I opened a tiny door to start photography again. Many previous clients, who are now friends, reached out, wanting me to continue their story. What an honor to be asked to continue to be a part of an adoption story, an anniversary of a couple who started as co-workers, and a birth after many losses.
Last week, I had a session with twin two-year-olds. Both toddlers kept looking at me and saying, through gritted teeth, "Say cheese." All of us laughed at their very forced smiles, as if gritting their teeth harder would enable a genuine smile. The session ended well, and I captured some genuine moments of love and laughter the family shared.
As the days passed, I thought about all the children I have had the honor to photograph over the years when God placed on my heart the words, "Say cheese." Lately, when God speaks to me, I can not ignore it. As I went through the day, I asked God to reveal what He wanted me to know about the words "Say cheese."
It is funny how, very early on, we are trained to do different things like "say cheese." If you think about how many pictures we take of our children and how many times we have said those words, it is no surprise that two-year-olds repeat the same words when facing a camera. Unintentionally training a child to "say cheese" is not detrimental by any stretch, but what if we pause to think about everything that trains our children to perform a certain way? To learn a certain way or experience something a certain way? Are we creating an environment where children perform based on what the world has told them to do, or are we creating moments of true love and laughter?
I grew up believing that my worth was found in my work, what I could provide for others, and having degrees. Maybe if I graduated, got this certification, lost 10 lbs, bought a house in a nice neighborhood, joined this group, and did a Bible study, my worth would be noticed by the people I so desperately sought approval from. It would all pay off if I could just perform a bit more. I was living a long, bumpy, worn-out road that never seemed to end. I kept trying to "say cheese" through gritted teeth and offer a genuine smile.
It wasn't until a dear friend brought me to Christ in one of my deepest valleys that I began to feel safe. As I began to trust people to still love me in my mess, to still love me without shame, I began to be made new, to experience love and laughter without the performance of "saying cheese."
This year, as I took a large leap to leave behind what I worked so hard to accomplish, risking again the opinions of others close to me, I remained in the presence of God, who brought me to this place where only true peace exists. I am slowly learning the pace of rest, presence, and not "saying cheese." It took me thirty-eight years, but I am so incredibly thankful that God is unconditionally faithful and brought the words "say cheese" to my heart.
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