I’ve taken a lot of bad pictures.
Many of them have been blurry, boring or poorly-timed. Most of them have been underexposed. At least once, a series of unrepeatable shots was marred by a light fixture I hadn’t noticed in the background, perfectly misplaced to look like a pair of ears protruding from my subject’s head.
Many times, in my younger years, my mom watched me sort through dozens of mediocre photos to find one great one. She asked why I kept so many. I tried to explain that the moments they captured were irreplaceable, even if the means of capturing those moments wasn’t so great.
The real stuff of life is the unseen stuff. Joy, curiosity, the chill of the morning air after the first snowfall. The fresh light pouring in through the window of a just-painted room. The emotion packed into a Theater Major’s final performance before graduation. I can’t get enough of that stuff, and my camera doesn’t appreciate it as much as I do. But, every once in a while, a glint of the unseen – joy, or curiosity, or friendship, or crisp morning air – bounces off something and hits my lens. If my shutter clicks at just the right moment, I have it. It’s mine, to look back on when life feels too ordinary.
Everything worth looking at has glints of its Maker’s glory bouncing off it.
That every-once-in-a-while glint is what keeps me clicking the shutter.