under cover of darkness in daisies growing randomly through the tall meadow grass.
I feel unstoppable; I hear the joy of my own laughter.
A stunning evening sky blossoms above me, twinkling.
The moon echoes my laughter.
The wind sings a night song.
I twinkle and laugh and sing with them.
The fireflies are back.
unfurls as it does and time is irrelevant.
It is full of many things.
Joy.
Sorrow.
Disappointment.
Happiness.
Melancholy.
There is no end to the myriad of feelings and emotions that make up the fabric of our lives.
Me, we, all of us want to belong to something, to someone.
Just to belong.
The important thing is to not lose who we are when we try to belong to that which we dont.
A square peg in a round hole.
I would prefer to know I have been true to myself than to find I had sacrificed myself, my thoughts and my feelings for nothing special.
Life unfolds in its own time.
I’m inclined to be patient while it does.
I would rather march alone to my own drummer than to give up the sticks simply to be accepted.
Nature, in all her beauty, would agree, for not one leaf nor wildflower would give up their magnificence for acceptance.
And so, I think, I shall aspire to think as a wildflower; and knowing, that though different I am, in The Creator’s eyes, beautiful.
Posted in blog, creation, faith, from my heart, Life, life experiences, nature, peace, poetry, Time, wildflowers, words, worship
for a bit of a while.
Wandering aimlessly even though I knew full well the direction.
But I didn’t follow them.
The directions.
It happens to everyone at one time or another.
I left what I knew to be true and followed what I wanted to be true.
A path that can lead to nowhere in particular.
I have made it clear in previous posts that “religion” has very little to do with me.
Depending on what someone believes, their “religion” could be just about anything.
I love Jesus.
I do.
I fail to show it more often than I succeed, but it is true.
People fail.
It is in our nature to falter and to struggle.
We. Are. Not. Perfect.
But Jesus doesn’t expect perfection.
And that is a very good thing.
Otherwise, we would all be doomed to what we have done.
Don’t shake your head and say you haven’t done anything because trust me, you’ve done plenty.
If my past was the crux of my salvation, I would already be doomed.
I could tell you stories that would curl the hair on your head, and if your happen to be bald, it would sprout growth.
I deserved to have stones thrown at me.
I still do, every day, and yet, for some reason, Jesus loves me.
One day, He will dry the last tears I will ever cry.
That is a lovely line and I would like take credit for it, but it comes from a song from Casting Crowns called “The Wedding”.
It says a lot of things that mean something to me.
Why?
Because I know that any goodness I have, have had or will ever have comes from Jesus.
He made a choice to give His life for all of us.
God didn’t make him.
Jesus was, as we are, of free will.
He could have opted out and even prayed that the cup be taken from him.
He could have refused.
But He didn’t.
It should be enough to know that he could have and didn’t.
I judge myself daily, multiple times. I don’t need others to judge me, but they do anyway.
All I really know is that He shows me incredible things through His creation.
I feel the wind on my face, the sun on my skin … see the lightning and hear the thunder.
I am amazed by who He is and what He has done.
I feel odd saying that He loves me, but He does.
I don’t know why and have stopped asking.
He just does.
Via Casting Crowns: “There’s a stirring in the throne room” … “the last tears she’s will ever cry have been wiped away”.
Today is Easter.
The “Third Day”.
“Resurrection Day”.
I believe this just as I believe the birds sing, the sky is blue and the moon is beautiful.
He loves me even when I am unlovable, tainted, scarred, sinful, judgmental .
He finds me beautiful as He will find you.
I will share this day, not my photographs, which He has given me through the eyes of His spirit, but a song by the group Casting Crowns.
Know your worth in Christ.
He is beautiful and finds you to be the same.
Don’t be ashamed of who you were, be joyful in who you are.
We are His and He loves us even though we are not worthy.
A beautiful thing, that.
Psalms 139:14 ~ I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Marvelous are Your works, And that my soul knows very well.
