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Yearly Archives: 2012

We teach our children not to ask the question.

In the midst of the questioning that grief brings, my pastor told me not to take one step down the long road of – Why?

I have shut myself off to this word, this deep probing inquiry. Little did I realize the baggage it carried, the labels I had unconsciously attached to it. Plastered like a beat up suitcase with stickers from everywhere it has been dragged along – childish, rebellious, foolish, unproductive, and most of all Dangerous.

But high in the mountains, surrounded by artists passionate, they told us they treasure that word and hold themselves up to it’s light. Their words broke through the static – static always piling up to overrun the truth. Their words broke through…

Why?      They said to ask it, daily, hourly, minute by minute. About everything – in every way. Don’t do a single thing without asking . . . Why?

The Sunday School answer of course – for Jesus.  But excuse me what the hell does that mean in this broken world, in my heart always run astray? I scream inside through so many days . . .  What does it mean?   Why?   How?   What am I to do?

A friend has been in pain this week. I know that hard path, her body numbed to the searing pain and her mind and heart will take time to learn all they feel in this moment. Friends, acquaintances, passerby’s, people are in pain every day, every moment. A husband lost,a precious baby gone, a child run away, dreams shattered, existence too mundane.

I sit here, tea in hand, seventy degrees give or take, running water, food to eat, my babies safe, a man that loves me. Why do I still have a hard time with happiness, gratitude, contentment? Why am I always Meg Murray raging at what life throws her way? Why can’t I smile and say thank you and love? These are the whys I constantly ask and cover up, never spoken, never typed…

so why am I compelled to sit at this keyboard and write it all down, get it all out…

because I know there must be other mothers who wonder – WHY? Why would God give us these good gifts just to take them away or watch them be destroyed? Why even though I love my kids like breath itself, do I seem incapable of actually LOVING them in the trying moments, with my actions, with my speech? HOW did this become my story? Will the laundry and dishes and mess and screaming ever end? And oh God how will I survive when it does? WHAT do I need, what do I do to make it all turn out ok? The What is blasted to us at every turn – more time, a bigger home, a better car, things, accolades, beauty, even truth is sold for a price. But those won’t fix a world right trashed, my suburban existence as riddled with imperfection as the depths of poverty and war are with horror. And How is just as hopeless, since a self help book has never seemed to fix me or the planet we ride spinning on.

Why is the only question that stands against the storm, that isn’t shot to smithereens when you really stop and think. Stop and quiet all the voices. Stop and listen and ask – Why?

Because He loves me.

Because He is good and the story will end well.

But along the way there is going to be a lot of sh##.  And alot of magic too if I can just be unselfish and awake enough to see it.

We got the book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years at the Don’t Give Up Project. In it Donald Miller tells how he learned to live and tell a better story. My whole life I have been obsessed with story, how did I miss that my existence was one? I’m sure I knew down deep, but it takes brave artists to say the things of truth so they are layed out in front of us as a road we must walk down or deny. So in the book he talks a lot about story and how to live a good story and it’s all very inspiring and I devoured the book like a starving man. When I turned the last page I thought I would be happy, joyful, filled with gratitude and ready to conquer the world. Except that I wasn’t.   I was pissed off.   And depressed.

I spent the next day driving around, running back to school errands with the face of a martyr, because really Target can feel like you’re being burned at the stake. Where was the magic, where was my grand adventure? How had I gotten saddled with procuring the toilet paper, scrubbing poop stains and trying to fit math into children’s brains? See it’s not the thing of storied legend, I feel silly even typing out my daily activities. I put Perth on repeat and listened to sublime loveliness do battle with the percussion of marching cadence as I drove through the mist. When people remarked on the “rain” I wanted to scream that NO, this is not rain! Rain beats on the window pane and crashes through the sky! I’m afraid to drive in rain and I’m not afraid to drive in this! Rain wraps cozy round you in your home and makes you feel silly for running out and spinning round till you’re soaked. This mist doesn’t do any of these things. It’s not that I hated California and it’s crowded perfection for a moment, it’s not that I wanted danger or comforting. Standing as if chained to the red cart and steering wheel, I just wanted freedom. Freedom to live an unrealistic idealistic story of my own drafting.   I wanted it all.   Kids and home and family and sailing around the globe and an epic story without any inconvenience or God forbid pain. Can you tell me you have never felt the same? Maybe you haven’t because really I can be quite a ridiculous human being.

