Every new morning...

It's cool to get a Bible verse in my email, actually look it up, and then find even more cool verses. 

Lamentations 3:22-25

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is  your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.” The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seek him…

Meilani. 2011.

It was, as Outkast once eloquently put it, colder than a polar bear's toenails one Sunday. But the sun was gracing us with it's late afternoon golden shimmer and softer light, so we all took a chance and ran around the beautiful city of San Francisco to do a photoshoot of the lovely Meilani.

Ray and Sarah. 2011.

You’re my unfathomable precious unimaginable joy
And you’re exceedingly exciting and abundantly more than I could ask for
With your hand in mine we will pass through time and space
                                          -Jimmy Needham, “Unfailing Love”

I get giddy watching a moment captured through a photograph. I get even giddier when my camera captures a moment between two people who have been given the blessing of each other, the opportunity to love and share life together. Man has written songs time and time again to express, as Jimmy Needham puts it, that “..unfathonable, precious, unimaginable joy” that the love of another can give.

Meet Sarah and Ray. I asked them to be my subjects, because there’s nothing funner (and yes, I said funner) than doing a photoshoot of two individuals in love. Though the locations we shot at were just a little too close to the smell of city marsh waters, these two proved to be great sports as they continued to smile and say “cheese” long enough for my camera to make a photo.

Them Bebots

Yes, I sat around in traffic this morning bumping Bebot by Black Eyed Peas, and yes with that genius beat creation of B.E.P. cranked up in my little commuter car, I had a growing urge to throw my hands in the air and start dancing…as much as I possibly could sitting in a very enclosed spot. This song also suddenly reminded me that I am my husband’s bebot. Yep. I am. It’s a cool thing. And if you don’t know the translation of that word, I shall trust that Google with help provide that to you.

I have to admit, I laughed a little at this notion of being my dear husband’s bebot because I suddenly realized that it translates into a lot of other things. These “things” being that I still have a weird need to walk around the house with slippers if I’ve been barefoot too long. That if the absence of a fork or spoon was ever upon me, I can roll up my sleeves and eat with my hands and survive. (Truly, to be able to clump rice together with your hands is an art form. I highly recommend trying it!) That super sour soup stemming from the creation of the tamarind is pure culinary genius when it’s raining or cold outside. That a duck egg is not just a plain ol’ duck egg anymore, but more like a delicacy my relatives would pair with a beer and call it a day. (I still have not mustered enough courage to savor the duck egg, but will always have respect for those that can consume this and not gag. Quack!)

So go ahead, crank up that genius Bebot beat by Black Eyed Peas and shake what your momma gave you...slippers and all!

Ice cream and other summer essentials...

My dear friend allowed me to do a photoshoot of her kids one sticky, summer afternoon. In the days leading up to the shoot, I racked my brain on a place that would not only encapsulate all things summer, but would also be interesting enough to hold the attention of two very happy and excited kids. My husband then suggested Fenton’s Creamery…perfect! What can hold a child’s attention better than the excitement of having ice cream?

So we packed up the kids in my friend’s mini-van and took off, heading towards that pot of gold the kids knew as ice cream. And believe you me, they made sure to remind us to all scream for ice cream, at the top of their lungs. Gotta love it! A little side note – and maybe this is because I’m not a mom-but man, that mini-van my friend drove was quite impressive. I’ve never known a car to be so child-equipped and ready for any drive longer than 5 minutes.

You know, come to think of it, I think that van could have made a trip to the moon quite comfortably, with its navigation system, nifty DVD player, two secure car seats, and my dear husband sandwiched between them. We were definitely more than ready to roll!


 





I think kids are fun subject for any photographer because they’re still in the stage of their life where every moment is fun to them and they haven’t yet learned how to be shy or to hold back any goofy, toothy grin or funny expression that came to mind. While we adults may have worried about having food or ice cream smeared on our face, these kids rocked those ice cream grins like it was no one’s business!








And while we adults are silently standing in line waiting to be seated, quietly excited for the treats that this ice cream parlor, these kids made it known to all those strangers standing in line that Fenton’s Creamery was the place to be and hey, don’t you people just wanna jump up and down knowing that we’re so close to the treasures of ice cream heaven?






Toothy grins and ice cream with these happy kids make for all the essentials of real summer fun.

Imperfect Me and My Imperfect Friends

We spent the evening with some friends we had not seen in a while along with others we see often. Homemade pizza always tastes better when it’s accompanied with glasses of wine and most importantly, people to share it with. In the few moments when I was not participating in the melodious sounds of laughter and lives being shared, I was basically just standing back and observing. Observing each person circled around the dining room, observing the kids and friends crowded in the kitchen, eagerly and impatiently awaiting the treasure of yummy pizza that baked in the oven, observing each person exchanging laughter and stories.