Posted in being human, being myself, believer, blessings, blog, blogger, bloggess, broken, brokenness, Casting Crowns, choices, faith, follower of Jesus, free, Freedom, God, Jesus, joy, Judge, Life, life experiences, Photography, Time, words, worship, writer
Tagged beautiful, beauty, blog, Casting Crowns, creation, Easter, encouragement, excitement, faith, gina minton kearns, gina minton kearns blog, God, God's creation, grace, He is Risen, jesus, jesus christ, life, love, sinner, spiritual encouragement, Through the Eyes of the Spirit, words, worship
of blogging about driving around today with the convertible top down, the music loud and the wind in my face; of blooming trees and budding flowers, puffy clouds in a blue, sun-drenched sky and the perfectness of a warm April day.
But I just hung up the phone after talking to my mom and the things I previously held up in importance faded into the background.
She is a rock, a beacon, a lighthouse, a safe haven.
She knows everything about me, the things that shamed me and, at one time or another, shamed her.
In my youth, I hurt her deeply and couldn’t find within myself the knowledge or ability to make it right.
She knows of my dreams and aspirations and is always the first one to encourage me even as she puts her own dreams and aspirations on hold.
It isn’t easy to explain to someone that thoughts, images, words, experiences, memories and a myriad of other flotsam runs through my head, in a constant stream, even when I’m sleeping.
And that is when I am at my baseline and not in manic mode.
She takes it in stride without judgement or condemnation and, I have come to realize, did so even when I felt I was being judged and condemned.
Nobody can condemn me any more than I condemn myself. It is the nature of my world and I live with it.
She knows, though, simply by looking at my face or hearing my voice ,when I am in the throes of mania or, thankfully more rarely, the despondency of a depressive crash.
She understands that sometimes, I have to go away; from her, from myself, from everyone and just be dormant.
She knows these things and doesn’t hold them against me.
There is no “well, you did this or that or the other thing”.
She isn’t like that.
She is patient and kind.
She is, without doubt, the Proverbs 31 woman.
I would like to be like her, but that is an aspiration that will never come. It isn’t that my cup is half empty, but that I live, as much as I can, in a reality-based existence.
She is a light in a dark place and I migrate to her when I need simply to know that someone loves me unconditionally.
I tell her I love her, but how do you describe to someone that you cannot imagine a life without them.
Unless I die first by some freak event, by the natural order of things, I will lose her at some point in my life.
I cannot imagine a world without my mom.
So I will put that with other things I cannot imagine into a box that lives in the outer-regions of my heart.
When I am manic, the box will break open and I will have to face the possibility, but for now, when I am am simply on overdrive, it is secure in the little locked box.
She inspires me with her acceptance and encouragement and that, without doubt or reservation, beats blooming trees in springtime seen from a back road drive with the convertible top down.
I love you, Mom .
A houseguest
My Mother’s Mother’s bleeding hearts
This is how she makes me feel … cherished
All of that being said about my mom, I want to extrapolate to another area and extend prayers and encouragement to a friend that I have long lost touch with. She lost her son, the light of her world and is now lying among the shattered pieces of her world. Keep Pam Begley in your prayers when you pray. I cannot fathom losing a child.
Posted in being human, being myself, bipolar, blessings, blog, blogger, bloggess, convertible, creation, creative, daughter, depression, dreams, emotion, emotions, Encouragement, from my heart, healing, knowledge, laughter, Life, mental illness, Mom, Mother, Nature Photographer, parent, Pentax, Pentaxian, photographer, Photography, solitude, Spring, Time, weird stuff, weirdness, wildflowers, wildlife, words, writer
Tagged a mother's love, beautiful, beauty, blog, courage, creation, dreams, emotions, encouragement, faith, family, gina minton kearns, gina minton kearns blog, Gina Minton Kearns Photography, God's creation, grace, life, love, mom, mother, strength, unconditional love, understanding, words
I would play it now.
But I don’t.
Not because I don’t love music, the sound of it, the melody, the thought-provoking, beauteous sound that it makes.
