When NOT to take pictures..

He wrapped both arms AND legs around my middle, squeezed hard and then leaned back to look at my face.  He touched my nose with his tiny, little index finger and simply said 'Mama!'  What a way to start the day.  How could I possibly turn him down, then, when he requested an early morning chicken hunt?  With toothbrush (his current weapon of choice) in hand and sleep barely rubbed out of the eyes, Owen continued 'balk, balk, balk'ing until we ventured out into a brand new morning.  We didn't find any balkers on that particular outing, but we chattered away and then we were silent and we pointed out each puffy cloud all tinged with pink.  Another moment for my internal scrapbook.
Pages are filling up fast in my mind.  Derek scoops up our little man and wrestles him into tickling position, their laughter bubbling over while I brew the coffee.  I can't take a picture of that and, honestly, in my scrambling to capture the beauty of those flailing limbs and giggling sounds I'll miss the moment.  I'm learning to simply enjoy it.
Now, some moments simply BEG to be photographed and there's plenty of opportunity for that; more than enough snap shots to be framed.  But I'm learning to be content with mental pictures, too.  I'm learning when not to take pictures; when not to scramble and click and obsess over the perfect angle.  There is a time to snap away, please don't get me wrong.  But there are most definitely occasions where grabbing for a camera or phone will, unintentionally, convey to my boys that 'capturing the moment' is somehow more important than actually being in it with them.
Things got quiet this morning as I scrubbed oatmeal from the bottom of a pan and quiet means I need to investigate...fast!  There on the porch sat my son and our dog.. little arm flung over furry neck, boy and his best friend gazing at the potential of this day.  I tried to sneak a picture but the pooch heard me and jumped up, Owen took a digger and why couldn't I just stand there and take it in?!
I should know already.  It's like the sunsets here.  I'm always trying to 'capture' them in pictures, but it's an impossible task.  There is no way that all the glory, majesty and streaking colors; the dramatic accents and ginormous, sinking ball of fire melting into glassy sea could be contained within a single click of my iPhone.  I must learn to simply soak it in.
Last weekend I sat on the grass next to my husband, mesmerized by the dancing of bonfire flames.  Friends laughed and marshmallows were roasted and there was no need for anything but being right there.  It was wonderful.
I didn't mean to write this post.  My intention was to scribe something sweet about the beauty of moments.  But then all of this spilled out and now I keep thinking of Psalm 46:10  'He says, "Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth,"  And another version phrases it 'Cease striving..'  And maybe that's what it all bubbles down to; not whether it's okay to take pictures of beautiful moments, but whether or not I'm seeing God in those moments?  Do I know Him well enough that I recognize His signature everywhere I look?  Am I intimately familiar with my Heavenly Father, to the point where giving thanks to Him [in all things! 1 Thessalonians 5:18] feels as natural and necessary as breathing?  If not, the answer is simple- 'Be still and know that I am God'  It's in the stillness that we will come to know Him, it's when strivings cease that we can truly live.
The definition for 'striving' is to 'make great efforts to achieve or obtain something, to struggle or fight vigorously.'  As this truth is reavealed this morning, and you're reading it as fast as I'm realizing it, I see that this is about struggling to capture something that I have been freely given.  I'll still be taking plenty of pictures, no doubt about that, but I'll be making time to NOT take pictures, too!  As the moments unfold in front of me today I want to be deliberate about recognizing them, identifying the Giver and then giving thanks for it all.  A picture's worth a thousand words but maybe being still and being in the moment could be worth infinitely more.