Each smile, each joke told, each outburst of laughter were beautiful reminders of how wonderful it is to be connected to one another, to be blessed with friends who have influenced and shaped people around them, simply by living out their love for God -- imperfectly, yes, with mistakes made,  yes, but nonetheless, wholeheartedly for God.  

"A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity." - Proverbs 17:17

The Hardy Har-Hars with Hubby

The hubby is seriously the funniest person I know. I think that’s why I married him..so my face could hurt forever from laughing at all his hecka cur-ay-zay funny and not-so-funny-but-it was-a-good-try-let-me-attempt-to laugh- jokes. Even his everyday comments are funny. I keep telling him I need to write a book with all his sayings and haha-isms. His latest? He bought me MAC eyeshadow for Christmas. I bought blush just yesterday.

Hubby: “How is that any different than the stuff I bought you for Christmas?”

Me: “Um, babe, it’s blush. It goes on your cheeks. You bought me eyeshadow. That stuff goes on your eyes.”

Hubby: “Oh. Well, how the heck would I know it all looks like the same powdery stuff to me.”

And that is one of his many man-infused comments. He is quite witty, yes he is.

Celez. Not Celeste.

Back when I was a kid, I met another “kid” named Celez who became a very good friend of mine.

Whoa. It just dawned on me that we’ve known each other for about 19 years. Whaaat? Are we really old enough to say things like that?
I remember getting her name totally wrong. She had to correct me about four times before I finally got it right. I kept saying everything from Celeste (which she hates) to Celeeez. It's a miracle I didn't call her Celery.

It still amazes me that though we’ve lead very different lives as the years went by, don’t live near each other, etc., we can still connect as if things haven’t changed from that day in 7th grade when we were trying out for our school's colorguard. (why we ever thought it was cool to twirl a flag in the air, much less get bonked in the face as it came furiously crashing down on us, is beyond me)

Distance has not become a permanent fixture in our friendship--we still connect and laugh about everything. She's seen me through a lot--dumb boys, breakups, family bickerings, a lonely year in another state for college and later on, celebrating with me in the joys of being there for my wedding. And thankfully, she’s remained as wacky as she was the day I met her, and graciously volunteered herself for a photoshoot one Saturday afternoon. Glamour shots, we called them. Her and her pup Coco, the four-legged cotton ball, made excellent subjects and were extremely patient as I adjusted my camera settings for each photo shot and simultaneously tried to make the best of the fading daylight.

Everyone, meet a very good friend of mine, Celez.

Not Celeste. =)










 

those profound quotes

“Just because you accept help from someone, doesn't mean you have failed. It just means you're not in it alone.” – Eric Messer, Life As We Know It

Justin. 2011.

It was a beautiful afternoon and one well spent as my dear hubby allowed me to do a photoshoot of him. He will always be my favorite subject.

Prayer- more than a Band-Aid

Prayer. You say that word and some folks think connection to a God they believe exist — 50% of the time.

Others, the word translates to overbearing religion. And still others, a confusing word of instruction that is given to them by perhaps well-intentioned people…but is still interpreted as weak as a Band-Aid that’s lost its stick.

I can’t speak for others. I never can. But I can speak for me. And for me, prayer has been taking on a whole new meaning, as recent as a few days ago.

My mind knows that prayer is meaningful. But my heart doesn’t believe it until I am suddenly finding myself desperate, mentally spent, and just very much at the end of my rope with no room to tie a knot and hang on, so to speak.

My God doesn’t want a well-rehearsed prayer, a speech of perfectly chosen words, free of the um’s and ah’s that plague my hesitant conversation with others. I’m being reminded that He wants an honest conversation of all that burdens my thoughts and my heart. Even if what pours from my mouth is tainted of melancholy and frustrated anger at life or with people.

I also am reminded that silence is ok in His presence. In God’s love letter to me, He reminds me that His Holy Spirit prays for me when I don’t know what to say: Romans 8:26 “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”

You know what that means? It means that I forget that sitting in silence with Him is ok…He prays on my behalf because He knows what I can’t say or what my words might jumble up.

Prayer defined to me? It’s a lifeline. One that I know I don’t use as often as I probably need it. Everytime I have summed up the nerve to call on that lifelime, no matter what state I am in, He never tricks me into thinking I’ve run out of lifelines with him. I find it interesting and kind of sad that a lot of the world believes “There are bigger things in this world, God doesn’t care about my stupid little problems.” or even the lie that God is tired of hearing your voice and that His answering machine comes on when He sees it’s you calling…. again. That’s a lie and if you’re one of those who believe this, it’s my prayer that you’re freed from the ties of that lie, from whomever told you that. Take it from me, because I used to believe that same lie, too.

