I love photography and I do believe it can say things that can’t ever be captured in words. So while this is obviously a text heavy blog, I wanted to share the photos which said the most to me this year and a few of the reasons why.
These first five come from sources worldwide. The next five are more personal:
I’m so far behind in updating this blog that no one can claim I deal in “current events”. But, I’ve been thinking about a major news event since it happened. And even though it quickly died out of the news cycle, it seemed to me that the most important questions never got asked. I’m not talking protests, or anyone occupying anywhere, or Bin Laden or the EU. I’m thinking about Gilad Shalit.
In 2006 this 19-year-old Israeli boy-soldier gets abducted by the Palestinian Hamas movement. He’s held in isolation and mystery for more than five years while his parents fight tirelessly for his release. Protests, demonstrations, and mentions of his captivity happened all over the world. Finally, in October of this year he’s released. Parents rejoice. Events are held. The press swarms.
Heartwarming. Yes.
But I can’t help the feeling that the difficulties of his life may be yet to come.
I’ve had this thing nagging at me for a while, an issue in the back of my mind which I keep bumping into and then turning away from. But since moving to Utah, I’ve come face to face with it a few times and now I’m really thinking.
The more I learn about my dog, the more I uncover lessons about God. In the midst of our move I’ve been watching our pup and her awareness of what’s happening around her. And like my wife’s pregnancy, the dog knows something’s going on, and change is coming, but she can’t really comprehend what it all means.
So amidst the packing, I’ve found another way I’m a lot like my dog.
Some people struggle with what they believe. I generally don’t. I can support my beliefs with logical facts or experience. Personally, spiritually, professionally, I could tell you what I believe.
I struggle with Faith. “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen”.
That stuff.
Life is a frustrating series of boundaries. I’ve always hated the things I can’t do, lack the talent to accomplish, or won’t find the access to attempt. And now, as a father, I will be forced into the role of “them”. I’m now part of the big, dark, unsupportive mass of people setting up the “don’t go near there” boundaries. So this has me thinking about how much the fences vary.
I’ve been thinking about two news events which happened within 24hrs of each other on Christmas day 2009:
Two men with deeply held religious beliefs illegally traveled into other countries to spread their messages. Neither succeeded, but both made news. And though the news coverage has been very different, I can’t shake the feeling that their stories are almost exactly the same.
Well, Bodie, you’re here. And I spent yesterday, your birthday, in a strange time machine, concerned about three generations of people at once.
My parents, who told me stories of my birth with tears in their eyes.
Your mother, who endured the odd sensations of C-Section, pain, and fear.
And you… who got forced into a world you didn’t know and asked to breathe.
Leaving me mostly groundless and unaware of my own age or generation in this march of time. But now I remember, and we should talk about what it means.
Many of you told me you enjoyed the previous post on this topic. Now when I say “many”, I’m aware that there’s about 3 of you, so any two would actually represent a sweeping majority more clear than our last four Presidential elections…
But I digress.
I’m still finding myself taught by my dog ownership. Seeing God’s view of me through new eyes. Sometimes I realize just how boneheaded I am by watching my great dog make a decision based on her limited knowledge and freedoms. I make all kinds of decisions based on my own understanding, and how God must shake his head like I do at Sierra. But that’s the thing about freedom, you can choose something terrible. Click to continue »
I’m a child of 80s pop culture. Those were my defining years. And I’m a story teller and filmmaker, so the films from that era shaped me.
And the iconic films of the 80s were mostly made by one man, John Hughes. He died suddenly today, and in the outpouring of news articles and facebook updates I find myself once again reflecting on how much I hate our response to those who have died.
Here’s a man who shaped a decade of comedy filmmaking. And he shaped a generation of filmgoers. Yet in recent years his work has been discounted as out of date, while gross-out work like Judd Apatow and Will Ferrell has been heralded as the way comedy should be done. Click to continue »
