Photo Credit: © 2006 Lynne Holder

Monday, September 1, 2014

Did Someone Say Wedding?

Happy Labor Day and all that. Entrepreneurs know it as "Monday."

Leland and I have spent our day tutoring and on post-production of the wedding we shot on Saturday. 

Wedding. The word makes Leland cringe (and me too, a little bit). After about 350 of them, he had burnt out on all the drama and closed the door on that aspect of photography.

Enter our friends, Lea and Joe. We first met them as clients, then became friends when they graciously invited us to their home for a holiday celebration around a table full of fabulous food and friends. Long story short, when a wedding date was set and planning began, they asked us to photograph their event, which we politely declined, referring them to wedding photographers. They came back to us later, asking us if we'd reconsider. We said yes, and are so glad we did. We love this couple and wanted to not only celebrate their marriage with them, but give them great photographic memories of their day.

I'll post a few sneak peeks of this gorgeous event--don't want to give too much away just yet.

We arrived at the Volpe residence at 11:30 to photograph Joe and the guys. Since we were early, we shot exterior photos of the front decorations, moving on to the back where we were met with the most beautiful reception setting. It was something straight out of a magazine.

Photo credit: Lynne Holder
Photo credit: Lynne Holder

Photo credit: Lynne Holder

Photo credit: Lynne Holder

On to the house where the ladies were preparing, we were met by the smiling bride, her best friend and maid of honor, two junior bridesmaids and three flower girls--all such beauties. It was so easy to shoot such photogenic subjects. Our only regret was not having more time, and much too quickly, the cars arrived to whisk them away to St. Benedict's Church.

It was a small, intimate wedding, followed by the most fabulous reception I think I've ever been witness to. The food came, one course at a time; a seemingly endless extravaganza for the taste buds. Dessert was not wedding cake, by the way; rather, a 2-tiered display of fabulous cannoli, a piece of which the bride and groom smashed into eachother's faces with great joy and abandon.

Everything about this wedding was memorable--the mass, the church building, the reception--but it was the people that made this day. It was the most fun and love-filled, drama-free wedding day we could have hoped for as photographers, but also for our friends.

Photo credit: Lynne Holder

Photo credit: Leland Holder

Lea and Joe: Salute! Cento di questi giorni! Thank you for the privilege of journaling your day in photographs. 


On a personal note: I wish that rogue, horse thieving piece of exiled-to-America, Italian nobility on the crooked branch of my family tree actually made me able to claim being Italian. Boy, do they know how to live, play, and best of all, eat!

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Well, Nuts

I've known for years that I have MVPS--Mitral Valve Prolapse Syndrome/Dysautonomia. It's no picnic, but it's not going to kill me, even if sometimes it feels as though it might. The feeling that it might is what happened this week. 

Sunday, I woke from one of those glorious afternoon naps that only seem to happen on that particular day of the week, and very shortly felt the familiar chest pain. It quickly elevated in intensity and the pain spread down my shoulder and left arm. I sat with this set of on again-off again symptoms for about 24 hours, trying to relax, talking myself out of it being anything serious, but the hideous thing about this syndrome is that it feeds itself in a cycle of pain-anxiety-fear-pain.

Don't judge. It is something that can't be spiritualized. Trust me, I've had years of experience believing that this was simply my lack of faith. The discipline of gratitude journal writing definitely makes a dent in anxiety and fear, but it is not a silver bullet. It won't make the chest pain, palpitations, anxiety, and that vicious cycle stop. 

By the next evening, I'd had enough. You can't believe what was swirling through my head.

Is this a heart attack? I don't want to leave here right now, but then again, that wouldn't be so bad for me to be in Paradise. The people I love that I would, I would never want them to have that kind of grief. My grandchildren. I want to know them and I want them to know me. 

For cryin' out loud, get a grip. It's not that serious. 

This is so painful. Not since 2004 and the months leading up to my divorce have I felt this awful. I should have it checked out. But I don't have insurance. Will this be another unbearable financial burden? I can't do this to Leland. Good gravy. Somebody should just shoot me up with some pharmaceutical knockout cocktail and come check on me in the morning.  

But with that being out of the realm of possibility, I got Leland to drive me to St. Joseph's emergency department to see if this despicable mitral valve prolapse had actually progressed into something threatening. Obviously, they also thought that was a distinct possibility because the PA came in to tell me, "You're not going home," followed by multitudinous blood draws, next to no sleep that night, no food or water, and hours in nuclear cardiology and the echo lab. 