On the way to work, I heard a song on the radio that I’ve come to really like, not necessarily because of the artist or the melody of the actual music, but because of what the words say. It’s a song by Amy Grant called “Better than a Hallelujah”. It outlines what I have come to believe prayer, true prayer, really is. That sometimes a desperate, angry, or frustrated cry resulting from the trials, frustrations, and hardships of life are just as much a prayer He hears as a choir singing in perfect tune, with polished words.

He sees and hears me upset over the mess of various areas of my life, venting my fumbling, stumbling, jumbled prayer to Him..and He hears a song? Doesn’t make sense, does it? But that’s the truth. He loves a praise song as much as He does hearing someone calling out to Him in the not-perfect state their life is in.

He hears a soldier pleading for his life, a drunkard’s raging cry, a mother’s tears, the depression of a teenager, and even me, a 30 year old questioning God in the midst of the stress of life and search for meaning. He hears all of that and it is, indeed, better than a hallelujah sometimes.


“We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes.” – A. Grant

Grandpops

Walking into work today, my grandfather from my dad’s side crossed my mind. I don’t know why. Today is not his death anniversary, his birthday, or anything like that. But again, for some reason this image of him crossed my mind as I pulled back the doors to the building I work in, the start of a new workday.

My grandfather died when I was in my early twenties. Unfortunately, because he lived overseas, I didn’t see him as often as I could have. There are pictures of me with him, my sisters with him, etc. when he and my grandmother came for visits or when I went to visit them overseas as a kid.

I know my grandfather was smart. I know he was highly respected in his community. I know he was from the old, old school where hard work and discipline translated itself into what made your identity. I don’t know that I necessarily agree with this now, but I do have to give him credit for the good intentions I know these principles were founded on.

My grandfather was an immigration attorney. Because some folks were too poor in his area to pay for his help, they’d give him their crops, their vegetables, etc. as payment. And he accepted them. I think it drove my grandmother crazy.

One of the more vivid stories I recall my dad telling me about was the story about the Japanese flying overhead and my grandfather taking my grandmother, my two uncles when they were kids, and his law books with him as they hid out in the jungle. I guess I like that story because well, it happened in a moment that is only in history books for my generation, and that maybe that moment defined the important stuff in my grandfather’s life: his family and his work. I look back and wish I had connected with him more. History books are great, but when the stories are told from the person who lived through it, the story is more complete, more whole, with none of the important elements missing that make it a story worth telling.

Brian and Michelle. 2010.

A day with my bubby and some of our bestest friends, Michelle and Brian. Great music. Fun photography. The Oakland/Emeryville sunset. Caught trespassing by a cop. Ah, I wouldn't have it any other way. Awesome times.

Words of Inspiration

An inspiring word from National Geographic Photographer, Annie Griffiths Belt. Her book, A Camera, Two Kids and a Camel truly speaks volumes to a photographer at any level. I know it did for me.

"The great lesson of light, I learned, is that it is more beautiful when it is less perfect. The full and unforgiving light of high noon rarely inspires. But light that is mottled, broken, fractured, or incomplete takes your breath away. For a perfectionist like me to glory in perfect light was truly a revelation. There was no controlling the outcome, no plan, no magic formula for success. There were only surprises and revelations, accidents and miracles.

I learned that serendipitous, divine light can make anything beautiful--even something as ordinary as a golf course. My happiest moments are still like that: intensely focused and lost in the light before me."

A Far Reach Brought Close

It was one of those rare afternoons where my husband and I had the opportunity to visit a local art museum. I appreciate various forms of art, but as soon as the admission was paid and we were given the “enjoy the tour” smile from the cashier, my mind curiosity immediately made a beeline for the section that showcased its latest photography and their creators.

But for the sake of "slowing down and enjoying each piece of art, I did manage to muster enough patience to slowly pace through the floors of this museum and soak in paintings, colorful glass sculptures, and video art without anxiously tugging at my husband’s hand towards the floor that I knew would house the display of camera work by talented photographers.

As soon as we entered that section of the museum, I felt myself immediately giving in to the temptation to just stare, examine, and ogle like a nerd at each of the photos prominently displayed on the museum’s white walls. I’m not sure what it is, but the photography section of an art museum just makes me want to plant myself onto one of those benches that allow for the artistic and intellectual to ponder the work in front of them.

