Monday, July 21, 2014

Of getaways, photos and the stories outside the lines




We got away together this weekend, to a little studio on a little farm on a little island, a rare retreat from home. And I know, in simply breathing out those words - we got away - the reaction it elicits. The oohs and aaahs and wry smiles and how nices. It's true, it was nice and quaint and lovely in some of those imagined way. Yet there are so many moments, are there not, that don't fit within the smiley selfies, the you-are-here photos and the snapshots of nature? 

We all know this. There are stories folded within the fibers of those photos that never get told. 

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There's something about getting away from home when you rarely do that raises the bar of expectation, even subconsciously. Things - or These Specific Things - will be different, we tell ourselves, as if location alone possessed a type of magic that is not tapped into in the familiarity of the everyday. And forward we go, Dorothy and the gang on the pilgrimage to Oz, only to unveil that the rather unimpressive little man behind the curtain is no different than the ones we face in the mirror.

And our fragile hearts crumble. 

For in this unveiling, we see that there is a certain built in comfort to home, a net beneath to catch us. It may be less tangled in expectation, for in this comfort zone, we already know what to expect. This is beauty and freedom, and it is also safety box under lock and key. We do not expect.  And that includes magic and mystery and miracle. We are too practical, too wary of, too tired, too wounded, too disillusioned, too fearful - to expect or hope for more than what we are intimately acquainted with at home; or really, More at all.

Going away merely lights this up like a neon sign on a deserted interstate in the middle of the night.

* * * * *


In the sharing of photos, I feel resistance, the pull between two realities. Between two conflicting desires: one for transparency and the other for hiding. Some things are well, and All is not well, but my heart silently begs, Do not believe these photos are an altogether true painting of my life. For if it's true that a picture is worth a thousand words, than it may also be true that a picture can only tell a limited story within the fenced yard we loose them upon. Most of our photos tell the same story lines of person, place and thing; what we were doing; what interests us; even a desire to convey a sense of happiness, real or imagined. Often, we have to dig deeper for the truest story.

I look back on the few photos we snapped from the weekend and I'm trying to experience them now from a distance, to allow the layers of untold stories to seep into my heart. For there is more, too, than I even knew in these moments together, some that imprinted and others that passed. There is a beating heart there, pulsing steady, echoing in the fresh corners of memory. Glory and tension, light bleeding through pillows of charcoal cloud.

So I will not force one over the other. There is room for both.


Joining my words today with Unforced Rhythms


9 comments:

  1. Amber,
    This lovely how you see both: the light and the charcoal cloud....and you hold both in tension...and I get it: how hard it is to convey all the layers of our true lives in a photo...visiting from Kelli's blog

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    1. Thank you for seeing with me, Dolly, the things that are hard to convey. It's always a gift.

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  2. Dang those expectations and the ways we talk ourselves into imagining everything will be new just because the place and time are new even as we drag our same exhausted selves to a different local. And, yes, in some ways, it makes all the difference. A clean window to view things through. But in others it just gives us more time to notice the smudges that stand between us and the view we hope for. Yes, it can be both. It IS both. And both are OK. Normal. Holy and beautiful in their own way. Let your memories be only exactly what they are, unfiltered and without emotional photoshopping. The honoring of your truth is worship.

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    1. I like this so much: "without emotional photoshopping." Wow, I never thought of that before, but it's amazing how much we photoshop our memories, our emotions, our experiences. Thank you for hearing me, for being here. I appreciate you and your sweet presence.

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  3. Yes! to no expectations and to both. We're getting ready to go on our first family vacation since before the twins were born (unless you count that brief one last fall that went So Very Poorly). This is a good reminder to take stock of my expectations before-hand, to replace them with a modest list of hopes. And I hear you on the pictures (and words I guess do the same) how they both hide and reveal at the same time.

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    1. Ah yes, taking stock of expectations... try as I may, it seems there are ones that are always lying dormant, ready to rear up whether I took note of them or not. Old and present hurts that are still being worked through that go along with those expectations. But it's still good to be aware of them, right? To try our best to modify and to let go and work through as things come up, I suppose that's the most we can do. So, that said, I hope you are able to do that as you prepare for this vacation, and I pray it exceeds even those modest hopes.

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  4. Oh, I love how you tell this, Amber!

    Yes, there seems to always be two stories...the one filled with faith and hope...and the one reflecting disappointments and miscommunications...

    And they're the same story...yet not...

    And while it's important to focus on the faith and hope story, it's equally important to work thru the disappointment and miscommunication story.

    And sometimes...in focusing on faith and hope, we give false impressions of living perfect little lives shielded from all disunity. It looks so nice...but isn't the whole story...and not very helpful to our fellow strugglers...

    I love how you've honored both stories, here.

    Blessings to you!

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    1. Joe, your words are so encouraging to me this morning. Really. I'm so grateful for your understanding, your "getting" this, and also for the way you saw it through your own eyes and reflected it back to me. Sometimes, you know, we write things that have more meaning than we give them words to, than we're aware of even, so it's helpful to hear how it sits with others. Thank you. And blessings to you, too.

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  5. "Glory and tension"
    yes this constant pull between
    you penned it so well
    what my heart has always known

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