The Importance of Printing Your Photographs

Footprints in the sand leading to my 3 year old son filled with awe at the vast expanse of water before him. Click. Three children perched upon a bench outside our home in their Sunday best laughing, poking, fidgeting; all eyes fixed upon my lens for a brief moment. Click. My daughter, now a bride, shyly glances down to her bouquet while in the arms of her beloved. Click.

Click, click, click! As droplets of water make the ocean; as little grains of sand make the beach, one photograph taken and printed, added to the next photograph taken and printed, and so on create a priceless yet tangible memorial of a life; your life, your one precious amazing life. The birth of a baby, the graduation of a son, the first tulip of spring or the laughing children playing in puddles after a storm; these are the moments that make up our life. And, when collected, properly printed and properly stored or displayed, these moments can be relived again and again and again. When memory fails us the printed photograph can transport us back in time to smell, hear, feel and see things that have forever changed.

The power to stand still the hands of time? To scoop a moment from the fast moving stream of life and preserve it and hold it in your hands, fixing it unchanged for a lifetime? What a gift! What a power! What a privilege!

I am approaching my 50^th year walking on this earth, feeling life with all its extremes of joy and pain, love and loss, trials and victories, mountain tops and valleys. With 27 years of marriage under my belt, 4 children raised and homeschooled from Kindergarten through high school graduation, and a new baby granddaughter, I have had a lot of experience with life. I consider myself one of the fortunate ones that felt, early on, the need to immortalize the mortal, to lay a trap for the Time Bandit and capture stray moments to keep and to cherish for all my days. I have faithfully photographed the stages of our life and have made sure to print a large number of those images along the way. I have chosen to preserve them in a scrapbook style, or by framing them and hanging on the walls of our home, or by placing them in safe and proper photo albums or by keeping them in boxes under our bed. My printed photographs are among some of my most cherished possessions.

How many of you have tearfully tried to gather a few photographs of a recently departed loved one? A decent, true to life portrait that reflects back to you the love and the warmth of the person they were? How many actual, printed photographs do you have of yourself or of your children? In a generation of selfie-taking, Facebook-posting, Instagramming people, there seems to be an incredible dearth of actual, printed photographs; printed, physical images to be passed on from one generation to another. So, for a generation that takes so many pictures, how many of them will actually be able to be viewed by future generations? I heard someone say once, “In 50 years, the most photographed generation in history will have no pictures. Print what you want to preserve.” I agree.

Here’s an example of what to do with your printed images: hang them on ribbon boards or something similar. Two boards hang on our bedroom wall. I call these my portals of time.  Flanking my bureau they stand as two pillars, monuments of what makes us, us. These are printed reminders of why we are called a family and what that means forevermore. The past and the present intermingle here on one board. Moments held suspended in time on photographic paper gingerly tacked to a board on our wall.

Moments that have traveled through the bottleneck of the hourglass should be viewed with gratitude and not only as a window to our past, but also to our future. I look through these portals of time to see who I was and who I am and Whose I am by seeing where I’ve been and this solidifies a vision of where I am going and who I long to be.

I highly recommend finding the images of your past and placing them in your present; right before your face. I frequently stop and stare at these wonders, at these images that remind me of my position as wife, mother, daughter, sister. This reflection reminds me why I want to improve myself, to keep climbing upward and onward, and that I want to collect more memories to add to our wall. It reminds me to actively create the moments that we will want to capture and then pin to our wall.

Sometimes I find my husband stopping to look through these portals. My children, too, will occasionally be drawn to the boards as they notice a new image or two that has been added. When they do, they stop and stare. Their eyes drift from one image to the next, with a smile upon their face. They will point one out and vocalize their perspective of the memory. Often these comments produce laughter and, inevitable, warmth between the souls in the room.

Here’s another method of preserving images: Black Page Scrapbooks. Our scrapbooks wonderful examples of moments of life that have been plucked and preserved. My idea for using black pages came from my grandfather’s photo album. His measured about 6” x 9” with small photos mounted using black photo corners. A white ink was used to identify people and dates. It fascinated me to look into the eyes of my great-great-grandfather through a picture taken so long ago.

In our scrapbooks, poetry and pictures, quotes and homeschool work, notes and cards all mix together to tell our story.  These become a valuable piece of family history that truly is a legacy that will be passed on from one generation to the next. And, in the meantime, they provide much amusement and generate feelings of warmth and unity among our family. 

