Joy: February 21 Lent Photo-a-Day

While I don't suffer from synesthesia, I do associate emotions with certain colors. Joy is bright. Joy burns.  Joy is that intense, sort of eye-searing orangey-red that wakes you up, makes you sit up straight, breathe deep and feel glad you're alive. That's joy.

That's also the color of pyracantha berries. An appropriate name, from the Greek words for fire and thorn. The berries are the color of fire, and set against the bright green leaves, they seem even more vivid. The plant also has vicious thorns. Those will wake up the unwary even more than the color!

This photo wouldn't scream joy to anyone else, but that's what I feel when I look at it. I recently read a series of devotions on joy which distinguished it from happiness. The author argued that you don't need to be happy to experience joy--that joy is a more complex emotion, a sort of sharp piercing reminder that we are alive and experiencing the world in all its messy glory. 

Alone: February 20 Lenten Photo-a-Day

Alone. 

When I think about the condition of being alone, it feels darker and more intense than just experiencing a lack of companionship. To be alone is to feel alien and separate, realizing that you are removed from the most fundamental of human experiences. We are social creatures. Our understanding of our own individuality arises out of our recognition that we are separate from others--we need to interact with others before we can achieve an identity of our own. 

There are many ways to photograph the concept of "alone". I could have photographed a single person. A single flower. I had another photo I really liked of a lone flower petal on the sidewalk. But this single leaf on the street after a rainstorm best conveyed that sense of alienation. The leaf is not only separate from other leaves, but it is completely removed from its home, the tree. It is displaced, transported to a hostile environment--an environment lacking color, that is hard and roughly textured. The black frame of moisture surrounding the leaf further isolates it.

Unlike this leaf, we have the power to break free of loneliness. It is up to us to reach out. To other humans. But also to God. We're not really alone, after all. We just believe we are.   

Look: February 19

In the rush of everyday life, we rarely take the time to look beyond the surface of things. We glance, we process the most critical items and mentally blur out the rest, and we move on. But this day's word, "Look", demands that we do more. That we look more deeply. That we move beyond the surface. That we not only use our eyes to collect information, but that we also use our hearts and minds to contemplate what we have seen.

My photo is a visual reminder to me to do just that. I have a scraggly purple mallow bush in my yard. The flowers are large--about the width of a coffee cup--with petals of a lovely shade of violet that fan out from a tight base. The fertile organs of the flower--the stigma and pollen-covered anthers--are hidden deep within the furled petals. If you just glance at the plant as you pass by, you only see the petals, and you think that's the only beautiful part, the most important part.

But that center is, for the life of the plant, the most important. And when you look, you realize it is lovely as well--the curved white sections of the stigma, and the brilliant yellow anthers rising up on their tiny stems. Such complexity! The purple petals are the perfect foil for the hidden treasure within. A treasure only visible when you take the time to look. To really look. 

Lent Photo-a-Day: Announce

During the past year, I've been exploring faith, contemplating what I really believe, what I have trouble believing, and how my faith has--and shall--affect and order my life. I still have more questions than answers, but I'm enjoying the journey while learning and growing along the way. 

As part of my journey, I decided to participate in RETHINKCHURCH's Lent Photo-a-Day project. I wanted to contemplate the Lenten season more deeply and intentionally than I have before. Since I enjoy photography, this seemed like an ideal bridge.

I wanted to write about my photos, but what to say? I think I'll just explain how I think my photo illustrates the word or theme of the day. A modest goal, but more likely to be accomplished than a promise to write an essay on the topic. If I'm inspired to write more on occasion, wonderful. If not, no guilt. 

So, announce...

When I think about "announce" in connection with Christ, I think of the Annunciation. That makes me think of how classical artists portrayed the annunciation--the colors, the symbols, the mood. The paintings are usually infused with color and light, creating a joyous yet portentous mood. 

The word "announce" also makes me think of grand entrances, announcing the arrival of kings or leaders. Drama and trumpet fanfares.

So this led me to set up a specific image: the bell of a trumpet, glowing in the sun, preferably surrounded by bright color, combining the imagery from both threads of thought. I wandered through my yard with my son's old student cornet, looking for the perfect backdrop. When I held it up against the pink of the jasmine buds, I felt I'd found my image. Buds are joyous and portentous: they signal spring and new life. Exactly that Renaissance Annunciation mood I so loved.

And this image announces my intention to think about Lent, about Jesus' journey to the cross, and my own journey in faith.

Only thing stolen: Sense of Security

I live in a pretty safe area. Our neighborhood has few crimes unless you count getting TP'd. A woman can walk alone late at night without any real concern. People actually leave their doors unlocked if they are just running a quick errand or walking the dog. We joke that we live in "the bubble"--a sort of Shangri-la place where the ugliness of the real world, thankfully, rarely intrudes.

So I am often pretty careless about locking my car when I pull into the driveway. Admittedly, I don't leave anything in it that's valuable, and my car is over ten years old with a peeling clear coat--it pretty much screams that it wouldn't have anything valuable in it at the best of times. Last night was one of those times I just didn't bother to hit the lock button. It was a weeknight. Quiet. Normal. Nothing to worry about.

When I wandered out to my car today to run an errand, I was baffled to see my glove compartment hanging open, the contents spilled on the floor and passenger seat, and CDs tossed carelessly on the driver's seat. It took me a few seconds to realize someone had "broken" into my unlocked car.

Like I said, I had nothing--absolutely nothing--of value there, so I didn't get that panicky feeling you get when you mislay your phone or your purse. I quickly realized the few things I did have in the car--a couple random CDs that I never listen to, cheap clip-on sunglasses, an ancient half-broken pair of binoculars that I used years ago to see if my kids' soccer teams were done practicing at the far end of the park when I arrived to pick them up--had been rejected by the thief. I picked them up and put them back in the console. Even the twenty or so cents in the coin slot hadn't been worth his trouble. And of course the bag of books I had in the back seat to donate to the Friends of the Library bookstore was still there. I somehow doubt thieves are big readers. He'd passed on my gym bag too. Go figure. Maybe it was because it was a repurposed book bag that only held a sweaty towel and a half-empty water bottle.

I derived a little bitter pleasure at the thought of the hapless thief riffling through my emergency tampon stash, assorted gas station receipts, drive-thru napkins, and the old supermarket lists that had cluttered my glove box and console box. All that adrenaline pumping through his system (I know it wasn't necessarily a guy, but let's face it, nine times out of ten, car thieves are young and male) for nothing. Nada. Junk in a junky old car. Na na, jerk! You got a big fat nuthin', which is what you deserve!

But my pleasure was short-lived. Because when I got back from my errand, I locked my car. As I will from now on, even though I don't plan on ever leaving anything valuable in it. The thief successfully stole one thing from me: my sense of security. He popped "the bubble".