Thursday, December 10, 2015

mirror...

There was only a few of them. But it didn't take long for more to join, slowly but surely, more of them made their way downstairs. Every single time I glanced over, more out of touch with the performance they were becoming. Some of them sleeping, others just staring off into the empty part of the room. And I found myself getting emotional. Here I was, standing with a camera in hand, snapping away at this sweet first grade class sing away, and all I kept thinking about was what difference of extremes in age I was surrounded by. These children had no idea who they were performing for. Truth is, neither did I. I have always had a bit of a soft spot for the geriatric population. As a matter of fact, I always thought that I was going to be a geriatric nurse. There is something honorable about being able to care for someone in their last days, especially when they have lived a life full of memories. Memories that have difficulty surfacing, but live so freely in the lines on their faces. Memories that can't make their way to the forefront of thought, but live so freely in the grey of their thinning hair and in the expressions behind their eyes. So there I stood, as the children sang, emotional and overcome with a sadness. One that contradicted any rational reason to not cry. But I did. I let the tears fill my eyes, and I let them stream down my face. She was here, I'm certain of it, the woman who made sure to always have fresh baked bread on Sunday afternoons, so after their spirits were filled from service, they too could be filled with the makings of yeast, warm water and sugar. Not to scarce was the man either, because in his presence I'm sure we were also. The one who rubbed his knuckles to the bone every other night, as he held down that second job. The one that would allow him to feed his family of eight. But what I'm most certain of, is the great old souls of which we were also in the presence of. And as the class began to wind down their performance, the teacher thought it would be appropriate to sing some old church hymns, Christmas themed ones. Almost as quickly as the music began, I could see it. One by one the once empty expressions filled with a recognition. And almost as as quickly as the lyrics left those sweet young lips, I could see it. One by one their heads lifted in recognition. The once uninterested, mentally drifted group began to sing along with a fervor to praise. So I stood, in awe struck wonder, realizing that I too would one day gaze into nothing. I asked God to always allow me to experience moments like these, to pull me close to Him, and asking Him to never lose interest in me, even "when" I reach this old age.

Having a baby is a special time. It's the beginning of life. It's the opportunity to love. And I was asked to swing on by this families house to snap a few of them in their home. Here are a couple of my faves...





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