The Message

While on a recent vacation to Crescent Beach, Florida, I woke up before dawn every morning, eager to head to the beach and watch the sun come up over the Atlantic Ocean. (Although the same sun comes up where I live, I rarely go outside to see it, because so many trees block my view. But at the ocean, nothing obstructs the wonder and beauty of sunrise.)

So, out I’d go and stroll along the beach as I waited for the majestic display. One morning, I noticed a man who was walking near the water’s edge, glancing frequently toward the east, as I was doing, eager for the first glimpse of the sun. His dog ambled hither and yon, obviously happy to be out and about on a beautiful morning.

When his dog started to approach me, the man also walked quickly toward me, saying, “Butter! Come here!” The dog obeyed.

As soon as the man and I were in “speaking distance,” I said, “God puts on an awesome show every morning, doesn’t He?”

The man smiled. “Yes, He does! When I’m out here, I feel like I do in church.”

I nodded, for I, too, was worshipping the Creator, as was the psalmist (David) when he wrote these words centuries ago: “The heavens tell of the glory of God. The skies display his marvelous craftsmanship. Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make him known. They speak without a sound or a word; their voice is silent in the skies; yet their message has gone out to all the earth, and their words to all the world” (Psalm 19:1-4, New Living Translation).

Thankfully, the man and I received “the message” that morning on the beach. With glad hearts, we went our separate ways. As I photographed sea shells and crabs and birds and sea turtles' nests and white-capped waves and an ever-changing sky, my “praise and worship” service continued.

Kindred Spirits

After sunset one evening, I sat by a pool in Fort Walton Beach and watched two of my grandsons laughing and splashing in the water. While sitting there, I noticed a hotel employee who was arranging the chairs and lounges that had been moved helter-skelter by guests who had used that area all during the day. His body was as thin as a string bean and his expression was serious—almost lifeless, really, because there seemed no spark in him as he methodically returned the white chairs to their places at the dozens of round tables and as he placed the lounge chairs in straight rows along the sides of the pool so they’d be ready for the next day’s crowd of sunbathers who needed to keep a careful eye on their children.

I wondered why he was so solemn. Had he done this particular task each evening for no telling how long and was, therefore, very bored with it? Was he longing to do something more exciting than rearranging chairs and closing big umbrellas?

Since I make it a habit to speak to "service" employees as often as I can because it seems that many people consider them “part of the landscape” (if they really see them at all), I resolved to find an opportunity to speak to that young man. Thankfully, as I was leaving the area, I happened to pass him. I stopped for a moment, made eye contact, and then said, “This is a beautiful place, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “Especially at sunset when the sky turns all shades of red and orange.”

“It was that way tonight!” I said. “I think I got a beautiful picture of it, too.”

“I tried,” he said, “but the camera in my cell phone isn’t very good.”

“Well, you may have to do what a friend advised me to do whenever I see wonderful shots but don’t have my camera with me. ‘Just take pictures with your eyes,’ she told me.”

He nodded.

“That’s what I’m doing tonight,” I said. “I left my camera in our room, but I’ve taken hundreds of pictures with my eyes because I’ve noticed how this pool area looks soooo different tonight than it did earlier today when I was here with the boys. It looks magical,” I added. “All these lights create such interesting shadows and silhouettes.”

He nodded, and I could tell by the sparkle in his eyes that he truly agreed with me.

Encouraged by his obvious interest in photography, I continued talking. “Even if we take pictures with our eyes, we're developing our skill as a photographer. We’re learning to see, to compose our shots, to think about what interests us in whatever scene is before us…”

He nodded once again, a shy smile lighting up his thin face.

“However,” I admitted, “we do love having pictures to take home with us so that we can revisit places and re-live experiences, don’t we.”

Once again, he nodded.  

We smiled at each other before we went our separate ways. I was glad, and I believe he was, to have met a kindred spirit.