Now, how to create these pictures? Follow a few simples rules. Pictures of people are interesting. Great pictures of people are fascinating. I don’t know what it is about the printed picture, but people of all ages will pause and take in that encapsulated moment of time. You can be a creator of such treasures! Great portraits are a side effect of a strong human connection. And creating wonderful images can be very rewarding in many different ways.

So what makes a good image? I have four ideas. 

a.    Simple lines. According to Coco Chanel, "Simplicity is the keynote of all true elegance." Think of the photograph you are creating as a piece of art. Think of the end result, the message you want to convey. Blend colors and textures in your viewfinder just as the artists selects and mixes colors.

b.    No distracting clothing or background. It's good to have one main subject in your photograph. Your subject could be a group of people or an individual, but the viewer should know right away what the subject is. Sometimes it is important to keep your subject in context and include their immediate environment, but don't allow the environment to eclipse your subject.

c.    True connection of the subject to the one viewing the photograph or to another person within the photograph. Focus on the eyes and capture the soul!

d.   Try photographing ideas not just people or things. Ex: motherhood, love, devotion, bravery, etc.

People ever change; photos that are well printed and well preserved ever remain the same. Once you understand the transient nature of life; that all around you is constantly changing and that nothing around you today will be the same in a few tomorrows, then you will understand the preciousness of the printed photograph.

Take those pictures and print those pictures because photo paper memories don’t fade like our own memories. Oh, and, no one is going to pass down a USB drive from generation to generation.

Breath. No breath.

Nine o’clock in the evening. My husband and I walk the wide corridor of the ICU. Just over an hour ago we were on our way home from dinner with expectations of a quiet evening, now we meet the eyes of concentrating nurses and weary doctors.

It was a text from my friend that changed everything that night: “Mom went into cardiac arrest Tuesday night. She is in ICU. Doesn’t look good. I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch.”

Here it is room 410. I’ve never been to this hospital before. It’s clean. It’s cold. We turn the corner. Suddenly I sense the looming presence of something very dark, something very cold.

As the wide glass door to the room is opened and the curtain pulled back I notice some things: the patient’s eyes are closed; tubes and wires pump the semblance of life into her, artificially heaving the chest and pumping the blood round her mortal shell; the adult children’s eyes are fixed upon the doctor that speaks as he utters syllables in a non-committal tone while the nurses are bustling about with a sterile concern upon their faces.

I see my friend. She is a grown woman, now in her mid-thirties, but I still see her as a little girl. I was the family babysitter from the time she was an infant to the age of nine. Eventually life separated us. We went for so long without seeing each other, and even though we have spent some time together in the last 3 years, time in my heart stood still. She walks toward me. Hair is tussled and her face is tired from crying. I hold her close and she cries.

Ah, now I see the other one, her brother. Though he too is grown, I see not the signs of the years that have passed, only his boyish smile and sweet eyes; eyes that, in the years of my absence, have seen war and death and the rejection of the father that walked away from his young children. We hug. He thanks us for coming. He is a boy in the body of a man and she is a little girl trying to be a mommy and a wife.

I move toward the bed. There lies their mother. I realize very quickly that these two will soon be orphans. I see the death like stare in the eye that the doctor opens to help evaluate her condition. Her hands are swollen and are an odd color. Never have I witnessed such a scene before.

I look toward my friend who is desperately watching her mother. The girl within the woman cries out loud, “I’m so scared! Oh, mom, I’m so scared!” The boy within the man sits down with his head between his hands and says, “I’m losing my best friend and my mother all at once.” He sobs and sobs, “I couldn’t save her!”

The boy was with his mother when she had a massive heart attack. He called for help and proceeded to perform CPR until that help arrived. He had done the same thing for a fellow soldier in Iraq when two bullets pierced the heart. That soldier miraculously survived and he hoped for a similar outcome with his mother. The boy has been by her side since the heart attack, even sleeping in that very room on a window bench.

Talk of a “Do Not Resuscitate” order and of what mom would have wanted swirl about the room. The weight of decision presses down heavily upon the boy and the girl. Time has moved too quickly. The final grains of the hourglass of life tumble down the narrow passage; life and time rush to an end. Past and present rush together as two streams merging in a rocky place. Regrets and remembrances clamor for attention in the panicked minds of loved ones.

