When Brian and I got married, we talked often about having photos taken. I had been married all of maybe three hours when I got pregnant with Amelia, I believe. We would lay in bed together and talk excitedly about having a baby to take pictures of and share with the world. It was a wonderful dream! So every November, I would call and make our appointment at JC Penneys to have our family Christmas photos taken. Then we would eagerly sit after the session and choose which pictures would be perfect for our Christmas cards. It was something I looked forward to every holiday season.
And then Brian died, two months shy of our first family-of-four opportunity for Christmas pictures. I almost didn't go through with pictures that year, but then I decided I needed to. I needed to have pictures of my little family, even if it was a member short. I hired a different photographer and met her at her studio in Port Orchard. She got beautiful images and we left. And I sobbed all the way home, angry about how unfair this was that he wasn't in our pictures with us.
A few weeks later I got the CD of images and they were stunning. I was smiling. The girls were happy. We looked like the perfect little family. Anyone looking at the photos and staring into our eyes would never know the "negatives" that were developing in the background. The death of my husband, the girls' father. The horrible articles in the paper. The flowers and plants that still filled our home in condolence. The tears that were shed and the sleepless nights. The dread of even waking up some mornings. Our family, in the glossy shots on the CD, looked happy and normal.
Pictures can either be the best things, or the worst things, depending on what phase of life you are in. When my other dad, Tom, was nearing the end of his journey here on earth with us, I went through this phase where I tore my house apart looking for pictures of him. Him with my dad. Him with my girls. Him with me and my sister and my other sisters. I wanted those pictures so I could desperately cling to the better moments, the happier times where he wasn't sick and we were laughing and having fun and enjoying life as one big happy family. Those pictures saved me some nights.
My family pictures before Brian's death? I don't want to see them. There isn't a picture of him hanging in our home. His ending time on earth was so negative, so awful, so filled with grief and turmoil and raw emotion that I wanted him and his memory to just dry up and disappear. I have his pictures tucked away in my closet for those moments when one of the girls might ask to see him. The "negatives" that developed in the background were just too painful for me to see. And still are sometimes.
But, the photographs that we take tell the story of us, no matter if it's good or bad. They are the little snapshots of our journey in this life that walk us down memory lane and are proof of the life and times that we lived. I don't hesitate to take photos. I am always making my girls pose or my parents pose. Kristi and I snap a photo together before the start of every football game. I cherish the photos with Julie and her kids from summer adventures where we're together. These memories, even the memories of Brian, are important to developing the story of us.
I had the honor of attending a family photo shoot this morning. My talented friend, Michelle, went with us to capture some family pictures for people that we love dearly. As I was watching the photo shoot take place, my heart was filled! This family, who is so very important to the girls and I, are walking through a storm right now. The "negatives" they are developing in the background right now are more than they should have to bear. But standing back and watching Michelle snap pictures of them in various arrangements and poses made all of those negatives disappear. The photos didn't show the tumor that was just diagnosed. They didn't show the aches and pains and tremors that he goes through. They didn't show the worry and heartache and anger and roller coaster of emotions they are going through. There was no sign of the exhaustion and fatigue from long days and sleepless nights. The screen on the back of Michelle's camera only showed love. It only showed smiles and happiness. It captured giggles and teasing and affectionate glances. Small, amazing, important moments in time for them to cherish and treasure and look back on with fondness. It captured a family that is full of love and hope and faith and peace. It captured a family that is stronger everyday as they walk through this journey with each other and with God.
Philippians 1:3 says, "I thank my God upon every remembrance of you..." and that says it all. Pictures are important. If anything, they give us the visual reminders of the people and the time and the love that Father God has blessed us all with! Concrete evidence that we laughed and lived and loved, even if it wasn't for as long as we wanted. Tangible proof of the blessings that we are granted.
I should be looking at those pictures with the heart of what an honor it was to hold Brian and love him and grow babies and a family with him. His untimely exit doesn't change any of that. I was still greatly blessed by his presence for those few years I knew him and loved him. And the photographs from that time serve as my reminder of the journey that my Heavenly Father has blessed me with.
So take all the pictures you can! Capture the moments of those blessings that you have been granted! Look through the memories and remember the fun times and the laughter, the giggles and the teasing. Father has blessed us richly! And how awesome for all the evidence we gather! Share your picture memories with us all! For in doing so, we are praising God for his beautiful and perfect timing, the amazingness of His creation, and the arrangement of His universe according to His will!
I can't wait to see what continues to develop, for my family, and for all of the families we hold near and dear to our hearts! And I will indeed thank my God upon every remembrance of you,
and hold you close in my thoughts and prayers.
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