It's been nearly a year since Joseph David Clements passed from this world. Makes me think of that song from RENT, about 525,600 minutes making up a year and how exactly does one measure one? I've heard it said that life isn't measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. There have been a lot of those in my life, some amazing, and some not-so-amazing.. I have had death and loss, hardship and drama, and close-calls enough for at least five lifetimes by my standards; and many of my friends and family have been through as much or more.
The wonderful thing is that even after a horrible event, the sun still sets, and often it's still beautiful. I wake up the next morning and get a fresh start. I get another (lets see, 525,600 divided by 365..) 1,440 minutes in which I can make of life whatever I want. And that's amazing to me. Maybe that's why I despise going to bed so very, very much. I was having a theological discussion with Matt a little while back, and I mentioned being afraid of "nothing" after life. His response was the title of this post. "No reason to be afraid of anything, life is beautiful in all its horrific events." I think that's probably one of the most moving and meaningful things anyone has ever said to me, because it really made me stop back and look at the big picture.
(Speaking of big pictures)
A lot of my photography is about the "little things". There are leaves with dew, roses bought from the store, flowers beside the road or a factory, and even feathers floating on water. I have always tried to spend as much time as possible noticing the little things. Often, they are the ones that end up taking my breath away the most. At the end of my life, I don't want to be sitting there saying "I wish I had done more." or "I wish I had appreciated that more." or even "I wish I had forgiven so-and-so."
The gift of forgiveness is a gift which is both the easiest and the hardest you will ever give. And perhaps one of the most meaningful and yet meaningless of all.
It's easy to say "I'm sorry," and not truly mean it. It is equally easy in my mind to say "It's no big deal," when in fact, it really is a very big deal indeed.
The picture above is a perfect example of the "little things" that so many people overlook. I took this picture in Yellowstone National Park. We had pulled the car over to look at the gorgeous lake visible in the background of the picture. After looking at the lake for a little while and being un-inspired photographically, I started to walk around a little bit. I spotted these purple flowers, standing no more than four inches high, right next to the road. I got quite a few funny looks while leaning down to capture this image, and people wondered why I was taking pictures of such ordinary-looking, weed surrounded, half dying flowers while all the gorgeous scenery was eluding my viewfinder. Maybe that's why I go out of my way to take pictures like this, to help people understand that some of my most beautiful creations come from squatting on the side of the road while tourists fly by in their rented Jeep Cherokees.
The story behind the picture of these yellow flowers always makes me smile. I was on my way to a Stanley factory to get some photos for a point-of-sale brochure I was creating, and these flowers were planted right outside the factory. I quick squatted down and snapped three frames, one of which was the above image. They were a bit out of place on my memory card with the shots of factory workers making car seats, but it remains one of my favorite flower pictures I've ever taken--not necessarily for the composition or the amazing photography behind it, but just because it was beauty in a place where people would not expect any. (hats off to Stanley Power Tools)
I guess part of what has always bothered me is that there's no way to know for certain. Anything. You can be the most confident person in the world (as some people seem to think that I am) and you still have no friggen clue about much of anything. There's no way to know if any decision you ever make is the correct one. There's no way to know who you're supposed to be with the rest of your life. There's no way to know what you're supposed to DO with your life, or what you're supposed to study, or where you're supposed to live, or with whom or when or how or why. Which reminds me of a quote from Kushiel's Dart by Jacqueline Carrey:
"Betimes I have heard people bewail the fact that our destinies are shrouded in mystery; I think, though, that it is a blessing of sorts. Surely if we knew what bitterness fate held in store, we would shrink back in fear and let the cup of life pass us by untasted."
I got called "emo" for putting that as my auto-response on AIM one time. I guess it really sort of is, and it sort of goes against the whole theme of this post, but I felt like I connected with it. I think that if someone had told me that my best friend was going to kill himself after I never got around to calling him, I probably wouldn't have wanted to face it. But I guess it really is a blessing, because there have been nearly 525,600 minutes (closer to 505,000 at press time) filled with moments that have taken my breath away ever since that happened. Some I have had to seek out, and some have sought me out instead. I have loved and been loved, been forgiven and forgave, prayed for blessings and felt God's Grace. All in a year that I'm sure I wouldn't have wanted to live given a choice.
There's also no way to know when it's all going to end. Unless you make that decision yourself. Which reminds me of a quote which is the caption for the first picture in this post."Do not seek death. Death will find you.
But seek the road which makes death a fulfillment."
-Dag Hammarskjöld
I guess that's all we really can do: seek out a road, a pathway through life which makes it so that when we ourselves are lying on our deathbeds, we can say to God, ourselves, and anyone else present, "I truly did all that I hoped to do, and my life feels complete, therefore let death take me as a fulfillment to this life."
Shalom, my friends