Wild is the storm that is rages as the mouth of eternity opens for another soul! My mind returns to another stormy night when the three of us huddled together in a large closet with a flashlight and prayed that the violent summer storm would pass and that mommy and daddy would come home quickly. Heart wrenching are the cries of grief! I long to hold them now and comfort them; to say a pray and to wipe their tears away and distract them with a treat or a toy or a favorite show and tell them it will all be okay. What a wild storm that whips through this room tonight! One will not survive it.

We huddle together again and pray. The girl curls up in the lap of the boy and they hold each other tightly as they weep. The vital signs are erratic now. The girl presses her head to her mother’s and cries, “It’s okay mom, you can let go,” all the while wishing she wouldn’t leave.

I notice the nurse has turned the monitor with the vital signs away from us. She alone is watching it with fixed eyes and a closed hand pressed to her face. We hold each other. We stand round the mother. I notice her hands, they are a strange blue. “Oh, dearest God, have mercy,” I pray. The children weep. Her arms are now like her hands. The pumps have stopped. Her body is still.

A doctor enters the room amidst the weeping and puts his stethoscope to her chest, looks up to us and shakes his head. “I’m very sorry,” he says. The storm has given wing to a spirit tonight and in its wake is an eerie calm broken only by sobbing. Sixty-eight years of life and breath; and then there was none.

Indeed, a thin veil is draped between the present and eternity. An imperceptible moment it is when the soul takes its flight to regions beyond. A birth, and there is noise and life and hopes and dreams; a death, and there is silence and loss and nothing.

A shell of man lying before us reminds those of us whose shells are still inhabited that we too will face the silencing of our life song; that we who remain should live and move and breathe and love. Breath. No breath. In the land of the living may this precious substance of breath, the most precious of temporary gifts, be used to convey our love to God and to man.

The final note of praise in the grand musical score of the Psalms sounds like this: “Let every thing that hath breath praise the LORD. Praise ye the LORD.”  May this note be the constant of our life, and may it be the note that forms our life song; and may this song form the bridge from this life to the next as we join the chorus of the ages in the glad and sweet refrain of, “Blessing and honor, and glory, and power be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever,” as our faith is turned to sight. Amen.

“Wherefore we receiving a kingdom which cannot be moved, let us have grace, whereby we may serve God acceptable with reverence and godly fear: for our God is a consuming fire.” Hebrews 12:28-29

For the Love of a Tree

Plane Tree, planted 1680

Ombra Mai Fu (Never Was A Shade)

"Tender and beautiful fronds
of my beloved plane tree,
let Fate smile upon you.
May thunder, lightning, and storms
never disturb your dear peace,
nor may you by blowing winds be profaned.

Never was a shade
of any plant
dearer and more lovely,
or more sweet."

     I understand! I have heard this piece of music before. This time, however, noticing the title I wanted to translate the words to discover what had so inspired the composer to create such beautiful sounds. "Ombra Mai Fu" means, "Never Was a Shade." How intriguing! My eyes fell immediately on a picture of a stately tree. I glanced quickly back to read the words of this small work of grand feeling and at once I began to weep. I understand this love, this feeling of beauty and reverence! I understand the impulsion that caused the author to pen words and string sounds to describe something that embodies so much meaning and feeling deep within the breast. 

     The poem speaks of the Plane Tree. The tree is one of those grand sorts of trees; tall and lovely with a thick, grey-brown twisty kind of trunk and branches staggered along it reaching first out and then up. The leaves have a lime-green hue. The base of the tree pictured has a large opening where someone could climb into and hide—a grand, glorious tree! A wonder! A creation designed to pierce the conscience and lift the heart and mind to higher regions.

     I love the works of God in creation that make me feel as if He had just left the very place where I now stand; and the smell of Him and the imprints of His hands can almost be perceived. The air is suddenly sweet and still and the light is seemingly altered.  A quickening of my spirit arouses my senses and my soul perceives His presence and my heart hears His voice. 

     To me, a tree is a symbol of permanence, fortitude and perseverance. It is a monument. It sees generations of small hands, toddling feet, curious climbers and shade-seekers; boys who think they are cowboys and girls setting up for tea. It hears their whispers, laughter and tears. It feels the weight of the mother's back pressed upon it, and the weight of her head as she looks upwards through the leaves to her Jehovah Jireh(The Lord will provide) and her El Roi (The One who sees her). 