All my labs were normal, I aced my stress test and the despicable MVP has not progressed. Thank God, a healthy heart.

So, I asked the cardiologist standing before me, So where is the pain coming from?

I don't know, was her answer. 

My head checked in with my tired, for-the-most-part healthy body, running over the events of the previous many hours, and a weary little voice said, holy shit, you've got to be kidding me. 

The dead serious (no pun intended) look on her face told me she was not. I'm looking forward to her exorbitant bill to come in the mail. She handed me her card and told me to make an appointment for a follow-up visit. I won't tell you what the weary little voice in my head had to say to that.

What have I learned?
  • I need to offer my services as a consultant to nursing staff everywhere on proper phlebotomy technique. Yes, I am qualified. Over qualified. And certified.
  • MVPS/Dysautonomia is still, 10 years after my last evaluation, largely misunderstood.
  • I will be more conscientious than ever with my healthcare, taking extra special care of the temple.
  • I can stop asking forgiveness when I experience the laundry list of symptoms associated with this syndrome. It's not my fault.
  • It is highly likely that the majority of people on your Facebook friend list are not actually friends in the truest sense of the word. If the people who are on that list, including family, have nothing to say about you being in a hospital situation, you might want to get out into the real world of flesh and blood people and make some real friends (she says to that person in the mirror).

Well, that was no fun, but you know what? I'm very happy to be home, to have learned a few things, to have had a good cleansing cry, and to know I'm okay. I'm loved and I'm going to be around a while.

What does a girl do after a night and day of hospital trauma? Get a pedicure. Oh yes, shiny happy toes. Pampering for a bit was definitely in order.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Sleepless in Atlanta

War Hate Murder Bombings Tyranny Kidnapping Terrorism

Christians persecuted, imprisoned and killed simply for their faith. A centuries old church burned to the ground. Extremist religious factions grow more powerful. Values become obsolete. Life has little meaning. Feelings matter more than truth. Truth becomes as ethereal as a morning fog, unable to be grasped. Freedom is slipping away. Fear is taking her place. 

The news is unbearable to watch. I feel it all, this violent upheaval in our world, even if I refuse to watch and listen to the daily accounts of who lobbed the latest round of bombs, the latest plane crash, shooting in the city, baby left to die in a hot car, recent activity of Satan's army of Muslim terrorists, the impotence of the worst US government in our history to do much other than make this once great country a laughing stock around the globe and cause unrest and discontent among her citizens.

I feel it, I think about it, I wonder about the events in relation to biblical prophesy. I think about my children and grandchildren, so I sit at my computer, tapping the keys at 4:30 a.m. because I haven't slept all night.

Don't I know things have to get really bad?
Don't I know the end of the story?
Don't I know there is hope for those whose faith is in Him who won the victory? 
There was victory at the resurrection. It's a done deal. 
There is a day coming when all our idealistic musings will never match our stunning reality.

So, for now, "to live is Christ". (Phil. 1:21) "The LORD is for me; I will not fear; What can man do to me?" (Psalm 118:6)

I think I'll get some sleep now.

Friday, May 23, 2014

Mother's Day and Other Stuff

I love Mother's Day. 

Now that my babies have, or are expecting babies of their own, they are having their ah-hah moments about what goes into raising tiny humans. And they're sharing their revelations with me. 

Sweet, she says, with a bit of a smug grin.

My daughter, Alison, mom of rapidly changing 11-month-old Claire, sent me a lovely card with a hand-written note that pretty much sums it all up in the first line:

So being a mom is pretty much a rough gig--not for the faint of heart!

And the always enjoyable humor I can't wait to read from Jennifer, and now, 5-year-old Kate:

Grandma, you're always doing nice things for me, so I got you a card for Mother's Day because it was my turn to do something nice for you. 
Okay, now it's your turn again.

And then there was the card from my son, Justin, that just about made me cry my face off. I'm not going to share it or the other tear-jerker bits of all my cards, because I'd rather hide it all in my heart. 

Around this favorite day of mine, we found out our third grand baby, due the first week of October, is a boy. As Justin said in his text to the family, 

Pow. BOY. 