No, none of those.
I don’t because I can’t play a note.
Not one.
I haven’t even mastered Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, which most kindergartners can play on their I-Pads.
It is pathetic, in a profoundly sad kind of way, that I depend of others to give me my music fix.
Ok, let’s be specific.
My piano fix.
I love many kinds of music, but there is something about the piano that takes me to that other place.
I love hands, and that may be part of the obsession.
Hands can tell so much about a person.
Being a photographer, I spend a good deal of time photographing hands as each one has a story to tell.
Some are gnarled and twisted with arthritis and yet still maintain the ability to button a jacket.
Some are destined to labor and become calloused and sore as they work, year after year after year.
Some are chosen to be used to create music, others, prose.
Some are used to touch the afflicted, without fear of contamination, and to comfort the comfortless.
Some are of no use at all, hanging silently and without guilt or guile at what they, were they so inclined, could accomplish.
Some are at the ready, pressing the shutter button to capture images that will take the present well into the future in images.
Some are folded, reverently, in prayer as they pray and give thanks for all manner of things.
Hands, more than any other feature, have a story to tell but, as hands, they are too humble to say so.
Look. See. Experience.
And know that simply by looking at someone’s hands, you have had a small glimpse into their soul.
Papaw’s hands
A Cyclist’s Hands
A Fisherman’s Hands
A baby’s hands
A Cellist’s hands
A Clarinetist’s hands
A musician’s hands
Posted in bipolar, black and white photography, child, creative, hands, imagination, Life, life experiences, little things, Mother Nature, Pentax, Pentaxian, Photography, pianist, piano, Southwest Virginia Blogger, Southwest Virginia Photographer, Time
Tagged beautiful, blog, dreams, gina minton kearns, gina minton kearns blog, Gina Minton Kearns Photography, life, nature, Pentax, photographer, photography, words
although sometimes, until it is compromised, we can forget that simple fact and take for granted that we will just wake up every morning.
We forget that no-one is promised another day, another hour, another minute.
I did.
Took it for granted, that is.
I set my alarm each night in a way that is likely odd to most. I set it for 1:00 am, then hit the three hour snooze which takes me to 4:00 am, then hit the preset alarm for 5:15. And when it goes off that last time, I spring up and begin my routine which is exactly the same every morning.
No deviation.
Ever.
This past Friday, I followed the same pattern. I woke up, started the coffee, brushed my teeth, drank half my coffee and took the rest into a scalding hot shower for 20 minutes, started my car (it’s pitch dark here at that hour, so clothes are optional), fed the cat, dressed and went to work.
I arrived without incident, but while walking into the building, I passed out.
A friend I walk into work with most mornings was with me and kept me from busting my head on the concrete, for which I am grateful, and got me to the ER.
I was found to be profoundly anemic and the plans to administer a transfusion were quickly underway.
But in the meantime, life interfered.
My heart stopped.
I don’t recollect that as it was for less than two minutes before the adept ER staff had me back up and running, but it doesn’t change the fact that, for a period of 96 seconds, my heart did not beat.
I left that part out when I told my family about my transfusion because, well, I suppose I don’t have a good reason except that they would have made a big deal about it and worried unnecessarily about the whole thing.
I didn’t see any lights or hear voices nor did I venture into the afterlife.
I have no stories to tell or visions to embellish.
What I do know is that each moment, even the boring and insubstantial ones, carry some importance.
I could have simply slipped away. That would have been ok as I know who I am, to whom I belong and where I well be when my time is up.
I’m thankful, however, that I have more time to love those who touch my heart, to offer encouragement and to continue to walk the path I have been given.
I am, yet again, blessed … and I am thankful.