You know, those cushioned benches that face directly in front of some painting or sculpture where you can just sit and well, stare? Or at times throw in an occasional word of observation type-conversation to shape the silence between you and the person sitting next to you?

Yes. Those benches.

Anyway, as I slowly made my way past each photo, I realized that my eyes couldn’t seem to drink in enough of the color, the details, the shadows and shades that smiled at me from each photo. There were various artists showcasing their work , with stories to tell through their pictures. The stories these photos told were of various subjects, from the poverty in Ghana, to the complication and art of dating, to snapshots of various people in America.

As I stared into the eyes of the child in Ghana, as I followed the shadows and patterns that seem to intensify the story in black and white photo, the more I felt the renewal of inspiration taking over, washing over, pulling me into a wonderful vortex, in a moment I like to think is God sitting right next to me, looking at what I'm looking at, saying, "it's nice, isn't it?"

It's amazing.

Many people say over and over again that pictures tell a story and everything in me agrees with that, more than I can explain. Photos can bring you to places around the world you've never seen before. They can take you into moments of time and history that happened long before your own birth, into the hearts and experiences of people you have never met. They can bring these things that seemed so far and out of reach, up close and truly personal.

I'm glad I didn't bring my camera on that trip to the museum with my husband. Why? Well, I'm slowly learning that there are times when a when a camera will just get in the way of a good dose of inspiration that's trying to make it's way into your heart.

And God knows, I love me some inspiration.

Clicking Cameras

Taking pictures has been this hobby of mine, something I have always liked doing ever since I possessed my first 35mm Vivitar film camera as a teenager. But now as an adult, I realize that what I have been tinkering with all these years was actually a wonderful form of art.



I am weirdly fascinated by that clicking sound a camera makes when you press the shutter release button to take a simple picture.

To some people, that sound is just the sound of a small tool functioning—but to me, that sound means a tiny detail was captured, it means a moment was stopped, it means someone slowed down to take a closer look.

To me, the idea of a sunset isn’t just the sun ending another day, but a rare chance to see gold infused light from heaven.

To me, a child’s giggle isn’t just a random sound in a crowd anymore, but a rare chance to photograph those funny dimples revealed only in their smile when laughter overcomes them.

And to me, my camera isn’t just my camera anymore, but my very own paintbrush, a generous gift from the artists of all artists, the Creator Himself.

As I “paint” these pictures for you through my photography, I hope it encourages you to see the art in the every day, to look deeper into the tiny details, and to fully embrace moments that come and go as quickly as the sound of a camera clicking away.

****
Please join us for a reception with live music at:
Paddy's Coffee House
www.paddyscoffee.com
Saturday, September 18th
6 p.m. – 8 p.m.

A portion of all proceeds from any sale of Maria Abelaye’s work will be donated to World Vision, an organization that serves to meet needs of exploited children, survivors of famine & natural disasters, and communities affected by AIDS in Africa, Asia, and Latin America.

Jesus: The Aloha God

I was on the beautiful islands of Kauai and the Big Island in Hawaii and stumbled upon this book at a gift shop off the road. The title eludes me at the moment but the message of it is as clear as day. It was book by a gentleman who wrote about the meaning of "Aloha". It really caught my attention because I did not realize the deeper meaning of the word "aloha" other than a polite hello and good-bye meaning in Hawaii.



Some of what I can recall was not only the beautiful photographs associated with each meaning but each "life" definition. The author talked about how aloha is doing the right thing in the midst of others who are doing wrong. It's about being kind-hearted to fellow man, taking care of the earth, being wise, loving, patient, and forgiving. To do right in the face of wrong.



As I stood amidst the racks of t-shirts, beach mats, and colorful souvenirs in that shop, I had to smile as I closed the book and placed it on it's own rickety shelf because I now believe that Aloha is another name for the ways of my Jesus.

Annoyingly Good Books That Ask You to Change Your Heart

“Preach the gospel always; when necessary use words.” - St. Francis of Assisi

“We have shrunk Jesus to the size where He can save our soul but now don’t believe He can change the world. – Anonymous

“Two thousand years ago, the world was changed forever by just twelve. It can happen again.” Richard Stearns, "The Hole in Our Gospel".



I hate when I read books that leave you no choice but to re-examine and probe at your own heart and intentions and everything that makes up the core of your very being.



I hate it even more when I find out that I'm not quite where I thought I was and that I have been sunken into complacency for longer than I realized. It sucks.

