Disrupting Life

 

I ran across a beautiful quote yesterday. One of my photo-manager-friends shared it, and I took a screenshot so I could keep track of it. Penned by Donna Ashworth, here is the quote:

            I am the taker of the photos. I am the receiver of the groans, the eye-rolls, and hurry ups’. I am the one who disrupts the moments to capture them. And sometimes it’s hard to be that person. But I am also the holder of the memories…I am the one who keeps the precious proof. I am the bearer of the stories, the maker of the photo books that bring tears, laughter and love rushing into the room, each time they are opened. The eye-rolls will be replaced one day with absolute all-consuming gratitude, for the image of a smiling face so missed and a memory returned home to stay. Keep disrupting life to capture it, my friends, when it’s all that is left; someone somewhere will be so very glad you did.

            It is my story too.

            I apologize for zero of the photos I have taken in the name of preserving memory. I have been put in my place over a few of them, and there have been settings where I choose not to take pictures because I choose not to subject myself to the hurtful words, but I have no regrets over anything I’ve captured.

            Recently I went through my phone to delete older photos to make room for newer ones. All the photos are backed up in several places, and I sometimes have to make choices about what I keep at the ready on the camera roll. There are so many that make me smile.

            The ziplining photo that accompanies me in many speaking engagements. A lot of people have laughed at my “dying duck” form, and I welcome it.

            The video of my mom walking in the front door of our Kokomo house on her 80^th birthday, when she thought she was bringing a veggie tray to our housewarming party, but she was providing food to her own “Cookies and Canvas” party.

            The picture-of-a-picture of my South Marion Church family back in the late 80s. It was some sort of a milestone day at the church, and we all piled into the choir loft and across the platform, spilling down over the altar and nearly to the front pew. I can name almost everyone and tell you the stories of how their faith impacted my life.

            A whole gaggle of pictures from when Ryan and I traveled to Kansas to meet our great-niece for the first time. She was a few months old and not quite sure about these Indiana folk at first.

            The picture of me sitting on the sidewalk in front of our Kokomo house, crying over jury summons. (Okay, fake crying on the outside. But the inside tears were real.)

            A picture with sweet Odie when we drove to Ohio to surprise her for her housewarming party.

            A picture of me glaring at the camera while trying to swab for a nicotine test for Ryan’s health insurance when we lived in Kokomo. My mouth was so dry from fasting for bloodwork that I could NOT get the swab to take appropriately, and it was miserable.

            A picture of me surrounded by my friend’s FIVE daughters. I watched them every single week for a while when Ryan did physical therapy appointments for her. She drove over an hour to see him and brought all those girls along. One night we went for a walk and did a selfie on the sidewalk. They were such fun.

            A picture of Ryan and me with Deuce. Some of you might remember him! He was a Blue Heeler that we sat for a few times. Such a good dog.

            A picture of Ryan’s mom asleep with her head down on our kitchen table. I know from the date on the picture that her tumor was taking over, but we didn’t yet know she had it.

            And then, less than ten days later, the picture of Ryan and me with his mom. Ryan’s fist is in the foreground of the photo, as he points to where his mom should look for the picture. She had already lost the ability to know where to look.

            A picture of me rocking baby Camden to sleep during Ryan’s mom’s surgery.

            A picture of me hiding in our Kokomo closet with a box of donuts. I hid some of the good food in our closet, because when Ryan’s mom lived with us, she was ravenous from steroids and ate everything she could find. One swipe later? A picture of Ryan hiding in the closet eating donuts with me, because he knew how hard it all was for me to handle.

            A picture of Ryan with his mom at our house on what would be her last Christmas on earth.

            On and on it goes. The pictures aren’t all great quality. We don’t always look the best. But every single one of those pictures tells a story. For every sentence I just gave you, there are pages of story I could add.

            And so I won’t apologize for disrupting life. I won’t be sorry for taking pictures of meals and sunsets and sleeping puppies and crying on sidewalks. I will capture and preserve.

            It’s who I am.