s u n r i s e s

As we grow older, our childish sense of wonder tends to fade - if we let it.

How do we preserve an understanding of the importance of sunsets, ladybugs on wet leaves, or a bedtime prayer? The little things that infuse beauty into ordinary moments? How do we teach old eyes to see anew?

On the first page of my favorite book, "The Little Prince" by Antoine de Saint Exupery, is a drawing of an elephant swallowed by a boa constrictor, or just a drawing of a hat, however you choose to see it. The author writes that as a child he showed the drawing to adults, who never saw it as more than a hat. As the story continues, Exupery gives the reader the choice to accept and learn from simplicity and beauty or to label the book as as fairy tale and move on.

As I re-read this book, I am reminded that the more busy and pre-occupied I become, the less I can see beauty and wonder.

But let's talk about sunrises and sunsets. 

"First this: God created the Heavens and Earth—all you see, all you don’t see. Earth was a soup of nothingness, a bottomless emptiness, an inky blackness. God’s Spirit brooded like a bird above the watery abyss. 

God spoke: “Light!” And light appeared. 

God saw that light was good and separated light from dark. 

God named the light Day, he named the dark Night."

Each sunrise, then, is a reminder of that first sunrise. Darkness into light. 
This is why I chase them. This is why they never grow old. Each sunrise reminds me that God created all things in the beginning and graced this world with luminescence and created the sensory-neural connections in my brain so that my eyes may behold. Call it energy, call it an electromagnetic spectrum, call it a scientific phenomena, it's still a miracle. 

And what about sunsets, what story do they tell? Some of them are magnificent and dramatic while others are gentle and quiet. They remind me that seasons come and go, and there is no day so terrible or night so dark that will not see the light again. God alone gives us grace to endure and new eyes to see.

Lighting

      Sometimes I forget how much writing is like other disciplines of life: if you practice, you get better, and if you don't, you get rusty. I'm on the rusty side because it's been a while. Though I haven't picked up the pen recently, I have done a lot of summer reading on a variety of subjects, from cancer to modern art, and a variety of authors, like Steinbeck and Suzanne Collins. I eat books for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The more I read, the more I learn (for the most part).  I've also had many adventures, like surfing, whitewater rafting, and bouldering. This afternoon, I went to the mill with a good friend and we spent a few hours exploring the empty rooms and experimenting with lighting and photography. I started falling in love with shadows. The way they embrace an object or figure, draping it in darkness, making the little bit of light more entrancing. And let me tell you, the light at the mill at 5 in the evening is beautiful. 

So good that I'm going to keep going and keep chasing it and discovering how it falls gently and uncovers the shadows. Because nothing, nothing can make the darkness flee but the light. The mill would just be an enormous, empty cave if it weren't for the light streaming through the windows and telling the story of all time. 

Shades

Because life progresses in different colors and hues. Sometimes it is full of vibrant tone and energy, other times it feels like an earthy palette, like the sunshine on your skin as you wash the dishes by the windowsill. Days like these, it feels as though a week went by in black and white. Whispers and hushed tones and the thought that all these moments will one day be in a scrapbook like the one I found tucked away in a dusty attic.

February Snow

Sunrise

Watching the sun rise from the top of the mountain. Air so cold that I could almost see the words off my lips like the breath of my lungs. Eternity in suspension for a single moment as a streak of amber grazed the dark sky. As day broke before my eyes and the night sky was rolled up like a canvas, I realized that sleeping half the day on Saturdays just isn't an option anymore.

Getting Lost

...In which my bus to the mountains never comes and I spend the afternoon wandering and getting lost.

Other Side of the River

Exquisite Green

Mountains II

Altitude

What's there to do on a foggy Sunday afternoon? Hike a mountain, of course. After church, we put on backpacks and warm clothing and ascended a beautiful mountain clothed in mist and beauty. Henry David Thoreau wrote that he went to the wilderness to live deeply. I feel that nature does something to the soul and by spending time outdoors, we make room for God to work in our lives in a unique way.

The ascent was steep and challenging, but the scenery was breathtaking. Enchanting woods. Abandoned buildings. Moss-covered stones. Mountain streams. Things I wish I had taken pictures of, things I wish I had the macro lens for. As I walked, I came up with some things I want to do before I return to school for second semester:

- Read five books
- Read through the New Testament
- Sketch each of the major buildings in the capitol
- Give something away
- Spend quality time with each member of my family
- Watch the sun rise and set

I kid you not, the fog rested like a blanket over the mountains and the valley below. Some scientists insist that mountains were formed from shifts in the tectonic plates, but I believe that God created them intentionally and loves aesthetic disruption in landscapes. The rising and dipping peaks of a mountain range sets awe and longing in the human heart.

There's a quote from somewhere that says, "Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt." Our muscles were aching by the time we reached the pinnacle, mine especially because of training I did with the running club yesterday. When we were descending the mountain, we decided that "Everything was beautiful and everything hurt".

Istanbul in Black and White

Reminiscing Bodrum