Donald Miller says good stories are made of good scenes and I just came back from a time in the mountains where every scene was beyond words good. I want to soak that up but I’m too weak, too tired, too selfish to make my own scenes. When children won’t do their math and dinners burn I want to do the hard work of making magic but all too often I don’t. I give up, give in, a million times a day and then I moan and groan inside about a life lived short of utopia. Donald Miller says utopia isn’t out there, isn’t coming. He says we should all be more Danish, they have lower expectations which makes them happier than us the studies say. God says it another way, love covers over a multitude of sins. Love looks the other way when children snarl and husbands scowl. Love even gives ourselves grace when we fail our own expectations daily. Love gives hugs and speaks soft and sees the blond hair bobbing instead of the baby screeching. Love covers right over wrongs and delves down into souls and spills magic there. “Whimsy” as Bob Goff says, “the nagging idea that life could be magical . . .”

So I come home with my ragged worn out heart and my foul mood. I put dinner in front of hungry mouths and finish my duties before I crawl in front of the computer screen. I scroll through stories, and stories of stories, until my gut is full to bursting. Seasick in a wash of words and pretty pictures – it’s not that they aren’t beautiful stories, it’s that they aren’t mine. Mine holds three rascally boys and one adventuring man. Mine is full of all the unpretty things that you only see in person. My story is drenched in glory I can not even tell. Like how their eyes light up with the ocean’s fire and how we laugh silly over mouths full of donuts every chance we get.

And my story includes teaching my children at home. Yep. Squeezing math and phonics into little boy brains and wanting to inspire them at the same time. Acting out the great moments in history and exploring the vast world of science while making peanut butter and jelly and chasing a crazy baby man. It’s not a story for everyone but it’s beautiful and trying, holding my children close all around me, learning life together. It’s what we have chosen and I couldn’t imagine our story any other way . . . but it’s hard. Really hard. Every day this daunting task holds moments of supreme fulfillment followed by pure frustration and feelings of failure. Starting a new school year I was throwing a fit inside. Thinking that I should be able to rearrange life a little easier and that it’s just to hard to compete this task . . .

because really what made me mad on that last page of a Thousand Years, was a man made in trial, a holocaust survivor saying . . .

“We had to learn ourselves and furthermore, we had to teach the despairing men, that it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life – daily and hourly. Our answer must exist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and right conduct. Life ultimately means taking responsibility to find the right answers to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets before the individual.”

A reminder that I can’t rewrite the story. I am not in fact superhuman and the downs make a good story as much or more than the ups. A reminder of the answer to my Why –

To live a good story with my family, no matter what twists and turns the plot may take.

To live a good story and help other’s see and share their miraculous stories.

My Why.

and with that Why solidly in mind, we had a lovely first day of homeschool this year. Filled with little ups and downs and so much beauty that the magic danced before my eyes.

8-27-12 . 28mm . 1st day of 4th year of homeschooling . morning light indoors

Coming home.

We fly past pine tree covered hills, and I don’t feel I have words anymore. Sitting in the backseat amidst the chatter and holding my camera to the window. Awestruck at a landscape not my own, trying to pull it  in through my lens and hang on to all I felt as we zip towards the exit. Goodbyes have been said to send us on our way back to real life. Back to more heartbreak? Back to more whimsy? Spread out all over the map.

I took the picture below just before we saw an old man waving. Waving a warning, there was a terrible crash ahead. Right there on the road back from heaven to the real world, all the pain and agony, lonely brokenness laid for us to see. My heart turned inside, that rip that never quite heals pulling at the seams. Praying for life to come back, praying for hope and peace and on we whizz past a scene in another’s story. I remember right then, this is a battle and we fight for beauty amidst the pieces scattered a mess. Down off the mountain we drive and I’m jolted by the lines and houses all laid out. Civilization resumes. Or I can drift my eyes and it all blurs into a mesh of colors breathtaking sublime.

Again the jolt.  Alone. I knew these friends weren’t mine to keep by my side. Few things are. Above the clouds in an instant and heaven breathes close. I drift to my blond boy running and try to soak everything I’ve learned down deep enough to draw a little closer to him. Then there is the coming home. I wish I could return a different woman, better, more. Three little ones and a man solidly there and needing me. I wish it would all be just a bit easier. But that’s not the story is it? Not tame at all is He, but good.