This was accompanied by a photo of a portion of the gender ultrasound, with only the word "BOY", and an arrow pointing to what is no doubt the bit of manhood that would prove this declaration. The important part was left out, but I'll take their word for it. 

I know I've said it before, but this motherhood gig has been the best job I've ever worked myself out of. I'm still a mother, but I guess you can say I am retired. I'm a grandmother too, but a long-distance one, which I will say, sucks. The upside to being 4 hours away from some of the family is that, starting in one week, all 4 of the kids and all the tiny humans will be living within about a 5 mile radius, and I get to see ALL of them in ONE place! 

In case it's not obvious, I'm a little excited about this. 

Now, in the "Other Stuff" category, I have a job prospect that dropped into my lap last week, with a company I interviewed with almost 2 years ago. Um, when does that ever happen? Somehow, one of the people I interviewed with, who couldn't have come across as more disinterested in our short conversation then, remembered my name 2 weeks ago. Then my phone rang. Then I started laughing as soon as that call ended.  

Only God could've been the orchestrator of the past several weeks of events in my family. Job transfers, job interviews, house selling and closed in a month, new housing found immediately…how encouraging it is to see God work at lightning speed after what seems like endless waiting. It has just about made my head spin, as well as the 2 families that are moving. 

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. --Romans 8:28

How many times and for how many months, that turned into years, have I read those words? I have hung onto them when there wasn't much that I could see to give me reason to, but by faith I believed there is truth in them. I struggled to believe there was a promise there for me too. There is. 

I've hoped and prayed for my tight-knit family to be living in the same city, to be there for each other, cousins to grow up together, and now that's their reality. I've hoped and prayed for gainful employment and steady income, and I will keep you posted as the interview process continues. Whatever the outcome, I know it's for my good.

Update: The prayer for steady income has been answered, but not the way I expected. See, it's not me, it's God who supplies. Our photography business has been the best it's been in probably 3 years, for which we thank God and give Him all the glory. He is our Jehovah-Jireh. As for the company I interviewed with after the 2-year lapse, they flaked out on me again. After attempting to communicate with them regarding promised next steps in the interview process, all I heard was crickets. Well, there ya go! Now to order those new business cards....

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Restoration Year

Happy Resurrection Day! 

Easter morning and the celebration of Jesus' resurrection couldn't be a more perfect day for celebrating the death of the old and the beginning of new life.

Matthew 16:24-25 says:

Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves 
and take up their cross and follow me.  
For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, 
but whoever loses their life for me will find it.

 Thinking of all my attempts to save my life and make something of it, and losing so much, to find that life--abundant life--actually exists in surrendering...what a paradox. I have to smile at realizing the completely counter-intuitive nature of the life of following Christ. 

This year is the year of new beginnings--of breaking out of old patterns. One of the patterns of our lives that Leland and I are breaking out of is our recent shift from attending and serving a mega church for what we believe is the Church as Jesus intended it to be.  

Mega church Sunday goes like this: show up, sit in a row with thousands of strangers we'll probably never connect with, be entertained by highly produced, talented professional musicians, hear a great communicator, get up and leave to fight traffic. It's where the people go who want to be completely anonymous. There was a time for both of us when that was exactly what we wanted, having grown up in the Baptist way and having had many bad church experiences. We wanted nothing to do with anything that looked like church. We served in several capacities as volunteers, opportunities for which we are very grateful, one of which led to our meeting.

But a while back, the messages I heard began to fall flat. We had many questions that we could never ask because the lead communicator who gave those messages is so inaccessible. Something was gnawing at my gut; a desire for something more, and less. We needed small. A pastor who was accessible. I wanted to converse, not just listen. I wanted to grow, not stagnate. Deeper teaching. Less noise. More worshipful experience and less of the highly produced entertainment-heavy environment we were accustomed to; even liturgy and tradition (gasp). 

Leland and I had been on production team as video camera operators for almost 3 years, doing the same thing every time: be technically accurate, follow direction, get the cool shots, and we'd spend at least 30 minutes in a little room analyzing where we could improve. I asked myself, Is this what serving God is, really? How is getting that slow push on the BGV just right, of Kingdom value? It would make me think (often) of our 2 mission trips in 2009 and 2010 to a tiny church in the war-torn country of Bosnia-Herzegovina where jobs were extremely scarce, where people had next to nothing, had lost friends and family in the horror of ethnic cleansing--and they loved and cared for one another, worshiped like nothing we'd ever seen or heard, in a small building, huddled together, with a pastor who prayed over these people. No production, no countdowns to video, no segue to the band or speaker, but good grief, the outpouring of God's spirit on that place.

