For privacy, of course, I can’t share her face, but her mama told me I could share the hand-holding. This little one just exudes love, and she left the frame — her photo spot — multiple times to hug me. I couldn’t stop beaming. Children are so pure, and even when they aren’t the “hugging me” type (aka her little brother), they are still so incredibly amazing and honest and pure, and I love it so much!

I hope this week that you get to hold a small child’s hand, to see them look at you with joy and love, to listen as they ask all the important questions (Can I pet your dog? Can I see the picture? Can I come over to your house again?) and tell you all the important things (I’m four! I like pink! I’m having fun!) and show you how they can dance or twirl or sing or dig in the dirt.

And maybe you too will remember the joy of wonder. Stay curious, my friends.

The post Remember the joy of wonder, of holding hands with little ones appeared first on Love Your Everyday Life.

“You make me laugh,” my husband said from the driver’s seat.

We were out for a Saturday drive with the dogs. I assume it has to be a little annoying sometimes to ride with me because I turn into a two-year-old: “Oooh, look at that! Check out the sky! Did you see that? Deer! Oh, the water is high! Look at how the clouds are swirling over the mountaintop! That lighting is GORGEOUS over there!” And on and on I go.

“Why do I make you laugh?”

“Because you go crazy about a field of flowers. Every. Time.”

“Well,” I said, “just look at that yellow against the blue. Isn’t it amazing?”

“It IS pretty. But you really see it. I see that stuff so often, I don’t really pay attention.”

That bit of conversation left me thinking. Yes, yes I do go crazy over fields of flowers, and looking at Pikes Peak never gets old. I can stand at my kitchen window and stare at the sky or watch deer play across the street for the longest time, day after day, without getting bored.

I love life. I love all the beautiful, wonderful delights that every day is full of. My past was truly ugly, so I look for nothing but beauty even while working amidst the ugly others are dealing with. I never want to stop noticing flowers and clouds and animals and how the wind sounds when it weaves its way through tall grass. I want to embrace each day, each precious moment of life given to me.

Don’t miss the flowers. Don’t miss the trees. Don’t miss the wind. Don’t miss the sky. Don’t miss your life.

The post Don’t miss your life appeared first on Love Your Everyday Life.

The post See Differently appeared first on Love Your Everyday Life.

The post Beauty in the Storms appeared first on Love Your Everyday Life.

Share this with someone who inspires you.

You can download and print this image for free HERE!

The post Free to Print: Inspiration Dr. appeared first on Love Your Everyday Life.

My husband slowed the car.

“Do you want me to turn around?” he asked.

Usually I say no. Usually I just let it be a memory. Usually I don’t want to u-turn.

“Yes, please.”

I’ve been learning (again) that it’s really OK to u-turn and try things again. Sometimes you try again and it doesn’t work. Sometimes you try again and it’s now the best time to take that road.

The older I get, the more I am OK with changing my mind, turning back to try again, and just living without the need to “show them” what I can do. I am happy with me. And I’m happy to turn back and catch the view.

The post Make a U-Turn appeared first on Love Your Everyday Life.

The last time we were together, we laughed so much, I could barely take a proper photo. We struggled through trying to be serious for some headshots she needed, and we managed to get them, but every other photo was of her cracking up.

She never took life too seriously. But in the seriousness of everyday life and all its pushes and pulls, we couldn’t connect the dots on our schedules to be in the same place at the same time again. We stayed connected through social media, volleying life events back and forth, liking this photo or that update.

When she was fighting for her life the first time, she was farther away, out of reach (physically). And then she made it. She won that round. But the cancer was not done with her, and it came back with a vengeance. It would not go quietly, and neither would she. She continued to be light, to share truth, to share her reality with a huge dose of optimism. All the way until the end.

At the front of her memorial service, there sat some of the images I took of her on that windy, hilarious day. She looks serious in the images, those few that we got. I just smile because I know what happened in between. I know that the outtakes were her favorites, as well as mine. I know that we laughed, that we really, truly connected that day.

Years before, I sat in a hospital room with her before her sweet third daughter arrived. We got to know each other then, a visit that came because she told the social media world she was bored and needed visitors, and I happened to be free…and drawn to her. I happened to want to know her better. I happened to feel a connection.

I brought her fall in a jar on one of our visits. She loved the autumn season and was missing all the colors while confined to her sterile hospital room. The accommodations were necessary and worth the effort for a healthy daughter to be born, but she was still honest enough to say she was missing the world that was happening outside that room. So, a jar of fall — orange and yellow aspen leaves — a small taste of a season.

In the end, that’s what it felt like between us: a small taste of a season of friendship. Life doesn’t afford us all the time we desire for every person we meet. Life doesn’t allow for hours of laughter and bonding with everyone. Relationships sit idle, waiting. The ones truly worth pursuing don’t always get what they deserve. Life just isn’t accommodating. And sometimes we reach the end with those regrets, even though we get it. Even though we know time will run out — someone else’s clock will end before yours, and then yours will stop ticking too.

This fiery redhead left before we could forge into a new season. She left in the fall, one of her favorite seasons (because she gave equal love to them all), and she left while we were both busy trying to live. I think about those pictures I took of her, the ones that sat at the front of her memorial service, and I smile again. What an honor to photograph a life, to capture a beautiful person, a season.

What a joy to connect with beautiful people, even if the season is short. What a blessing to have one more moment to remember.

We all die. The question is, what season will you be in when that happens? I choose to laugh, to dance, to love, to live with all I have, even when the season is hard.

The post To Photograph a Season appeared first on Love Your Everyday Life.

All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.

I noticed recently when my youngest granddaughter was at my house how she was dancing around in this block of bright light in the otherwise mostly dark room. These are the moments I look for often, but even more when I want to capture a new memory differently.

Let me tell you, though — it’s not easy to grab the perfect shot you might have in your head when the subject is not quite two, moves like lightning, and does not care one iota about your creative ideas. You get what you get! But that’s also the appeal of seeing and documenting and watching for the right moment. And being fast, because she’s not going to take direction or hold her face toward the light for that special profile outline of magical light for too long. You better click!

Remember, light and shadow never stand still.

-Benjamin West

The post Shadow Play: Capturing a brief moment in time appeared first on Love Your Everyday Life.

The post Perspective appeared first on Love Your Everyday Life.

His daughter, about age 4, bounced up and down on her side of the booth, pointing at the TV. Her energy was radiant — and perhaps a little tiring.

“We should do that. We should go do that, Daddy!” And on and on. The screen showed extreme sports snowboarding. She chattered on, eyes wide. 

Propping his head up with his hands, you could tell Dad was exhausted. But he smiled at her, never telling her to be quiet, and never telling her that it was not likely that she would be doing extreme snowboarding anytime soon (or ever). She felt safe to chatter, safe to dream. 

In just that moment of time, a glimpse into a life, you could see the bonds that tied them together — safety, patience, adoration, love.

The post Love Your Everyday Life MicroStories appeared first on Love Your Everyday Life.