I just finished reading a book called "Crazy Love" by Frances Chan. This book got me thinking and actually did its job of cornering me with questions of where I stood in my own relationship with God. If what I have with God now has evolved into a habitual religion--the very thing I was trying to avoid. It's a bummer to be cornered with questions like that. It made me really appreciate the book and at the same time want to shut the book and hide it under something so it wouldn't come out and ask me those questions again.



A Jesus freak and close friend of mine, who has also read "Crazy Love" and liked it deeply, suggested that I read "The Hole in Our Gospel" by Richard Stearns, former CEO of Lennox. She basically told me that if "Crazy Love" made me feel a bit crappy, The Hole In Our Gospel would really might “lovingly” make it worse, i.e, would challenge me in a way that’s necessary, but uncomfortable. I am barely a few pages into Richard Stearns book and already I want to bury it along with "Crazy Love" so that it won't force me to look in the mirror and ask myself some tough questions.

Please hear me when I say this, especially if you don't consider yourself Christian or a God-believer or into that "religious stuff". When I say that that these books made me feel crappy I say it with a bit of a laugh because it's actually a good thing that I have this realization of just how flawed I am and how much deeper I could get with God. I don't think God, let alone these authors, are intending to make people believe there is no hope for them and that it’s your fault the world is the way it is. Rather, I think what they're saying and even begging the world is to take the time to shake up their belief and see if the foundation strength is where it should be. Especially if you've claimed the label "Christian".

As I turned the pages of Crazy Love and now am turning the pages of The Hole in Our Gospel, I am reminded that sadly, I've become lukewarm for a God who has a burning and passionate love for me from the moment I was a mere thought to Him. A Holy God that deserves no less than everything from me. It's a humbling type of unconditional love that I've barely understood a fraction of. It's like I want to say "Wow, God. You're so, so awesome. And I can't believe I actually suck this much! But wow, you still want me near you? Really?"

Again, I can't describe it. Pick up Crazy Love and The Hole in Our Gospel. This is a shameless plug for these books but I promise you it'll give you more than just a good heart tug. It'll actually make you want to do something with what you've read.

Missing Teeth and Peanuts

My niece is super polite. And it’s amazing how an overflow of manners and gratitude can really make you feel like someone special. I think feeling special and valued is such a rare feeling these days that one feeds off of the feeling if it’s given. Even if the giver is a 7 year old.
She seriously thanked me for every tiny thing I did that she asked for when I spent an afternoon baby-sitting her. She was hanging out with me in the hours before I was to take her over to her grammy’s for the evening and part of the hangout time required that I give her her evening bath. My niece has this full head of crazy hair that, if wet, can weigh down and make it just a bit hard to clean and shampoo on her own. Hence, she asked that I help her and thanked me immediately after I’d helped her rinse the last of the bubbly suds down the drain.

I write about my niece a lot because I think that kids are the funniest but most accurate window view of humanity. And before inhibition stepped in and created a curtain to this honest view, we all were once kids without holding anything back, flaws and all. I’ve laughed many times over the things my niece has innocently said and many times marveled at her observations of the world around her.

Really, when did we lose this freedom? Sometimes I sit and wonder that, truthfully. Was it around the time I entered kindergarten? How about middle school? High school, even? Wasn’t there such a joy in being able to exercise such an innocent honesty? When something stunk, a kid says “it stunk”. Versus an adult who would hem and haw about the answer and say “it doesn’t smell that bad” when it clearly is a situation that needs a whiff of fresh air. Catch my drift?



There is an incessant longing in me for times of old, when things were a little simpler, people were a little more honest, and the world was viewed a little more accurately. A time of milk and cookies, bright colors that don’t match but were ok anyway, a moment in youth where it was ok to stop and enjoy the sights and smells around you, using the gifts/your sense of smell, sight and touch the Almighty gave you so that you could enjoy what He’s created. Maybe it’ll slow us down a bit, but who said I had to race through life and ignore the God-infused beauty that surrounds me constantly? Sadly and oddly enough, no one told me that. I made that sad decision on my own.

While I can’t reverse time or go back to a season in my life where it was ok to be missing your front teeth and grinning proudly in pictures or be rushed to the doctor’s with my mommy because I jammed a peanut up my nose out of sheer curiosity, I’m thankful to have a 7 year old reminder of fun, innocence, and honesty running around in my life, a kid that makes me feel special and appreciated simply because I helped her shampoo her hair.

Only One Thought...

It's late right now. But it's never too late in the evening to just say that God is so good.

I am in pure awe of that idea right now and never get tired of the surprise blessings he sends my way. Or rather, I'm simply in awe of God's ways and how he always writes a story better than any author I know.

Good night, Lord. I love You.