By the time I finish editing a photo session, whether it be portraits or a wedding or something else entirely, I know every wrinkle on his face. I know the pimple on her forehead. I’ve seen every imperfection closely and repeatedly.
But I’ve memorized the shape of his eyes. I could trace them on a paper. I’ve seen her hair light up with the sunset and her hands try to tame it, but fail. Some wild things are beautiful. Her hair. His eyes. The shapes and the imperfections.
You have to fall in love with the photos a bit, I think. And you fall in love with the person, too. Not in a romantic way, even. In the way you fall in love with the sunset or with driving at midnight or with a fresh cup of coffee or with the words he wrote that night at 1am. You know they’re not perfect, but you know they’re beautiful none the less. You fall in love with that imperfect beauty.
That may be the deepest falling in love: to fall in love with something wholly. To know the imperfections and choose to love anyway.
The burden and the gift of my job is that I get to share what I see. Those photos are my eyes and my hope is that the world, or even just one person, falls in love in the same way.
I’ve been thinking about change recently. Not the money kind, but the life kind, and mostly about the sort of change you can’t control. One of my friends finally faded out of my life. One of my coworkers will be moving on in a month.
We define so much of our lives by change: where we move, who we marry, the parts of our lives that change and make some pieces and some days different from others. We don’t remember the ordinary, but we remember what changes us.
What’s scary about heaven is the lack of change. Eternity seems constant, God’s character is constant, and without conflict, how will there be forward motion or adventure or joy?
There has to be a joy in consistency, when that consistency is holiness and I desire to seek after that. The present life is full of change and inconsistency but there are constants: God is faithful and he gives enough grace for each day. Change surrounds me, but in the constant things I find my hope.
I don’t know exactly what heaven will be like and in that way, constant scares me almost as much as change, but I’m confident more than I’m afraid. I trust that it will be a place of joy and adventure and I will be more whole in the constant presence of God than I am in this changing landscape of earth.
I know it’s not personal. But I’m a person and you’re a person and I don’t want anything other than to be human together. It feels like your not a person anymore; you’re just a name that’s not your own and a melody I’ve come to know. Your face is a shadow, and the beat’s fading slowly into a single heartbeat and I’m learning that sometimes change means letting go.