The Light

As I woke up one morning, this thought popped into my awareness: “Look at the light.” I felt compelled to write about it. In the meantime, as I lay in my warm bed, reluctant to get up that chilly morning, especially since cleaning the basement was at the top of my to-do list for the day, I began thinking about photos I’d taken that would illustrate the noticeable difference the light makes in a photograph. Light has a source, of course, whether natural or man-made, as well as color, direction, intensity, temperature, etc.

 

Later that morning, I opened an e-mail from Better Photo that contained a photo of a beautifully lit trumpeter swan. Much to my surprise, the accompanying “Pro Tip,” written by Charlotte Lowrie, was: Look for the light. Light, especially beautiful light, is transitory and fleeting, so be ready to shoot when you see the magical light of the day.”
 

Since I have a gallery on the BetterPhoto website, I took a few minutes to look at some of the images I’ve posted there. While doing so, I realized I tend to “balance” the light by using an external flash rather than capturing images using natural light only. Using additional light allows more details to be seen in the subject but lessens the “dramatic effect.”

 



 

So, as soon as I had time, I looked through some of the thousands of digital images I’d taken recently, searching for photos where natural light created a dramatic difference. (Posted here are a few of the ones I found.)

 

 As I looked at them, I remembered this phrase from an old hymn: “Come to the Light, ‘tis shining for thee.” Using a search engine on my computer, I looked up the lyrics and found them, along with the music, here: http://www.hymnal.net/hymn.php/h/1018.

The writer of the hymn (Philip P. Bliss, 1875) was certainly right when he said, “The Light of the world is Jesus.” When we come to the Light, that is, when we come to Jesus, out of the darkness of sin, what a dramatic difference He makes in our lives, both now and for all eternity.

 

(C) Copyright 2013 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill. 

Stories Told with Lights

I was as enthralled as a child as I (and six other adults in my family) viewed the annual display of lights at Callaway Gardens. I tried to photograph parts of scenes along the five-mile trip through the gardens, but the “Jolly Trolley” we were riding on bounced too much for me to hold the camera steady enough to get sharply-focused photographs. So, for much of the time, I “took pictures with my eyes” and stored them in my mind rather than on an SD card.

But the few “keepers” I took with my camera trigger a mental slideshow of other elements in the 15 dazzling scenes along the route we followed that chilly night in early December. For example, I can visualize “Christmas Tree Lane” and the frogs in “Nature’s Wonderland” and other magical subjects created by the 8 million lights. 

I loved “Snowflake Valley” that depicted softly swirling snowflakes, all much bigger than in life and some really, really huge. But my favorite scene of all was “The Nativity,” located near the entrance/exit of the trolley. After having spent the better part of an hour enjoying various sights and sounds associated with the Christmas season, I appreciated all the more the reverence I felt as I stood quietly and looked at the story of Christ’s Birth, beautifully told by the lights. It’s an age-old story, the story of the blessed night when God became flesh in the form of the Baby born in Bethlehem; yet it’s a story that is always sweet and precious, whether told with words or with lights.

Remember Those Who Served

Veterans Day observances touch my heart, no matter where they are held. As is my custom, I take photographs to help me remember the people and actions that impacted me most.

One of my favorite photos from the 2008 observance is of a Korean War veteran who was half-leaning, half-sitting on the hood of a car I assumed to be his. It was parked near the Korean War monument on the lawn of the courthouse, where the ceremony was being held. When I first noticed the veteran, he had a far way look in his eyes. Was he remembering experiences from the years he served? Had he known any of those whose names were inscribed on the monument?

I walked over to him, thanked him for his service, and asked permission to photograph him. He looked at me with warm eyes, gave me a gentle smile, and then nodded. I wrote down his name and address so I could send him the photos. I saw him, from time to time, at the local Wal-Mart and always stopped to talk with him and to thank him, once again, for his service. But those opportunities are over because he passed away this year (2012).

