He speaks to me.
Who, you say?
Why Jesus, of course.
How, you ask?
By showing me what He sees through the eyes He sees them with.
And by allowing me to capture on film that which He chooses to show me.
Being a photographer is one of His greatest gifts to me and I don’t take His beauty lightly.
I am, in the space of time that I walk through the beauty of creation, one with that creation.
I am part of that which lives, thrives and survives.
I am His.
He reminds me every day of His love for me by showing me the wonders of the earth He created, of His beauty and, for whatever reason, He allows me to see it through His perfect eyes. I am often blinded by life, by moments, by disappointments and disillusionment, but He reminds me, every single day, that I am His.
Through the fragrant blooms of springtime that make their way even while winter tries to force his hand. They are strong and resilient, those blooms. Strong-willed and fearless as they burst forth with courage and strength.
The Creator’s fragrant palette
Through the fireflies of summer, which frolic beneath a summer moon and compete with the magnificence of the stars. They blink and fade, wander and mesmerize, bringing magic and comfort and the promise of something wonderful.
Like a moth to a flame, so the fireflies are drawn to the moon of summer.
Through the colorful leaves that adorn the trees that catch my eye, the smell of decay on the ground mixed with the subtle scent of of beauty that can only be felt in the heart. The joyous chatter of the brilliance of fall as it rains down on forgotten paths and leaves the mind reeling with possibilities.
the beauty and mystery of fallen leaves
Through the winter, the cold air and frigid temperatures that can freeze a waterfall in her tracks, making her song one of unrivaled silence as her beauty emanates praise and thanksgiving.
The magnificent song of Winter silence
Creation, frozen in time, for a time, for a season
A bubbling creek becomes suspended in something, motionless and full of such magic that only the heart can understand it. Some things are so rare, so precious, so full of beauty that nothing is left but to offer praise.
Rocks, suspended in silence, yet singing their winter song
Winter speaks with a strong voice even when it is silent
Seeing it, immersing myself in it, becoming a part of it reminds me that I, too am, a child of the creator.
A beautiful view of a snowy Clinch Mountain … one that I call home
My cup runneth over.
His beauty unfolds before me in the misty rain of barren landscapes, foggy sunrises behind mountains and beneath a black sky glittering with stars.
without rain, there can be no rainbow
From my front porch
I am blessed and, when I forget that, He reminds me with His magnificence.
From my driveway, I am reminded that i am worth His magnificence.
I shall be telling this with a sigh, Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two road diverged in a wood, and I — I took the ones less traveled by, And that has mad all the difference ~ Robert Frost
A Photographer's Heart 