When I was fifteen I received my first point and shoot camera. Even before that moment, I loved to take pictures. I remember using someone’s camera (probably my mom’s) to take photos of my Barbie dolls.
Through the years I must have taken hundreds of rolls of film. (Yes, film. That probably makes me old.) I would take photos of daily life. I wasn’t ever super great at the posed stuff, but I captured candid moments often. They were my favorite, perhaps because they tell a story and reflect people.
I was often teased for my photo obsession, especially in the moment when I always had a camera in my hand. My husband would groan at the boxes of photos, albums, and negatives. But the few times someone thanked me for taking the photos, for capturing the moments that were fleeting and then gone, it was worth all the groans and jokes. When I had pictures of my nephew after my sister lost her home and most of their things in a house fire, I felt as if taking those photos had been a gift. When my brother-in-law thanked me for all the photos I took of his girls while I babysat them, because he never took many as a single dad, I was touched. The best moment was probably taking a photo of my girls and their cousins, aunts, and uncles with their great-grandfather during a summer cookout. The great-grandfather passed away soon after and that photo was the last one taken. It was special. He was surrounded by family in the photo, the moment captured as a testament to his enduring legacy.
I think in images. I read stories and a movie plays in my head. Stories intrigue me and a picture tells a story. The idea of stopping time, capturing it, being able to relive it through an image has always held a power over me.
I never seriously considered photography as a profession. I played. I took pics of my kids. I would take them to the professionals for the Christmas shots. I would buy the school photos. But I would still take several rolls of film a month. It was pricey, and I would burn through the point and shoot cameras every couple of years.
I got my first digital camera in 2008 as a gift. Since then, storage has been much easier. And I can snap to my heart’s content because the pictures don’t require developing unless I choose. Point and shoots have given way to smart phone technology and everyone now has a camera always with them. Social media encourages everyone to snap away. The storyteller in me thrills that the other storytellers in the world can fulfill that desire.
Eight years ago I received a DSLR as a present. It was used, but it has been an awesome teacher. I played. I learned. I’m still learning. I am just now really diving into the more technical aspects of digital photography. I want to take better photos, which means learning and growing and investing in my hobby more.
Will I ever become a professional? Does it matter?
Honestly, I don’t take pictures for that reason. I take pictures because it fills a part of me. Perhaps the photos will never be more than mostly snapshots. Perhaps family holidays, daily moments, and the things that catch my eye will be the extent. Maybe helping the professionals shoot weddings and family sessions will be as far as I go. Or perhaps I will decide that I want more.
The last couple of years have been transformational. I have been through some very hard times. There have been changes. My children have mostly all grown, leaving me with one daughter at home. I went back to college. I began to pursue things that I had set aside or didn’t have time for in having a large family. I began to rediscover the me that is more than the wife, the mom, the daughter, and the sister. I began to remember what makes me feel alive: Reading, writing, taking photos, and researching wherever my curiosity takes me. It’s been a journey of learning to follow my passions without comparing myself to others, of feeling good about the unique me instead of feeling like I don’t measure up. In the last few months God has shown me that the woman He created has a right to not always feel as if she is in a competition she didn’t enter, judged on talents and gifts that aren’t hers and coming up short. He has shown me that He created me to be enough, and if others can’t see it or put me down to build up themselves, the problem is with them.
Photography can be expensive, and hobbyists sometimes must decide how much to invest. I haven’t been able to invest much while homeschooling and having a large family. I have no regrets. My point and shoot cameras, cell phone cameras, and the DSLR that I worked inadequately still recorded a life that I loved. I didn’t have perfect composition. My lighting was often too dark. Many photos are full of red eyes and blurred by constant movement of children. But I have the look in my children’s faces when they opened their Christmas presents. I have the wonder of childhood as one daughter saw it snow the first time one season. I got the costumes in the plays. I took pictures of the firsts. I recorded the memories of daily living, the moments we easily forget. I have the great-grandparents meeting their great-grandchildren for the first time. I have pictures of the blizzards and storms, the blackout where we played cards in candlelight, the cookouts, the gardens, and even clothes flapping in the breeze on the clothesline.
We may have lacked finances often. We may have struggled in so many ways. But we had something special. Having two people reach out in the last couple months to tell me that we meant so much to them in the crazy years of five children in one home with friends and busyness and chaos; I see that my investment wasn’t in stuff, but in people. I recorded on cheap equipment, but I loved the journey.
And I will keep recording the journey, seeing life through lenses and viewfinders. I have passed down my love of recording the journey and it thrills my heart. I get to see the little moments in the lives of my grandsons because my daughter is also a storyteller. There is nothing more beautiful than a good story.