The earth rushes up to meet, pulls us out of the blue and greets us with it’s bustle. I feel flung to heaven and back. Everyone else seems to step easy from one world to another. I guess it’s because I live often in my home and rarely in the sky. Funny how my man is among the clouds each day and I only know him tacked down to the ground. I walk slow back to my life waiting at the curb. Praying I won’t be the mom screaming at her children in the bathroom as I hold my hands to the dryer. Balloons and flowers, people welcoming each other to their lives. We all need some easing in don’t we? Coffee in the morning, bedtime stories, a moment to hug as we return.

And there is my love, all shining smile bouncing toward me as usual. Off we drive to home through setting sun and city lights with a van full of souls knit tight together a million ways. Happy to see mom for a moment and then burying tired heads in hands, asleep. I don’t know where to go next except home. Home to my loves

“And I came home, Like a stone, And I fell heavy into your arms, These days of dust, which we’ve known, will blow away with this new sun” – Mumford and Sons

8-9-12 . 28mm . LR + VSCO2

( This is the last post  on my experience at the Don’t Give Project with the Parsons and the first step in my journey forward.

More thoughts and images from my time with a group of incredible artists at a magical lodge high in the Colorado mountains  – Day 1 . Day 2 . Day  3 )

Day 3 of the Don’t Give Up Project with Ash and Jeremy Parsons is like waking up to old friends and a job well done. In a day and a half we have moved mountains and witnessed miracles together. ( To get the whole story check out Day 1 and Day 2 ) We slip out before the dawn through shadows fading into pink and purple. Fields stretch out quiet and soft and we walk in reverence for what we are about to do.  The sign.  The words written white on red spelling out why we are here and what we hope to take home. What we long to share with others.

Don’t Give Up.  It means a million different things to each of us and will take new meaning with each day we live. We hear Dave and Jessi’s story of love, friendship and courage, and we have seen their hardwork, tasted the fruit of their labor. We have laughed and eaten with them and now we stand in awe of a love so true, so tangible that it seems to pull the sun from beneath the hills to wrap them in it’s bliss.

We gaze through our lenses and linger in the joy of being together. We raise our cameras and look back through the years to a time when everyone delighted just to see sunrises tickle the sky to pink. Childhood. Ash reminded us the first day that we don’t grow into creativity, we grow out of it with each passing year of work and responsibility. This morning we are present and we play on hallowed ground under a sacred sky in the fellowship of friends. Friends who understand the all encompassing passion to seek out the moments and make an image. Ash steps forward, bestows upon them the sign, with whispered words held just for their hearts. I catch my breath, tears rising up at the gravity, the solemn beauty of promise. We broken beings caring for each other, drawing close and daring to live alive and tender. We tiny creatures, fierce and fighting together against all that would tear us apart and numb our hearts, kill our souls. We silly things laughing out loud under a sky  so grand we can not begin to comprehend. This is beauty. Not what I could capture here, but what I was blessed to hold witness to.

We delight in the clean light carrying over trees and through the air crisp. Never content to miss a bit of magic Ash finds the sunrising just round the bend. We tromp after her running ahead and the sun breaks through the trees in all its’ splendor. Piercing the sky and bathing them golden. We revel, awash in light. Drunk on beauty, souls quieted still.

Someone realizes in running to the sun, we have left the sign behind. Brilliant shouting red, it should be hard to loose and we all scan the horizon. Ash with her boundless energy traipses off to find. I wonder why we even need the sign.  Who next?  Oh us!  I should have known.  It is our turn, to hold the sign as a community tight and vow in more ways than we probably even know, to keep on going . . .  Higher up and Further in as Aslan would say and for goodness sakes . . .  Never, Never, Never Give Up.

We wait our turn and smile, hug, and shed some tears as is the routine we have learned these three days. Jeremy gathers us round him and my mind floats back to professors and coaches I will always remember. That one last class picture before we step out of the moment and into day to day, taking with our memories of eachother and new friendships. Ash as always simply delighting to make an image, delving into time and plucking the beauty as a prize. We smile silly for the self timer and this brings back family trips and occasions marked as brothers and sisters crowded together, listening to the beep and giving eachother bunny ears. Family portrait taken and we convince them to take the banner and step in front of our lenses . . .

