eucharisteo Tuesday

6,685. work + worship running together

6,478. mothers who want photos taken during hard seasons

Last night we took family photos with their whole clan. After the nine grandchildren were back inside, and the sun was quietly setting, Andi asked if we could finish with some portraits of her and Josh that somehow acknowledged and honored the difficult season that they’re in.

I’m sorry the past year or two has been a little dark, friends — but keep holding onto one another, and keep looking towards the light. Please see yourselves as others do — full of strength, courage, faithfulness, goodness, and beauty.

“Photography” means “writing with light,” and that’s what I wanted to say to you both with the fading light of yesterday. I hope you feel all of that when you see these photos — but if you need the translation…there it is.

Thank you for trusting me with your portraits, Rays. Bless you.

eucharisteo Tuesday

6,655. garden experiments

eucharisteo Tuesday

6,617. seventy-seven and sunny

6,618. Virginia bluebells

6,619. talking about what we’re reading and what it makes us think about

eucharisteo Tuesday

6,620. time with Leanne on April 6th

6,622. nurseries on sunny days

6,621. learning that this is one of her favorite places

eucharisteo Tuesday

6,592. the faithfulness of Spring

eucharisteo Tuesday

5,781. beating a snow storm

5,782. spending a snow day with New Englanders

5,798. Drue showing us what he loves about his home

5,807. the colors and shapes that grow on rocks by the sea

5,808. Maine colors in Maine scenes

5,811. warming up with apple cider and apple cider doughnuts

5,818. the Clarks’ generosity just keeps coming and coming

eucharisteo Tuesday

6,126. seeing Lincoln's birthplace

6,128. train tunnels through mountains

6,129. the foundations of washed away bridges reminding me that so many came before us

6,130. American towns so old and hilly they remind me of Europe

6,131. putting a day on the calendar to come back to West Virginia with him

6,132. suppers of stew, beer, and bread

6,133. fourteen sweet, dark cherries for dessert

6,134. Mark on guitar, Lizzie on fiddle, all of us singing

eucharisteo Tuesday

3,622. leaning against his shoulder and feeling his heart pounding

3,623. my Lincoln coming down in front of me - with a ring

3,624. saying yes to what he and God are offering

3,626. calling loved ones to share good news

Today he is a year older, and Friday marks three years since I snapped this photo and numbered these graces on my list of blessings. 

Thank you, God. Thank you for this man.

eucharisteo Tuesday

5,919. the first sunrise viewing in a long time

5,921. enough clouds to keep dawn cool, colorful, soft

5,924. the only noises are the waves, the cicadas, and the birds

5,925. dew diamonds on dune grass

5,914. spotting dolphins from the shore

5,918. black dogs running into the sea

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Welcome, friends. 

Earlier this summer, I took a trip to the South Carolina shore with my friend Melissa. We spend a lot of time pushing each other toward our best selves, she and I. On this trip, we spent a lot of time in quiet - listening, writing, thinking. And I spent a lot of time thinking about the fresh start I needed for my photography. I knew I would come home and begin working on a new photography website - I wrote in a journal:

"What does this new website need to accomplish? It needs to revive some motivation in me and feel like a fresh start, a turning of a new page... It needs to help me continue good practices - keep me counting on my eucharisteo list, keep me writing, etc... It needs to spread light and hope and empathy... It needs to make my heart sing."

I started a photo blog in 2012, and I've had seasons of updating it regularly, and seasons of letting it gather dust. This summer, I've felt like I need a fresh start, maybe more than I ever have before. So I'm just going to let go of that old, dusty blog/website, and start fresh. But - in the past, I've really enjoyed "eucharisteo Tuesdays," a weekly post sharing entries from the gratitude list I've kept for six years. That's how I wanted to begin again. With gratitude, and with this soul-nourishing time with Mel. 

Whether you've ever visited my website or blog before, or if this is your introduction - I'm glad you're here. I hope you find courage here, and peace. I hope you find hope.

Here's to new beginnings, friends who make you better, and the dawn.