

let's talk about weather.
how beautimous it is to wake up without sweat on the small of your back.
walking against cool breezes.

let's talk about showers.
how they are always a surprise in pleasure,
and never quite as soothing as in your own bathroom.
somehow my shampoo smells stronger in strange lands.

let's talk about fruit.
fresh and continual.
i'm living on it,
and fresh beans off the plant.

let's talk about missing.
little barefeet
persistent voices

let's not talk about my sorry state of non-photography.
i can't seem to get up the gumption.
happy without processing that way.
wondering if i should worry about that.
of course...
i'm not.

because i don't worry about things that affect me.
just things ethereal.

that was my thought process.
such as it is.


such is the life of the living

just finished shooting a wedding...
note on that:
this couple was so grateful.
i was humbled and encouraged by their warmth.

i leave in 5 hours for idaho...

there is a bit of shock involved.



i haven't loved a shot this much in a long time




tonight i edit

tonight i love