A few years have gone by since I graduated from college and moved north to go to seminary. The previous year I had discovered my love of photography. It became a quest of mine to see if pictures and words could be combined to communicate the Gospel. I met Dan Gangler that first year and we discovered we had a shared quest to use multimedia in new ways. We were ahead of our time. We invented some of our equipment. We made an enormous rear projection screen from shower curtains. We used dimmer switches to ease the transitions between multiple projectors. We rehearsed with detailed scripts over and over using 6 projectors that could create three images side by side or a combination of photos. Dan worked endlessly on audio recordings. At the time, few could pull off the kinds of presentations that we were doing (without computers--this is the early 1970s). And then, after 2000, (thirty years later) projectors began to show up in sanctuaries to be used for worship.

We knew that we were on the right track, we were just ahead of the curve.

What can I say, we were prophets, of a sort. Definitely, ahead of our time. Dan, we could have been Apple or Microsoft (if we had only been that smart).

I didn't even have my bearings yet. My companions and I had been in Monrovia, Liberia for less than 24 hours. The flight had been more than 20 hours total. We had arrived in the dark, and now before lunch, we were driven downtown to a tailor's shop.

Although the only light came from the street, I was caught by the color and texture of the fabric. Our group was excited with our purchases and the gifts that we could share when we arrived back home in two weeks. But shortly, we were outside, on the sidewalk, in the sunshine, which felt so different from the Midwest winter. Two young men approached us with horrific wounds, battle scars from the long Liberian war. Another came up whose arms had been amputated just below the shoulders. They wanted money. And we obviously had money. We had shopping bags. And our young host began to usher us into the van pronouncing the other young men as "bad boys." There was to be no more conversations, no more possibilities of helping. We rode back to our compound. I was different.

And I wondered. Boys with hands and arms worked in that tailor shop, making the shirts and dresses we had just purchased. But how does anyone without hands and arms care for themselves? How can he eat unless someone feeds him? I didn't take any photos on the sidewalk that day, but this photo always reminds me of that young man, and the horror and devastation of war, and our dependence on others. No one lives completely independent of others. We need the compassion of others when we are hurt. And we can give compassion to others who are wounded by this life. This attitude can change the world, caring more for others, than for ourselves.

Once the wall appeared strong, permanent, without flaw. But now it is crumbling, broken, only temporary, after all. Funny, isn't it, that I would not have taken a photo of the secure, perfect wall. But the exposed, old brick wall is so visually interesting that I cannot resist to capture its demise in a photograph. The story is in the revelation of brokenness.

Today, Palm Sunday, begins a significant week for Christian worship. Within these days are remembered events of deception, denial, and death, the revelation of brokenness. But this week has a remarkable turn of events that cause it to be called Holy.

If you have ever taken a photograph, I suspect that you have heard "Oh, you should have seen that an hour ago, or you should have been here last week, or you ought to see what that looks like in the winter (summer, spring, fall), or you missed the best shot." Piling on the regrets to your moment of magic, insight, revelation, mystery, awe, and/or wonder. I do not know how many times I have heard, you should have been here last month or last week or yesterday, if you wanted a great photo. Gee, thanks!

I took this photo last spring on a workshop to Big South Fork with Byron Jorjorian (he's going again in May). This scene was after a rather wet, slippery hike down into this area. I was struck with wonder. Can you see the couple to the right of the waterfall who came from the opposite direction to sit in wonder behind the waterfall and kiss? I took a bunch of photos, and in between each shot wiped the mist off my camera and lens. I love this picture and made a print for my great room wall.

When we got back to Nashville, I discovered that several of our friends from the Brentwood Photography Group had been to this very site the day before and were posting their photos online. But the difference was that there was a lot of rain during the night between the trips of the two groups. The day before the waterfall was wispy, peaceful, but barely there. The waterfall roared the day of our hike.

Made me want to say, "You should have been there tomorrow!" Wouldn't it be great to be always looking ahead with hope and anticipation instead of backwards with regret and disappointment? Living on your toes rather than on your heels? Stick around; it could be even better!

The tulips are in bloom at Cheekwood.

We were there this week to purchase our annual membership. The garden is not far from Maddy's school although it's quite a distance from our house. We pick up Maddy at least once a week after school so we could schedule a Cheekwood visit as well. Of course, I complain that visiting in the middle of the day is "crappy light"--harsh, and overhead. But, the flowers were quite colorful, and I was not the only one there with a camera, as I noticed a couple of Brentwood Photography Group members there as well. I suppose someone would tell me that competent photographers can get excellent photos in any kind of light. Sure, but terrific, dramatic light (early morning or late afternoon) makes for great photos. It's not about the camera; it's about the light!

The funny part was that all of the tulip beds had warning signs that the wire surrounding the bed was an electric fence. Supposedly, it was to prevent the plentiful deer from having a feast. I thought it was an obstacle course for photographers!

We have a lot of birds in our backyard, since we live next to the woods, and provide sunflower seeds throughout the year in two feeders.

Too often, birds crash into our windows that overlook the deck. Sometimes the birds hit with a rather loud thump. It happened again this week. Judy had read in one of our bird books how to care for these stunned birds. This tufted titmouse crashed into the window and lay nearly lifeless on the deck. Judy picked him up with a cotton dish towel and wrapped him entirely, but softly, and brought him in and held him until he began to stir. The primary purpose to wrap the bird is to protect it from predators. We have several hawks (red-tailed, sharp shinned , and Cooper's) that scout the neighborhood from above. After a few minutes, she took the bird back outside, but it was not ready to take off on its own. I couldn't resist getting a few photos as it perched on her finger before it regained its bearings and flew away.

The photo appears balanced, with the stone arches and the wooden doors at the center. We hear a lot about balance and striving to lead balanced lives with appropriate times for work and play and spiritual development. Some days are, most days likely aren't. Notice how the sun comes in on angle. That's not balanced, but adds interest. The stones are of many different hues. While the color is enhanced some, the colors were on my seeeing that varied and striking. They aren't balanced in shape or position or color. And then the blue square, right under my name, announces something entirely different.

I admit I like symmetry, balance, order. But I find joy in the discovery that perfection isn't where I live most of the time.

I want to believe that blue square is grace.

Madeline was only three at the time, eating out after a shopping trip with her grandmother.

The waiter asked her name. And after she answered, she volunteered more information.

"I'm a song writer." The waiter shook his head, and said, "Only in Nashville."

Actually, she comes from a long line of song writers. We made up songs as a family activity as we travelled down the road.

Some of us were better at it than others.

Now, if I had only learned how to play that guitar so long ago... I would truly be genuine Nashville.