What makes a photograph memorable? Is it the unspoken language of composition, heard solely within a heart, that stimulates emotional reflexes? The use of light and dark to capture a moment in the ‘eye of the beholder’ reflects an invisible thread. Like the magical wonder of a spider’s intricately woven web, the human eye sees more depth than the camera interprets. It can still hearts, exude peace, give hope, and excite the imagination. Influence and power are two words coming to mind when thinking about what captures my heart with indelible visions and memories.
What do memorable photographs have in common with heroes?
I began writing this post while contemplating people in my life whose influence on my heart shines in so many facets, each one like an exquisitely cut diamond, to me. Their lives are not the so-called perfect photograph recognized by hundreds, hanging on display for curious or appreciative onlookers, but they catch my eye with the light, shadow, and quiet goodness they exude. I am grateful for the images they produce in daily life and living. Stimulating an emotional response, weaving an intricate web of composition, I appreciate each aspect of their lives they share with me, like sunlight catching a thin strand from the silken web of their experiences; intimately private expressionism binding us forever.
Their tidal waves of unseen, internal destructive forces are individual to each, solitary for the most part in overcoming, leaving scars in the developing room of life. In the quiet heart hides tribulations unknown. Facing the creeping demons, disappointments, grief, loss, and stepping in the darkness, they silently wage their battles in private quarters, letting in the light ray by ray. Drawing upon an inner strength, often appearing when least expected, quite often discovered in the arms and hearts of others who care, I watch them. Transformative elements combine from the negatives, raw and editable, to positively incredulous miracles, carefully and slowly evolving in God’s lightroom where His touch heals flaws, restoring beyond sight, and magnifying all efforts. They are not alone, though that is often the feeling; loneliness is bleak. In the darkroom of life’s happenings, beautiful photographs emerge, beholding light.
These are my heroes, enduring and overcoming under the refining influence of fire. I love them with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. I stand in awe of their character and integrity. I feel pain, hurt, and anguish stirring in their heart or within the haunting sound of silence. My heart, arms, hands, legs, and feet link, their weakness in strength together, an offering, intangible except to those receiving, even as I have often received. Despite their pain, discomfort, trial, and desires, they nourish me, seeing past distorted horizons. Always in my prayers of gratitude and asking for relieving balm to soothe and comfort hearts, minds, and bodies of those I love, my heroes walk with me.
I know my battles, the scars I see, but most only view a photograph of a smiling woman, seemingly enjoying quiet moments in life’s happenings. Mostly I find pleasure in all my endeavors, even when my heart and mind seek solace. Do you see first the smile or the eyes? Quite often, a heartfelt look into the eyes betrays disguised sorrow to unveil truth as it is, beneath all outward appearances. My deepest sorrows and pains, the full impact that drives me to my knees or falling to my back in nature’s bed, only few will ever know or glimpse. To all, weighty burdens threaten, however secretive we wish to abide each new day, rescuers appear if we expand our sight beyond our mirror.
The hand of God carries, lifts, and holds me behind the curtain of my life when I smile and nod but inwardly ache and pine. In His hands are those selected few, specifically for me, who reach inside my heart when I cannot see and stumble in the dark. Encouraging words, a hug, a kiss, a tear, a prayer, a silken thread of life to grasp, they live love.
The verse below, I penned while it sought my listening ear, whispering within the chambers of my heart. Its words echoing comforting lyrics I heard singing upon the winds and in an embrace from one of very few who know me better than most, felt some of my scars and loves me more. They seek to lift and carry, encourage and listen, cry and rejoice without thought for their afflicting trials. I can only hope to impart the smallest part they give to me and echo the refrain, “I am within your grasp, know I will always be.”
Arise upon your feet, reaching your arms to me.
I am within your grasp, know I will always be.
I hold you in my bosom, you, my lamb, are found,
though your knees may buckle and drag you to the ground.
I will kneel beside you, wipe away all your tears.
With gentle caresses, invisible warmth, no fears
will hold you down, as I, tenderly, show you hope.
Untold wonders await you, all within my scope.
There is comforting safety in the hollow of His hands, where marks the nails Christ endured. Figuratively, sometimes literally, placing a tender lifting hand under the chin of the downtrodden soul, rises hopeful sight towards heavenly blessings of comfort from a non-judgmental face with compassionate eyes. Renewing faith and hope that springs into an everlasting well of pure water within my soul is mine, a blessed family, choicest, dearest friends, and my Savior. Angels walk among me, a mere mortal, guiding, leading, holding, and kissing tears with gentleness. There is comfort, safety, and security in the bosom of my angels, instruments in His hands, helping me to feel and know that untold wonders await me, all within God’s scope. Those individuals sensitive to hearing, understanding promptings for aid, feel, and respond to heavenly touches. They know their grief, pain, desires, happiness, and joy in triumphal moments. I recognize them from their photographs, my heroes, angels of mercy, kindness, and love in my life. Our senses understand symbols and signs within an unspoken language. I love to sit, lay, cry, stand, shout, and laugh with them as they spin and toil, encouraging the beauty of their work, sometimes in silence with a listening heart. I treasure them, express gratitude for their skill, attempts, failures, desires, and determination as intricately intimate weavers of life’s threads catching me in their web of influence.
This post, I dedicate, to the quiet heroes in my life. They remind me where to look and remember I am loved. You know who you are, in my prayers and heart all the time, day in, day out, and in my dreams, you fill me with hope, renew my fainting muscles, and carry me in your prayers and heart. Always and forever. With gratitude, I cherish the intertwining of our lives.
I hope everyone has comforting angels whose lives reflect experiences in the developing room of life’s happenings, heroes where it matters most, the heart, mind, and spirit. They create memorable photographs within the weaver’s threads, found in the precious intricacies and intimacies of life, moments of privacy where untold wonders exist, yours and theirs to share with gratitude and love.
Life Happens . . .
=> What is your definition of a hero?
=> Who are your heroes?
=> What do memorable photographs have in common with heroes?
Life Happens . . . so do Moments . . . so do Reflections . . . so does the Space Between . . . so do Whispers . . . to Everyone . . . so do Feelings . . . so do Awakenings . . . so do Sounds . . . so do Beginnings . . . so does Enlightenment
. . . so do Poetic Expressions . . . so does Waiting (SM) . . . so does a Ballad of the Contemplative Voyager
. . . so does the Master’s Touch (SM) . . . so does Dispelling Emptiness in Aloneness
. . . so do Aw-ha! Moments . . . so do Rooftops (SM) . . . so do Landscapes . . . so do . . .? . . . so . . .
. . . so do Dioramas (SM) . . . so do Storms . . . so do Prayers (SM) . . . so do Skeletons
. . . so does “What lack I yet?” (SM) . . . so do Feet . . . so do Swords and Shields (SM) . . . so do Tents
. . . so do Rescues (SM) . . . so do Father/Daughter Memories . . . so does the Shepherd (SM)
. . . so do Missing Pieces . . . so do Faith and Wholeness (SM) . . . do do Waves . . . so does Gingerbread
. . . so does “What am I to do now?” . . . so do Choices
***NOTE: (SM) = posts written under the sub-category Scriptural Musings comprising of my thoughts, reflections, and personal opinions based on my study of the King James Bible. ***