Another touching photo was also taken in 2008, this time at an observance held at a small airport. I took the photo as two gentlemen, proudly wearing their Army uniforms, held onto each other’s hands as they walked across a pedestrian bridge at the conclusion of one portion of the ceremony. Perhaps they had served together. Perhaps they had met later. Perhaps they were strangers. But the fact that they were each lending a hand to help the other touched my heart—and still does.

I plan to attend this year’s observance, too, not only to take photographs but also to let my presence express my gratitude to all those who served in any capacity. They and their families gave up so much in order to serve. Therefore, we must not fail to acknowledge their service and to thank them for it.

(c) 2012 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill.

In Its Time

Knowing I love to photograph “all things nature,” my neighbor often says, “Come over anytime you want to.” Whenever she thinks there’s something extra special on her patio, she’ll call to tell me about it, as she did one Spring day when the patio looked especially nice (following a garden club meeting). I walked over late that afternoon and spent an hour or more delighting in the results of her hard work. Knowing that “early” light provides a different “look” for the photos, I returned the following morning. 

 

One chilly morning in late October, I returned to the patio, not to photograph the upholstered furniture or the big hydrangea bushes, for their beautiful blue blooms were “past their prime.” My attention was on the fall leaves that had floated lazily down, decorating the tables and the brick pavers and the grass and the flower pots…. As I photographed, I liked not only what I was seeing but also the sound of the leaves as they crunched beneath my feet.

Seeing how the patio looked very different in the Fall than it had in the Spring, I reflected on what Solomon said in Ecclesiastes 3:11(New Living Translation): “God has made everything beautiful for its own time.” Indeed, God does transform everything (and everyone!) according to His plans and purposes. So, as I delight in the beauty that’s all around me at any given time, I’m also eager to see how He will make that thing (or that person!) even more beautiful in the days ahead.

(c) 2012 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill. For permission to use, please contact me at johnniegaskillATgmailDOTcom.

Slipping Away

One evening, with my camera in hand, I stepped out onto the balcony of the condo where we (my husband and I, along with two of our grandsons) were spending a week at the beach.

“I almost missed the sunset,” I said to my husband when he joined me a minute or so later.

 

Sure enough, the sun, looking like a huge, orange, beach ball, seemed only a few inches about the horizon line. I worked quickly to try to capture a really good picture of the scene. I changed settings on my camera, selected different focus points, zoomed in and out with my lens, placed the sun in various places within the viewfinder’s frame, and moved to different places along the narrow balcony, hoping all the while to make a photo that would capture at least a little bit of the grandeur my eyes were seeing. 

In less than six minutes after I’d stepped onto the balcony, the sun had slipped below the horizon, seeming to have disappeared in the blue-gray waters of the Gulf of Mexico. It appeared to have submerged into the depths of the ocean, never to return.

As I reflected on that, I thought about how so many things in life seem to slip away so quickly, just like the setting sun. Although the sun had been visible since early morn, it had slowly been making its way toward the horizon line. No one paid much attention to its progress, due to being involved with activities of the day: traveling, working, shopping, swimming, shelling, etc. Perhaps a relatively low percentage of folks paid any attention to the setting of the sun, since that wonder takes place each day. But I did.

As I watched the changes brought about by the setting of the sun, I thought about recent things that had slipped away: A friend’s dad had slipped into eternity last Tuesday. That day had been coming ever nearer for 96 years. But on Tuesday, he slipped away from this life. Another example: a friend  fell in the pasture while she was taking care of her horses and broke her back. Her busy life slipped away, at least temporarily. Whether our blessings disappear ever so gradually or in the blink of an eye, they do slip away. Loved ones. Good health. Jobs. Finances. Opportunities. Abilities….

Therefore, let’s cherish the abundant blessings we have each day, always aware that they, like the setting sun, are slipping away. Some, unlike the sun, won’t return.  

(c) 2012 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill. To request permission to use, please send an e-mail to johnniegaskillATgmailDOT.com