Each moment unfolds when it is meant …
Posted in a photographer's heart, alone, anemic, being human, being myself, believer, blessings, blog, blogger, bloggess, coffee, death, emotions, Encouragement, family, friends, from my heart, God, healing, human, Jesus, knowledge, Life, life experiences, little things, nature, Nature Photographer, Pentax, Pentaxian, Photography, Time, words, worship, writer
Tagged beautiful, beauty, blog, emotions, encouragement, faith, family, fear, friends, gina minton kearns, gina minton kearns blog, Gina Minton Kearns Photography, God, God's creation, grace, jesus, life, love, Pentax, photographer, photography, spiritual encouragement, Through the Eyes of the Spirit, words
that has the ability to soothe the soul while it simultaneously sends it reeling in turmoil and heartache, joy and sadness; reminiscing and rebelling even as it brings us back, unto ourselves, full circle?
That is is the beauty of it, is it not, to touch the untouchable space in the soul and spark the imagination? To make us think beyond what we know so that we try to touch on that which we weren’t even aware we wanted to know?
Part of the mystery? The enigma? The fascination?
I listen to music for hours every day, various genres ranging from hard, head-banging rock, to soothing yet heartbreaking cello, to piano concertos. There are soaring arias, operatic manifestations that vary widely from my beloved Bryn to local, struggling, yet resilient talent, all of which move me on one one level or another.
Move me to seek, to find, to think, to imagine, to embrace and learn what I’ve always wanted to know. It, music, is a kind of courage that makes one feel worthy to not only want to know, but to feel that they have right to discover.
It is empowering, this music of which I speak and it belongs to all of us.
Listening to music and interpreting it is no different really, than developing the photographs I take and finding in each one something magnificent or a flaw that makes it unintelligible and useless on every level.
Music is the same.
There are pieces that I listen to daily because I cannot help myself. I love them, the sound of them, the places they take my mind whether I want to go or not and that is part of its power.
The power to take one on a journey, maybe pleasurable, possibly painful, but a journey that will leave the listener feeling more than they felt before and less because now, they realize that they were, prior to this moment, incomplete.
It is a humbling experience, understanding music and feeling a connection.
Anyone can hear music, but only some can comprehend it understand it and seek it because the choice, once they have experienced it, is no longer their own.
They are a slave to the sound, the vibrations, the magic that music has to offer.
There are composers who enamor me more than others, some very well known, some known not at all.
It makes little difference, at the end of the day.
There are composers I love to hear and conductors I love to watch. Some, at their very core, are nothing less than brilliant.
There are songs that are sappy and sentimental that pull at me just as there are instrumentals that draw from the depths of my inner being and make me feel things that I had either forgotten or purposely hidden away.
I’m still not sure how I feel about those except they evoke emotions that I’m not fully prepared to embrace.
It is during these indecisive moments that I throw things at mirrors, shattering them and feeling perfectly fine about it.
Whether it soothes my spirit, fries my brain or breaks my heart, I need music; it is the language, fourth to words, shadow and light, of my blood.
I can’t play a note of it, but I have an innate understanding of it.
It moves me like the river flowing over the rocks that I so dearly love.
Without music, everything else in my life would go on as it always has, but all of the emotions would be diluted. That, to me, is a sobering thought.
Severance Hall … Cleveland Orchestra … Mahler’s First.