Donald Miller’s friend Bob Goff said we should “Embrace Whimsy – whimsy, the nagging idea that life could be magical.”

We threw the sign into the air and celebrated embracing that idea wholeheartedly during three magic days hidden away in the mountains. We bared our souls and played together as childhood friends. We strengthened and fed eachother and I learned so very much from these honest people. As we come back to the cabin for a breakfast of croissants stuffed with chocolate we gather round and share what we will take home. Jeremy and Ash encourage us to make space for ourselves and our families and friends to be creative and connected, to love and find joy and of course to remember not to give up. They share with us how we are now a community, forged in those mountain days. I knew before I came that I would find inspiration and magic and probably some healing. I did not know the extent to which I would be drenched in these blessings and I didn’t know I would find something I was unaware I had given up on. In this harsh world and my life of moving, moving, moving, other’s expectations and self inflicted insecurity – I had unbeknownst even to myself – given up on community. Now I know that Christ’s body and other artists’ souls alive to beauty are a treasure to seek. They will be found aside from outward appearances, they can not be contrived and they are as essential as the air and water that feed us. I treasure the brave hearts that I grew to know these three days and  I anticipate seeing the mark they will make in this world. The rest of the morning we linger in the fullness of what we have shared and banter silly with each other. I loose track of my big camera and just bask in sitting round, feet up, giggling. I snap a few shots with my old film camera that feel as unplugged as our final moments that morning. ( I’ll share my film in a post once I get it back )

The Don’t Give Up sign flew through air and tumbled down as the sun gained it’s final height and blazed across our slap happy group. It occurred to me that it could seem as if it were giving up, or letting go, or making up a strong new dance all it’s own – depending on how you chose to look at it. As I gather my things to go, excitement to hold my babies mounts, but so does the fear. The next day marks ten years of marriage. I know it’s time to do now and I know I will fail and falter as always. I’m heading down off the mountain to live in the plains and valleys where we all fight our battles and most of our story is written. I hadn’t read yet in a Thousand Years how we never will find that final climax til our last breath. How we live a life of peaks and depths where one brilliant moment turns into a hundred ordinary ones. All my grateful heart knows as I prepare to leave that magic place and circle of friends, is that I hope to take it all home, and I long to continue to grow . . . and I darn well will never give up.

I will share my images of the trip home and my thoughts as the journey continues in future posts . . . read about coming home.

I could say thank you a million times more to the Parsons, Jessi and Dave, Erica and Jeff and all the tremendous artists that I shared this experience with and it would not be nearly enough words to express my deep gratitude. THANK YOU friends!

8-9-12 . 85mm . LR + VSCO2 . sunrise in the mountains

We stepped out of time as we know it during the second day of the Don’t Give Up Project put on by Jeremy and Ash of We are the Parsons. (You can check out the first day here) Stepped out of time and into days upon days and beyond weeks and months and years. A whole universe and more dwelt in that twenty four hours upon the mountain. The day swelled full and held more than words can tell. The souls that shared it together know and we will never be the same. The sun rises to quiches baking and fires stoked, new friends scattered about the lodge quietly greeting the day. We could not begin to dream of the magic it would hold . . .

As you can see from the image above, Jeremy Parsons is an exceptional photobomber! and he is a really good story reader . . . We were given  A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller and Ash’s personal backstory with that book is incredible, beautiful, and heartwrenching all at once. The book is one of those sparks breathed into this world to help those that yearn and long to walk this journey well. I sit and sketch and scribble down notes as they pour out their hearts and invite us to share ours. It was if I could feel life being poured right down into my soul, already hoping I could take it home, spilling out joyous along the way.

They read how ” Nobody ever cries at the end of a movie about a guy who wants a Volvo. But we spend years actually living those stories, and expect our lives to feel meaningful. The truth is, if what we choose to do with out lives won’t make a story meaningful, it won’t make a life meaningful either.”

They read and they ask us WHY? Why do we do what we do, moment by moment in every aspect of our lives and the making of our art? We scatter about the lodge to sit with this query and listen for the answers. I have been asking this question in a round about way for awhile now but I don’t think I could have ever put my finger so simply on it as they did. Simply WHY? Why about everything! And I know I could not have even come close to answering this deepest of wonderings if I had not been in a circle of friends and artists that day high among the mountain peaks.