One day on Facebook, I saw a post about a new startup Church, called The Parish. I began asking questions, and I got answers. I told Leland about it, and we attended our first gathering in January. We attended Parish 101 and learned more about the vision for this new body of believers. The pastor, Eddie Kirkland,  met with us twice over coffee at Starbucks. We had a conversation. As a result, and having attended several gatherings, I think we're great with trading mega for mini, where fellowship, worship, and teaching actually resemble family time. And get this--they meet at homes around North Atlanta for dinner once a month. Just dinner. Like families do, as I recall. 

Relationships, bumping into each other, sharing our messy lives, caring for one another...the big "C" Church! This is what we look for as we prayerfully seek out this type of community.

Update: Since the original post, I've edited it to reflect our decision to continue our search for a smaller church that will be able to provide the resources for growth and service that The Parish is yet to offer. We absolutely support the vision of their leadership to reach out to the millennial generation who are searching for deeper, meaningful teaching, and even liturgy. 

Thursday, April 17, 2014

The Path to Gratitude

Eucharisteo: to be grateful; give thanks

The root word of eucharisteo in Greek is charis, meaning gift or grace. Charis is also the root of the Greek word chara, meaning joy.

 I wish eucharisteo was my default setting. Alas, it is not. Instead, I have to hunt, look for...and see...grace all around me. Historically, my default setting has been fear (darn that human nature). That's why I adopted this Greek word for thanksgiving and made it my mantra for this year, my restoration year.

One Thousand Gifts is a book full of jewels. In the companion devotional I turn page after page, draining the pen dry of ink for all my underlining. There are 60 devotions, each named for a type of grace--anti-anxiety grace, trusting grace, urgent grace, hard grace, joyous grace, comforting grace, to name a few--because all is grace, the author reminds me. 

All? The losses, lamenting, struggling? I say, along with David, "How long, Lord?" (Psalm 13:1). How long before there is no more suffering?

Ann Voskamp tells the heart-breaking story of the deaths of her 2 nephews, 18 months apart, from the same genetic disease. She tells her brother-in-law, "If it were up to me I'd write this story differently." Who wouldn't want to? Ask Candi Pearson-Shelton if she didn't want her brother healed. People known and unknown to her prayed fervently for his healing. For both of these families, the bottom line is, surrender to the Author of these stories.

Ann's brother-in-law, tears in his eyes, told her, "...maybe you don't want to change the story, because you don't know what a different ending holds." 

Candi brings to light the paradox of faith in God when she relates how her surrender "melts into peace and serenity, and...wholeness. Wow. Brokenness bringing about wholeness?"

Surrender isn't meant to mean a "Whatever, I give up!" resignation. I know that first-hand. It was my attitude following my mother's death in 1982 and the premature labor and delivery of my twins in 1983. This excerpt on surrender, from God Calling, helps me understand and re-frame my view:

Resignation to My Will keeps Me barred out from more hearts than does unbelief. Can anything be such a crime against Love as being resigned? My Will should be welcomed with a glad wonder if I am to do My Work in the heart and life. In all true discipleship, and in the true spiritual development of each disciple, there is first the wonder and the joy of first acquaintance, then comes the long plain stretch of lesson-learning and discipline. But the constant experience of Me, the constant persistent recognition of My Work in daily happenings, the numberless instances in which seeming chance or wonderful coincidence can be, must be, traced back to My loving forethought--all these gradually engender a feeling of wonder, certainty, gratitude, followed in time by Joy.

Read Candi's book because I'm not going to give away the ending. You will see God's loving forethought and you will close it with a sense of wonder, certainty, and gratitude.

Devotion 33 of One Thousand Gifts begins by quoting Deuteronomy 8:3, which talks about the Israelites wandering the desert.

He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, 
which neither you nor your ancestors had known, 
to teach you that man does not live on bread alone 
but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.

Manna. The name literally means, "What is it?" Ann writes, "More than 14,600 days they take their daily nourishment from that which they don't comprehend. They find soul-filling in the inexplicable.They eat the mystery. They eat the mystery. And the mystery, that which made no sense, is 'like wafers of honey' on the lips. ...all the mysteries I have refused, refused, to let nourish me...I wonder too...if the rent in the canvas of our life's backdrop, the losses that puncture our world, our own emptiness, might actually become places to see. To see through to God."

