I bought this camera

…to take pictures of my love.

Now that he’s gone, I don’t have anybody to take pictures of.

Lake Street Dive anyone?

The song’s been running through my head, but the lyrics are a bit different in my mind.  More along the lines of I bought this camera, to take pictures of my kids, now that we’re sheltered in place, I don’t have any soccer to take pictures of.

I know.  It doesn’t exactly fit, syllabically or otherwise.  Just go with it.

Yesterday I noticed blooming flowers and decided I should get the camera out.  I was never particularly good at photography, and oddly enough, not picking up a camera (other than my phone, of course) hasn’t exactly honed my skills. I’m resolving to take more pictures in the coming days.  Prepare to be wowed, because our lives are positively riveting these days.  Errr, something like that.  I predict lots of photos of flowers, leaves, and singular blades of grass and other riveting things.

My day’s been largely unproductive.  Sabbath-y, I guess.  I gathered with a group of other parents of teens from church after online worship this morning. We shared highs and lows and there were definitely some common themes:  on some level it’s nice to slow down,  kids are cooking a lot, families are actually spending time together.  But we’re all sad for what our kids are missing, and worried about what the lasting impact of all this weirdness is going to look like.  Both within our families and for the world as a whole.  Uncertainties piled on top of uncertainties with a side of a whole lot of unknown.  And yet, even though a lot of the discussion centered around concern, there was comfort for me in spending an hour with kind, compassionate souls willing to be real with one another.  We ended by singing an early happy birthday to Dawn.  It was horrendous, but delivered with love.

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Be Well, Friends.