My favorite trumpeter …
Proof that nature is full of music and miraculous things…
The joy of simply knowing what music is about …
A clarinetists’ hands … music and beauty and awesomeness lives therein …
Posted in art, artist, being human, being myself, blog, blogger, bloggess, composer, creation, creative, dreamer, dreams, feelings, from my heart, imagination, Influenza, joy, muician, music, musical instrument, Pentaxian, photographer, Photography, Severence Hall, Southwest Virginia Blogger, Southwest Virginia Photographer, through the eyes of the spirit, Time, words
Tagged beautiful, beauty, blog, clarinet, composers, creation, dreams, emotions, encouragement, gina minton kearns, gina minton kearns blog, Gina Minton Kearns Photography, God's creation, greeting cards, hands, life, love, mountains, music, musical instruments, nature, Pentax, photographer, photography, spiritual encouragement, strength, Through the Eyes of the Spirit, trumpet, words
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
Posted in a photographer's heart, art, artist, Autumn, being human, being myself, believer, blessings, blog, blogger, bloggess, cold, creation, disallusionment, dreamer, dreams, earth, from my heart, Frozen, God, Greeting Cards, hiker, human, I love rocks, Jesus, Life, life experiences, Little Stony Falls, Live as it happens, love, moon, Mother Nature, Mountains, Mountains in Springtime, nature, Nature Photographer, nature's symphony, October, Pentax, Pentaxian, photographer, Photography, poem, Robert Frost, snow, Southwest Virginia, Southwest Virginia Blogger, Southwest Virginia Photographer, sub-zero temperatures, Thanksgiving, the wonder of nature, Time, trail shoots, Trees, weather, winter, winter photography, words, worship
Tagged beauty, blog, creation, dreams, encouragement, frozen, frozen creek, frozen waterfalls, gina minton kearns, gina minton kearns blog, Gina Minton Kearns Photography, God, God's creation, greeting cards, jesus, life, little stony falls, love, mountains, music, nature, Pentax, photographer, photography, rocks, Scott County Virginia, Southwest Virginia, spiritual encouragement, suspended rocks, Through the Eyes of the Spirit, Virginia, words
my heat goes out, or at the very least makes it painfully obvious that it is planning, in the very near future, to take an extended vacation.
No phone, no lights, no motor car; not a single luxury. (this is completely untrue, but it manifested itself, unbidden, in my head) .
Not good, I suppose, but not the worst thing that could happen.
Not the song in my head, (while the theme from Gilligan’s Island wasn’t my first choice, I suppose it beats Henry the Eighth), but the heat going out.
Keeping up with my brain is a full time job and sometimes, even I want to quit.
Yet, I digress.
I still have power, which means my heated mattress pad works.
I still have hot water so hot showers are there to eradicate the goosebumps.
I have many quilts that Granny (God rest her soul), lovingly made for me. They are warm, too, hand sewn and have enough love in them to keep me warm even if they were only threads.
I don’t know what is wrong with it.
The heat, not the shower, the quilts or the mattress pad.
It started making a noise that sounded similar to the sound the brakes on my car makes when I stop suddenly.
I suppose I will have to call the man.
I could call my dad and have him call the man, but I am working diligently on being independent, self-sufficient, self-reliant.
Funnily enough, I waited until I was nearly fifty years old to come to this decision.
That is, in part, why I don’t know how to fix my own, among other things, poorly functioning furnace.
When I learn to fix the furnace, change the oil in my car, replace my brakes and fix the broken tail light that has gotten me pulled over three times this month, I will have made it.
I’m not inept. I can photograph nature like nobody’s business.
I can string words together to articulate what I want to say when I want to say it.
I can write poetry that incites tears and sketch peoples’ faces that illicit sighs.
I have plenty of artistic ability, but it is fairly useless when things break.
Oh well, it is what it is and will be what it will be. At some point, the man will come to fix my furnace and I will once again bask in heat; in the meantime, I’m sitting here with my heavy coat, gloves, ear-muffs and scarf on.
And for each of those things, I am grateful.
One moment, one hour, one day, one month, one event at a time.
That’s how I see life. A little thing like a crippled furnace is no reason to change that.
It will get fixed when it gets fixed.
It isn’t, by a long shot, the worst thing that could happen.
Staying warm the old-fashioned way and finding it adventurous while I do so. I am, after all, the adventurous sort.
I simply didn’t expect adventure to exploit itself in my living room, but being a Sagittarius, I will take it as it comes and make the best of it.
That is what we Jesus loving, faith having, wishful thinking Sagittarius beings do.
