My mother and father-in-law are in town this week and a coule of nights ago, we all set up up a nearby canyon to have a fire, roast hot dogs, and s'more it up. I had my camera on hand (as every mom of adorable children should) and snapped some memories of the kids exploring...
...the camp fire smoldering...
...and a few of the wildflowers that were absolutely everywhere...
But the evening light grew dim, so my MiL and I decided to come back early the next morning to shoot wildflowers in the light of the new day. Which we did. I got out my 100-300mm lens, stood in a meadow with columbine and lady slippers and busy buzzing bees and morning dew, and got some okay shots. But, surprisingly, my favorite shots of the day came when we headed back out of the canyon and stopped to change lenses and photograph this:
I know they're not spectacular, but there was something about the stillness of that little pasture and its gurgling stream that I loved. So, wildflowers? Yes...but not the macro shots we set out for.
And that got me thinking...I'm going to wax philosophical today, if you don't mind... about the end result. The end result of everything...my art, my writing, my life...none of which ever really go along the way I plan them, the way I imagine they should. And yet, I'm nearly always pleased with the end result. When I sit down to draw, for example, and in my mind I see a boy and a girl walking through the woods in spring, but what comes out at the the end is a boy, alone, following a line of bunnies to their hollow log in winter. Huh. But I like it.
Or this novel I've been writing for the past three years which was originally told from the point of view of the little sister, but as I wrote I found I knew the older brother better...that his voice was the one I wanted to use. And now everything is told from Gideon's viewpoint...and I like it.
Or my life. My husband and I always intended to have three or four children. Now, we have two and will probably (not definitely, but probably) not have more. We never intended to homeschool our children, but when the time came it was what was right for us. And when I put my art and my creative impulses on hold to study psychology in college, I didn't know that life would bring me back around and I would figure out how to be true to me.
I could go on. There are a million facets of our lives that we didn't plan; that are not what we expected them to be. But just as that impulsiveness and change--and the ability to go along with it-- creates beauty in art, so it also creates beauty in life. And I like it.
I'm learning, constantly learning, not to compare myself with others or wish for what wasn't or what could be. My end result is what I make of the changes that come, and I am grateful to be me. In our church, we use a book of scripture called The Doctrine and Covenants. One of my favorite passages from this book is this:
We all have gifts. Yours are yours. Mine are mine. By each of us using what we've been given rather than wishing things were what we planned them to be, we help each other create an end result. Hopefully, we all like it.
...the camp fire smoldering...
...and a few of the wildflowers that were absolutely everywhere...
But the evening light grew dim, so my MiL and I decided to come back early the next morning to shoot wildflowers in the light of the new day. Which we did. I got out my 100-300mm lens, stood in a meadow with columbine and lady slippers and busy buzzing bees and morning dew, and got some okay shots. But, surprisingly, my favorite shots of the day came when we headed back out of the canyon and stopped to change lenses and photograph this:
I know they're not spectacular, but there was something about the stillness of that little pasture and its gurgling stream that I loved. So, wildflowers? Yes...but not the macro shots we set out for.
And that got me thinking...I'm going to wax philosophical today, if you don't mind... about the end result. The end result of everything...my art, my writing, my life...none of which ever really go along the way I plan them, the way I imagine they should. And yet, I'm nearly always pleased with the end result. When I sit down to draw, for example, and in my mind I see a boy and a girl walking through the woods in spring, but what comes out at the the end is a boy, alone, following a line of bunnies to their hollow log in winter. Huh. But I like it.
Or this novel I've been writing for the past three years which was originally told from the point of view of the little sister, but as I wrote I found I knew the older brother better...that his voice was the one I wanted to use. And now everything is told from Gideon's viewpoint...and I like it.
Or my life. My husband and I always intended to have three or four children. Now, we have two and will probably (not definitely, but probably) not have more. We never intended to homeschool our children, but when the time came it was what was right for us. And when I put my art and my creative impulses on hold to study psychology in college, I didn't know that life would bring me back around and I would figure out how to be true to me.
I could go on. There are a million facets of our lives that we didn't plan; that are not what we expected them to be. But just as that impulsiveness and change--and the ability to go along with it-- creates beauty in art, so it also creates beauty in life. And I like it.
I'm learning, constantly learning, not to compare myself with others or wish for what wasn't or what could be. My end result is what I make of the changes that come, and I am grateful to be me. In our church, we use a book of scripture called The Doctrine and Covenants. One of my favorite passages from this book is this:
11For all have not every agift given unto them; for there are many gifts, and to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God.
We all have gifts. Yours are yours. Mine are mine. By each of us using what we've been given rather than wishing things were what we planned them to be, we help each other create an end result. Hopefully, we all like it.