We come back together after simmering in our question marks. Our Whys spill out strong from pain and grief and lives that long to be more. Our Whys inspired by beauty unending all around and the quest to enter in and grasp it with our whole heart. Ash whispers hushed of the awe of heaven breaking into earth and our sacred duty to seek it out. Treasure seekers we all are on an epic quest. In her words I hearr what I wrote down a month before when Nate asked me to think of the images I want to make.

“I want to make images that are realer than reality.” I couldn’t quite explain it then, but now I can – heaven breaking through this glorious mess. The story we hoped was true – it is real.

Cozy with the purest of light streaming in we listen and talk, cry and laugh and meld further into fellowship. The bell is rung for lunch and we spill out onto the porch to find a grilled cheese bar like none other prepared by Dave and Jessi, amazing chefs, photographers of The Smiley Face Collective and parents to an oh so adorable baby girl. We mix and match our sandwiches and fill glasses with lemonade while chef Dave grills them up. I walk on clouds out to a big table nestled amidst green and leaves and grass behind our cabin home. My heart swells to bursting to find myself on long benches with good people, beautiful souls each and everyone. Soup is ladled and laughter rings and I just soak it all in. All the perfect moments. Gifts from God.

After lunch Jeremy and Ash grace us with the privilege of watching them work. They bring all of us (their Amish children 😉 along to watch as they meet with one of their beloved couples. I’m in awe as they revel in the newness of meeting and relationship and draw them in as if they are their oldest friends. It makes me want to be a better person. It makes me know I must be a better person to be a better artist. And I know none of it is possible without grace. This work is not something I can do, it is miraculous. I love how they teach us to block out the distractions and always seek after the miracle.

Immersed in the one of a kind story of this amazing couple, musicians and photographers extrordinaire, we walk out into golden light to play and capture at least a bit of it. Ash takes us into orbit, spinning through time and space and all the rich imagination that lies inside so we can step together into sacred spaces that are tread far too infrequently. I have no words for for what happens as they make images with such a beautiful couple, but it is raw and real and one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed. So grateful to catch a glimpse.

Ash tells us how she gives them space to experience all the vast range of human emotions. Space that everyday life seldom affords us. Early in the day she had given me that space. Whispering that she would be sharing the words of a father who had lost his daughter and wanting me to know it was ok however I needed to respond. There have been too few times since loosing our Joshua that my grief has been given space to flow out and find it’s way beyond a broken heart. As I listened to a Father question God and come straight back to belief, I felt my tears stream down and the fists I clench so tight inside loosen. As he quoted a dear little hobbit “Will all the wrongs be made untrue?” I felt my disbelief wash away and peace solid and true take root. In that space, in that moment I knew it was time to leave behind questioning and no longer dwell in pain. It is time to celebrate all that has been, all that is and all that will be. This is what I long to do for others, enter their story and give them space to see all the dark and light lines that build their beauty amidst good and bad and everything in between.

By the way “y’all” those pictures up there in the woods with the wisps of light, that’s where the fairies live if you want to go looking for them 😉

So after watching the Parsons do their thing we break off into pairs to do a mini shoot of eachother and prepare one image to share that evening. I had the pleasure of photographing Kaley and I will share my images of her in their own post. Then we all straggle back up through fields and woods to the sounds and smells of dinner cooking. The dusk falls thick and satisfaction wraps round us as the light fades. We are full, full, full and we haven’t even eaten dinner together yet.

One more sneaky, kinda creepy photo bomb from Jeremy. I think we planned this one together actually so that probably disqualifies it from being a photo bomb, but who is to say…

Everyone huddles in the dark, reveling in our day and crafting an image each of each other. Little apples and glowing screens the only light as the crew crafts magic secretly in the kitchen. We sing Silent Night and a table drenched in candlelight is revealed. Donald Miller says we must “live good stories to tell good stories” and this is story at it’s best. Story and yet as true and necessary as my sons born into this world or my husband’s breath upon my cheek. My soul simply revels in flickering light, sitting next to deep souls, partaking sublime flavors. Magic. Miracle. Real, Truest Life.