A snowy day at the base of Clinch Mountain
A beautiful view of a snowy Clinch Mountain
Snow-covered cows as they indulge in hay. They seem no worse for the wear. Encouraging.;
Posted in art, artist, being human, being myself, blessings, blog, blogger, bloggess, cold, cows, dad, Encouragement, from my heart, furnace, humor, It is what it is, Life, life experiences, Mountains, Nature Photographer, Old Man Winter, photographer, Photography, poem, Polar Vortex, Sagittarius, Southwest Virginia, Southwest Virginia Blogger, Southwest Virginia Photographer, strong in body and mind, Time, weather, winter, words, writer
Tagged beautiful, blog, cold, courage, dreams, encouragement, faith, furnace, gina minton kearns, gina minton kearns blog, Gina Minton Kearns Photography, God's creation, greeting cards, heated mattress pad, learning, life, mountains, nature, Pentax, photographer, photography, Polar Vortex, quilts, Scott County Virginia, Southwest Virginia, strength, Through the Eyes of the Spirit, Virginia, words
are the three things you don’t argue with anyone about as it is an argument you can never, ever, win.
I could tell you in less than five seconds what I know about politics.
Religion? I’m not a fan.
That may be misleading to my Christian friends, but it is true. I have little use for “religion” as the world sees it. I tend to lean more toward the teachings of Jesus than what “religion” has to offer.
But this post isn’t about politics or religion so those of you who just bristled at my comments are off the hook.
It is about coffee.
I love coffee. I drink it several times a day and, contrary to the popular consensus, I use it at night to help me sleep.
Mayhaps it is because I have drank it for so long and have such an affection for it, it soothes me into dreamland.
On more than one occasion when I have been sleepwalking, the evidence of coffee brewing is strewn about the next morning.
If it keeps me in the house on bitter winter nights, I’m all for it. Duct tape doesn’t always work.
And yet, I digress.
I like my coffee strong; strong enough to eat the end of a stainless steel spoon, but I like it light.
Extra light, with real cream.
Milk will do when there isn’t anything else, but real, honest-to-goodness cream is how I prefer it.
A friend told me that I should be ashamed for using cream in my coffee.
I’m not sure if he was offended that the cream came from a cow or that I put calories in a zero calorie drink.
I don’t really care either way.
I can’t drink black coffee.
Ok, I suppose if I were stranded on a desert island with nothing but coffee and water, I would, without doubt, learn to adapt.
But I’m not on a desert island and Food City is on my way home, so you can bet your bottom dollar that there is, at this precise moment, cream in my fridge.
I eat healthy three times a day with at least one healthy snack somewhere between lunch and dinner or dinner and bedtime.
I exercise every day and me and my Pentax hike difficult mountain trails nearly every weekend.
I will put cream in my coffee, dammit.
Real cream.
The hard stuff.
And I will close my eyes and smile like the cat which ate the canary while I do.
Challenge my politics and you will find me a poor opponent … my eyes will roll back in my head and I will retain less than zero percent of the words that come out of your mouth.
I know who the President is and I feel pretty good about that.
Challenge me about religion and I will let you talk until you are blue … it won’t change my belief that I am saved by Grace, have my name written in The Book and religion has little to do with Jesus.
Challenge me about coffee and you will find yourself in a shallow grave covered in decaying leaves while I sit nearby, drinking a stellar cup of java lightened just right with real cream.
That’s just how I roll.
Bring it on.
Were you talking to ME?
Music to be buried by … the clarinet is a fine choice. Just sayin’.
In everything you do, be yourself; nobody else on earth can accomplish that.
Posted in a photographer's heart, being human, being myself, blog, blogger, bloggess, coffee, eating right, friends, from my heart, java, Jesus, Life, life experiences, Pentax, Pentaxian, photographer, Photography, religion, sleepwalk, sleepwalking, Southwest Virginia Blogger, Time, words
Tagged blog, coffee, emotions, friends, gina minton kearns, gina minton kearns blog, Gina Minton Kearns Photography, grace, greeting cards, java, javalove, jesus, life, love, Pentax, photographer, photography, politics, real cream, religion, Southwest Virginia, Through the Eyes of the Spirit, words, worship
A Photographer's Heart 