I was confronted by a huge new challenge. TCBY. (It’s a frozen yogurt place).

It’s been years since I have been in one. We were celebrating my sister-in-law’s birthday, so she got to choose. We got there early and browsed while we were waiting. It was overwhelming. There were 14 different flavors of frozen yogurt. From mango to coffee. Then, there were 48 different dry toppings: brownies to gummy bears. Then, 6 different hot gooey toppings like hot fudge and caramel sauce. I’m not sure how many choices that is, but it is too many. The lady behind the counter said, “Is this your first time?” She could tell.

I was glad to be 15 minutes early because it took that long to make a choice. I had half pecan cheesecake with cheesecake bits, chocolate fudge, chocolate truffles, and pecans and half cake batter blueberries and strawberries. Wow, it was good.

So often, more choices do not lead to greater happiness. I don’t want everything, I don’t want every choice. I want trust. I want things I can depend upon. I want some certainties. The
guidelines/laws/commandments God gives do not feel like weight, instead they feel like curbs. They give me comfort, direction and peace.

There are hundreds of choices in a day, when God has covered it, it’s way better to follow his recipe. It is always the best, it always
works, it always satisfies.

Bon Appetit,

I jumped out of the car to get a picture, but none did it justice. The seconds it took for me to frame the photo and push the button saw half of the flock wheel over my head and secure another section of the parking lot. Other cars were pulling up behind us, so I had to go without capturing the invasion on film. I reviewed my pictures with frustration. What is in my head is not in the image. I delete some, leaving only two to trigger my memories.

The gap between internal and external image is constantly confronting me. Being a person who loves photography, I really try to look. I want to see. I want to capture. Maybe it is the hunting instinct, maybe it’s just that I’m weird, or probably a little of both.

I have owned a gaggle of cameras. I started with my dad’s old 35mm camera. There was not an “automatic” anything on the camera. It had a separate, hand held, light meter. Lenses were awkwardly attached. I was hooked. Since then, I have had pin holes, instamatics, Advantix, disc, 35mm SLR, and digitals. I have never once taken a picture that captures what I have seen.

Occasionally, a picture will hint at what I saw, it will remind me of the feeling of awe, of grandeur, of feeling both insignificant and treasured at the same moment. The image will make me smile, laugh, or tear-up as I relive an experience. The frozen moment releases the pause button in my head and for a brief flash I time travel.

The real moments are in my heart. These can never be captured on film. The instant in second grade when I remember the shocking truth about Resurrection; the incandescent instant when I knew I wanted to follow Christ; the soul liberating insight that God loved me and I didn’t need to earn anything; the electrifying realization that I would get to serve the church; the transcendent utterance —she said, “Yes;” the phone call confirming I had my first job—that maybe this would work out; the dumbfounding announcement, ‘It’s a boy;’ the earth shattering calls, “She’s not going to make it,” “He’s been in an accident;” the still reverberating, “We want you to do our wedding.”

When God does something for you, write it down, take a picture, tell the story, but do what ever you need to do to lock it in your heart because that is where it can nourish you, inspire you and remind you that you are loved utterly. It will be better than a picture.

Locking the love in,