Sometimes it’s all too much and I need perspective and so I grab the camera. The graduation present from college that is my tool for creativity, that and the pen. When I’m warped with insecurity and the heaviness of my pain and the pain of others confronts and doesn’t back down I take the girls in bright dresses outside before the big rainfall and I watch and shoot, searching for perspective, looking to see.
She notices the tree that tricked us with its fruit. Giant round spheres of lime promised for fresh citrus turned sour and unripe. They are Hawaiian oranges that will turn yellow as the sun heats the island in summer. Her mission is clear and she wants the fruit, to throw and peer at, ultimately to be left on the earth’s surface for birds.
It won’t be consumed because it’s not edible. It’s not good.
I’m taking the pictures and I’m back in the Garden and remembering thoughts written by Ann Vonkamp about the Garden and original sin.
The too much, the trust that I lack and the heaviness of pain felt is rooted in the Garden sin.
God’s not good… I’ve not said and yet I’ve believed it.
I’ve believed it when fear cripples me and insecurity tells me I’m not enough. I’ve not known what to say when the wounds are exposed because I’m not the Healer and I know Who is but I haven’t given my own wounds over.
She dances on tiptoe and she practices walking on uneven ground. Their glory is in this space and time, forgetting the impatience of their parents and thinking now only of gulping water-saturated air and moving. Always moving. There is stillness in her moving. She is antsy but for what? More fruit. Higher fruit. This fruit is not enough.
He’s not enough, I’ve allowed myself to believe. If I let go of my fear then I’ve lost all control.
And isn’t that what He quietly summons for? Waits for? Is ever patient for?
My fingers adjust camera’s settings and I click but my mind is on the Garden and the Lie and how Jesus is Truth and do I believe it. How mothers’ greatest fear is in losing the child and is HE GOOD ENOUGH? And mine haven’t been taken but I know those whose have. And on this island in the middle of the ocean have I been forgotten and is HE enough? When people aren’t perfect and not even nice and the deepest parts of me have been battered and instead of offering my wounds to the Healer I’ve settled in licking them myself.
Watching her dance and her walk to fall and get up again I know freedom is in the surrender. But do I have the faith to surrender, to fall and not catch myself but to allow myself to be caught? Is HE GOOD ENOUGH? If I let go am I willing it to happen? With my fingers clenched tight my muscles cramp but I fake control. Mama! Can you get the fruit? And I’m here and I focus and swing the camera behind my back and pick the fruit that will never taste and it’s a toy for her, but rich in meaning to me.
She looks at me and smiles, turns and practices independence. I realize I’m tired of independence. Tired of the part that says I’m enough, because I’m not.
My daughters dance and I sense their freedom. Freedom comes when we give up on the Lie, when we surrender and know HE IS GOOD and that we aren’t enough but HE IS and the nails in the flesh and the tomb rolled away are marks of the Healer and won’t I let Him heal?
In this act of capturing small moments of life my heart soars and my daughters are these in the Kingdom and I have much to learn. God is Good. God is Good. I start to believe it as I practice thanksgiving for treasures in small feet and eager hearts and streaks of sun-bleached hair on my toddler-daughter.
When it is done and it’s all there in front of me I watch my daughters as they play and we go inside, a near miss to the rain that pours after slippers are left at the door.
My camera is placed in the bag and we are on to dinner but I’ve been transformed and the Creator God whose Image I’m made in has spoken to me in the creation and the Cannon caught and so did my heart. We begin anew and this is being reborn.