“Mercy is not getting what we deserve,
And grace is getting what we do not deserve.”
In these days that so quickly slide into months into years that are strung together like jewels,
I’m challenging myself to not let go of the sacred practice of making photographs.
Because for me, it’s more than light and color and even transcends the God given gift of emotion.
And it’s not about the memories
because I will always believe that what lies ahead is always greater than what has gone before.
But within the frames I’m going to see stories like mornings gathered around eggs and pancakes and pulling out the Bible I gave him in the first few months we ever held each other’s hands because we already knew we held each other’s hearts.
And the stories like Thanksgiving 2017, a near 80 degree day, arms around each other, giving me just about ten seconds of eye contact and smiles before scattered adventure called their name, the OG Frenchy Five and how they dug through dust and layers to find the sparkliest of treasures to fill their Nana and Papa’s tree.
And the stories of quieter days spent learning from and alongside each other, the way the little matriarch of our clan carries the youngest up to rest in the afternoon light.
And the stories of nights, some with traditions and some filed under normal.
The stories of unfinished tasks and accomplishments great and small.
And the stories of half dressed and messy and I’m sorries and let’s try this again.
The stories I pray never go unnoticed.
Our precious stories of mercy and grace.