letting go

I grew up with a mom who was constantly taking pictures. Most of my childhood is chronicled in a never-ending series of albums and shoeboxes filled with snapshots. In fact, most of the major events or memorable moments of my life before age 18 have a corresponding picture, which is a fantastic aid to my somewhat patchy memory. Remember the time when you pulled out all the carefully-arranged magazines out of that cabinet and crawled in, only to look so surprised and innocent when found? There's a picture to jog your memory, or else supply your imagination to fill in the details.

Even more memorable than the actual pictures themselves was the process of obtaining said pictures. Remember, children, these pictures were taken before the digital age, so you couldn't just snap pictures at random and delete the ones you didn't like. Lo, you only had 12 or 24 (or, if you were daring, 36) exposures on that roll, and so you'd better get it right the first time. Mom would come upon some adorably cute candid moment to snap the photo... and 5 minutes later, we would still be frozen in that "candid" pose, smiles held, cheeks burning, while we heard, "Okay... just a second more... lemme adjust this lens..."

(Side note: I know my family is reading this. Don't tease her any more about the photo-taking process. It's a dead horse, beaten many times over...)

But even though the process might have seemed a little contrived, the pictures that resulted were amazing. And I see the pictures you get from a disposable camera, or even a digital camera that takes, I don't know, eons to think about whether it wants to take the picture or not between the moment you press the button and the actual taking of picture. Not the same. In my head, I've connected raising children and fantastic photography. I love houses full of photos of their family.

So, now that Jason and I are (hopefully) embarking upon the Raising Hell Family stage of our lives, what would be the number one item on my registry list once I found out I was preggers? A camera:



(I know. Completely shocking for someone who has a complete lack of personal photos on her blog. But I'm trying to correct that, see?)

We've been saving money. I was all set to make this Christmas the Christmas Of The Camera. Jason's been looking on eBay and Amazon for great package deals. I've been looking forward to a home full of pictures, even if it is not a home full of little feet... yet.

And then I went to church. You can listen to what I heard today here - just click on "A Thanksgiving Message". The temptation, when hearing that God blessed you with all that He has so that you can bless others (that it's not for your own glory), is to write a large check, drop it guiltily into the offering basket, and skulk home, hoping the message next week will be something a little milder, a little less convicting. But that wasn't the point. Who wants something given out of guilt? No. Giving out of the overflowing joy of your heart - those are the kind of gifts you want to give. And receive.

I am letting go of the camera for Christmas. The money saved is not going to us but somewhere yet to be determined. Listening in on Sunday... I didn't feel guilty. I just saw what I really, truly want, and it has nothing to do with a camera and everything to do with refocusing my heart, to invest in others the way the same way in which I've been invested.

Father, I want to know Thee, but my coward heart fears to give up its toys. I cannot part with them without inward bleeding, and I do not try to hide from Thee the terror of the parting. I come trembling, but I do come. Please root from my heart all Those things which I have cherished so long and which have become a very part of my living self, so that Thou mayest enter and dwell there without a rival. Then shalt Thou make the place of Thy feet glorious. Then shall my heart have no need of the sun to shine in it, for Thyself wilt be the light of it, and there shall be no night there. In Jesus' name, Amen.

PS - I am not pregnant.