Now I'm beginning to see the purpose of this humbling journey Leland and I have traveled the last few years. Turning to God's word, seeing grace woven throughout the discipline, letting Him slowly chip away at all the layers of concrete I had slapped over my heart, this strange manna nourishing me. In this process, I learn to give thanks for my thousands of gifts and I pray for joy in the midst of trouble; when life has exhausted me.

"...followed in time by Joy."

I wonder if the prosperity and healing peddlers have ever taken their blinders off to stop and ask what the motivation is behind their demanding health and wealth, ease and comfort. Yes, God can absolutely do anything and everything, but is it for your own glory, or God's? Do you know what story He wants to write? Do you wonder what God's ending holds? Would you eat the "what is it" and wonder in His work in your life? My hunch is, you'd rather control.

In closing, I want to relate a recent encounter with Candi and her husband, Jonathan. I dropped by their house to pick up a copy of Desperate Hope, which Candi had graciously given me. Jonathan and I chatted briefly while Candi was busy in the kitchen. We shared specific needs to pray for, and when he asked me what mine was, the first thought that came to me was relief from this financial roller coaster. I said my goodbyes and as soon as I got in the car, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Haven't I learned yet? Relief is not the answer. I wanted to run back in and tell Jonathan, No, that was wrong! I take it back! You want to know my greatest need? I need to surrender, not resign, to the Author of my story. I need contentment in every situation that stems from love for and trust in God. I need to count it all eucharisteo.

Grace. Thanksgiving. Joy. THIS is abundant life!

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Family, Like It or Not

Please allow me to sidetrack for a moment to let you in on some thoughts and feelings that have arisen in recent weeks. 

I talked briefly with Candi after reading her book, Desperate Hope. I told her that I had to read it in bits, going completely quiet to let her words sink in. Honestly? I would go into a funk for a while, thoughts and memories swirling around in my head--about family.

Candi's stories of family touched a nerve. Her family was as flawed as everyone else's, parents divorced when she and her sister and brother were very young, but she and her siblings were close. They played together as children and when they were grown, they stayed close. They loved each other and that deep love was evident in the stories of their childhood and of family time in the hospital, followed by Rick's passing on to "The Party".

My family was as flawed as everyone else's too. My parents loved each other very much, but my siblings and I were anything but close. The fighting was nearly constant, especially between the youngest two, and my brother was the stereotypical mean older brother. I had nothing in common with my 3 sisters, they being girly girls in contrast to my tomboy-ish nature. They played with Barbie dolls while I climbed trees and dreamt of horse riding. Anything to be outside.

As teenagers things hadn't improved much. [Thank God for my horse that carried me up the hills and across the fields for hours at a time. I would escape to my version of paradise.] There was a space of a few years when my brother and I enjoyed eachother's company but that all changed when he began post-graduate studies at Bob Jones University. He got married,  earned a PhD, and settled into the bubble of isolated university life as a professor, the brother I grew up with fading away in the process. None of us measured up to the standard set by the subculture of the graceless, rule-driven version of Christianity in which he was entrenched, and as a result he became the source of much pain in our family. I remember thinking over the years, Who is this guy? 

Legalism is devoid of love and deadly to relationships. It is largely to blame for the slow demise of those among my siblings. What remains now of my parents' family isn't much else but crumbled ruins. I thank God, and take some comfort in the fact that my own kids are a tightly-knit family unit that love and value one another. 

What, I wondered in those quiet moments, book turned upside down on my chest, will it look like when it's my family's turn to get that phone call? Will there even be a phone call? Will anyone rush to a hospital bedside? Will there be prior commitments that prevent attending a funeral for one of us? Will a death be anything more than a legal matter to apply to how Dad's trust fund will eventually be distributed? 

I have no answers. That's how broken we all are. If I'm not the first one to head over to "The Party" then maybe I can break the silence and be the change. 

But then it hits me, that realization--I don't love very well. People in general, or specifically, these people I call my brother and sisters. It's my greatest need, to love well.

Grace where there is none? Bless my adversary? Love where none is deserved? Pretty much like what Jesus did. 

More Jesus, please.