Our hearts and tummies so full we flop down upstairs, lying in the afterglow of a day lived beyond itself as we seek to find. We see eachother through eachothers eyes as we share our images made in this night’s dusklight. We see and know and we rejoice to be known. This knowledge bringing us courage to never give up.

I am so very very grateful to The Parsons and everyone who created and lived this experience together. I will share our third and final day soon…

8-8-12 . 24-70mm + 85mm .  LR + VSCO2

I saw the big red sign while Jeremiah grew uncertain in my womb. I saw those white letters after losing my Joshua and they spoke deep into my soul.

Don’t. Give. Up.

I tried to obey and following them brought our Jeremiah Asher into my arms. But even after he arrived all miracle and joy, still I faltered and fell back into grief and doubt. Our hearts grow dull so easily. So I would find inspiration day by day in the movement, the project, in these artists and I longed to be a part of it someday… and that someday came sooner than I could have imagined! For our tenth wedding anniversary my wonderful, amazing, superhero husband surprised me with a trip to The Don’t Give Up Project dreamed up and hosted by the AMAZING Jeremy and Ash Parsons of We are the Parsons and We are the Bloggers . This post is Day 1 of 3. It begins as I leave my baby man for the first time in his life, get on an airplane with no children in tow for the first time in 9 years, meet a bunch of other photographers in the Colorado Springs airport and then ride up a windy mountain road to a lodge nestled amidst aspens and fir trees. I had no real idea what would happen, except that it would be amazing…

Ash meets us in the driveway next to the giant plastic painted elk and gives everyone a hug. My butterflies fade as we are welcomed into the lodge, given goody bags and shown our rooms. (mine had a view of Pike’s Peak and I slept on the top bunk which made my boys mighty jealous) We meet the amazing chefs Dave and Jessi in the kitchen and head out onto the porch with snacks to sit and chat. It’s funny looking back at these first meeting pics after our three days together because now it feels like we have all known eachother a lifetime.

After relaxing on the porch we head off for a walkabout in the fields that surround the lodge. Jessi and baby Hazel give us a good send off

I walk slowly in the thin air, lungs trying to adjust. Our group floats dreamlike around me til we find our way to a spot in a sea of grass surrounded by white robed aspens. Ash bubbles over in welcome and hope for our time together. We soak her words in, our hearts stirred to dream of what three days, good people, mountains and God may bring. And already we begin to make images together.

We wind our way back up to the lodge and it’s porch sprawled comfortable in the sun. I find myself awash in the altitude, climb up to my room and lay flat on a quilt covered bed. Staring up at the ceiling fan slowly whirring, I worry I won’t be able to be myself. Scared my body won’t adjust as well as everyone else, me coming up from the depths of sea level, I drift towards giving up on capturing the moments there. I don’t know if I will have the energy to shoot as I normally do but I lift my camera and snap the fan circling and as I do loveliness floats in my window. The light slants down and kisses my cheek. My eyes fall shut to dancing beams beneath my lashes and sweet songs drift over speakers and into my daydream. I lay peaceful and my strength returns before the dinner bell. I drift slow down the stairs to a table full of souls expectant. We fill ourselves with veggie burgers gourmet and potatoes fried to perfection.

We eat and we talk and we laugh and we begin to learn eachother round that big wooden table, sitting on long benches rough hewn. Then we climb the stairs and nestle in that little loft room amidst couches and the day’s last light. Here in this huddle Jeremy and Ash begin pouring out their souls and invite us in. They call us to Let Go, they remind us we can still be children who seek and create. They speak of making images that matter and they show one from each of us that holds the weight and beauty of our worlds. We sat unaware of the transformation beginning, and then we laugh and cry and spill our souls and awake to community.

We run downstairs for dessert and climb back up for bedtime. I wonder that I have bared my heart and my tears so soon to a group of strangers. I wonder at the joy welling up and know they are brothers, sisters found. Everywhere I turn I glimpse Magic and wonder at how thick it falls and if I could always live alive like this.

This is Day 1 of 3, stay tuned for Day 2 and 3. It just kept getting better . . .

Also check out my new friend’s posts about our experience at this workshop together. I will keep adding links as posts go up – Christine – Megan – Alison – Kelley

Also check out this amazing video of our Don’t Give Up adventure by Jeff and Erica Short of Anecdotally Yours

8-7-12 . 28mm . LR + VSCO1 . all kinds of light

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