     Sometimes, I come across two trees that stand as sentinels, flanking an empty space where once stood a  home; a place where a mother cleaned and swept endless dirt and children let the screen door slam behind them as they unmindfully galloped through reality while in their imaginary world.  A tree provides shelter for birds and shade for man; memorials for a loved one gone and a meeting place for a loved one near.

     Oh! The lessons of the trees! Hope is found as I see their branches flail and their trunks sway in a summer storm. What pleasure there is to witness the beauty as their leaves catch the glorious rays of sunset or the life-giving dew from heaven, testifying to God's faithful care. Every season brings its particular battering rams; but in the resistance springs the strength. 

     Life is a series of continual changes for me but the trees stand erect, firm, and resolute. Marks of age reside within their bark, mine reside without. I look out my window to the same trees, same scene, and I praise my God who changes not and who will fortify me with the strength I need to stand erect, firm and resolute until my task of shading, protecting, memorializing, hearing the laughter, tears, prayers, and whispers of loved ones is done. 

I am a Grandmother

...and I love it!

Ardent Devotion

My daughter and her beloved
 October 21, 2017

In my mind I can see the newlywed wife as she scurries round the house straightening up, checking on the dinner cooking in the kitchen, changes into a clean outfit and fixes her hair. Her beloved is coming home. Throughout the day her thoughts have centered back on him. She has planned a meal she knows he enjoys and has prepared this meal with a loving touch. She is devoted to him for he has committed himself to her and expresses his devotion through word and deed. The door opens and their eyes meet. The object of her affection is now before her and it feels like home.

Morning light has broken the dark hold of night. I move from my darkened room toward the eastern corner of my home. Warm light filters in through the windows and instinctively I draw near. I am here again and so is He. His letter to me sits on the small table beside the soft chair. I faintly hear the birds gratefully accepting their morning meal from the feeder hanging just outside and in the stillness of the rooms I am reminded of a sovereign God’s watchful eye over all His creation. I step into the embrace of my loving Father. I feel His deep love for me and my deep need for Him. I must have this glimpse of glory in the morning hours to prepare me for what I will face in the course of the day. My eye meets His as I look into His Word and I hear His voice through the text on the page; and it feels like home.

Why Ardent Devotion?

True love doesn’t end with feeling but with action. How do I express love and gratitude to the object of my affection? A love like I’ve never known was birthed in me when, upon hearing the Gospel message, the realization of my great sins and His great sacrifice tore through my soul. Profound guilt ravaged my conscience but with the acceptance of His profound love for me was burned up and swept away by desperate gratefulness and enormous relief. He saved my soul from the precipice of the burning depths of eternity. Such love can only be expressed in ardent devotion. Knowing that true love must be expressed in action, what would this ardent devotion to Jesus look like in my daily life?

Absorbing the Glory of His Presence

To begin with, I would give Him the first moments of my day in praise, prayer, and study. Adoration of His name would be the melody line of my song of praise. I wouldn’t miss a chance to sit quietly before the King of Kings, to hear from Him and to break open the bread of life and sup with Him, gaining nourishment for my soul. What an appointment to keep! What an opportunity to enter the holy of holies and minister unto Him while, at the same time, being ministered unto! As Moses’ face reflected the glory of God from his time spent with Him, so should mine glow not only from the flame of the Holy Spirit within, but also from my morning time spent dwelling in the brightness of the glory of His presence.

As Unto the Lord

Secondly, I would realize that God has placed me in a specific station or place of service. In my life, wife and mother is a calling from Him, therefore I must seek to fulfill those duties as unto Him. Practically speaking I would diligently keep house and care for all those who live here and for all who would pass over this threshold. I would see it as my duty to pray for them, to plan for them and to prepare for ways to bless them. I would seek to press on in this ministry that He has selected for me knowing it is my duty to enthusiastically encourage other believers to keep on trusting Him and to grow their faith in Him and to be a shining light that points to Christ for all those who have yet to come to know Him, beginning first with those in my own home.

Practicing the Presence of Christ

Lastly, ardent devotion would cause my thoughts to circle back around to Christ continually throughout my day. To help my mind in this I would fill it with thoughts of Him through Scripture and song so that my lips naturally speak of Him and His work of grace in my life. Ardent devotion would cause me to understand that all of life should be lived as before Him; every moment of everyday living in constant communion with Him. “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee: for he trusteth in Thee.” (Isaiah 26:3) A calm, content stillness will possess my being as all thoughts are passed first through the truths of God’s word.

The Beauty of Holiness

Psalm 29:2 calls us to “Give unto the LORD the glory due unto his name; worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness.” The beauty of holiness spoken here is the adornment of apartness and sacredness. A still and sacred holy place should be carved out within me as a dwelling place for Him who filleth the earth with His blessings and made the stars also. Have I been so foolish to forget that He is nearer to me than breathing? Know I not that God moves with purpose and in love and that He has chosen me a vessel fit for the Master’s use? I will stand in awe and seek to live with the touch of God in my fingertips and the love of God in my eyes. Holiness gives me a special kind of beauty that is well pleasing to my gracious heavenly Father.

Sweet communion as beloved speaks with beloved and lives his life yearning to please the other. True love must be seen in true action. Married or single, God awaits your loving devotion to Him. “Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fullness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.” (Psalm 16:11)

My Life in Five Pictures

Recently I saw a picture of Albert Einstein. He was seated at his desk; his very large and very cluttered desk. The quote beneath it read, “If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?” (A.Einstein)

I take comfort in this image now as I try to find a resting place on my desk for my forearms as I type this. I have many, many items of various sorts and of various levels of importance waiting their turn for my attention. I choose instead to type. I have learned to write when the wave of inspiration floods my mind.

In going through our photographs to sort them into creative scrapbooks I have found an interesting series of images of me throughout the years. As I lay them in chronological order, I see the story of my life.

Age 4

I am wearing the borrowed and terribly coveted bridal ensemble from Mrs. Fortunato’s Pre-school classroom. My mother brought me to the quaint and beautiful Bucks County stone home in the mornings and deposited me in the red barn-turned-classroom to play and to learn. I learned the “A Tisket a Tasket a Green and Yellow Basket” song here. It was here I had my debut as “Vixen” the reindeer in the Christmas play, and I always played the bride at dress up time. The dear Mrs. Fortunato, with her snow white straight chin-length hair and dark rimmed glasses, sweetly allowed me to take the outfit home on this particular day; a small but endearing act on her part. Here I stand in my bedroom, which I dearly loved, with its pink and green theme, ball-fringed curtain tie-backs and pink shag rug. I was a terribly happy child with only grand expectations for the wonderful and accepting world waiting to hand me my future. I smiled at the world and the world smiled back at me.

Age 18

It is my first day of community college. My car, my fashionable wide belt, my fluffy hair and my smile; I’m sure that’s all I’ll need. I’ve put on some weight over the last year as life begins to spin out of control. The white van in the background is the one my mother bought for her dried flower business. She is trying to earn money for the Great Departure. In one year, everything will change. I had already met my future husband two years prior to this image, but alas, in my 16 year old wisdom I moved him from “first boyfriend” status to “just a friend”. At this point in my life he is a dear friend to me.

Age 22

Honeymoon breakfast in Beach Haven, New Jersey. Ron stops to take a picture as we prepare to leave in our borrowed sports car.  I take a picture of him just before this one. I have shed my weight. I have also shed weights and plans in exchange for the rest that I trust will come from being with my friend for always. I trust all will work out. We rushed to plan a wedding in 6 weeks’ time. We are both 22 years old. In three short months I will become pregnant. I am unprepared. I keep smiling, looking hard for the world to smile back at me.

Age 33

Reality has come hard and in three years from this image I will battle fiercely with depression. The first years of marriage have had its trials and they seem to continue without sign of easing. Our normal life doesn’t seem to fit at all the one I ordered from the “This was Your Life” catalog. I’ve come to know the Lord and this has been a great help in anchoring my soul and in giving me purpose in my position as wife and mother, but I persist in trying to force my expectations of life onto the persistent circumstances and this tension produces an incredible strain.  Four children came in 7 years’ time. In this picture I am sitting on a stone wall at Fonthill, the location of our wedding reception. The four children are playing around a small pond in front of me just out of the lens’ view. This world couldn’t be more different and unfamiliar from the one just 11 years prior when I stood as a bride on this very spot. The Lord is using this time to break me and mold me into something I had never conceived. I know in my head and even in my heart that I am a blessed woman and these children that have been given to my husband and to me are gifts of incredible worth. I know that God will work it all out. I just can’t quite align my seemingly contrary circumstances to His apparent plan of good. I smile on the outside as I die on the inside.

Age 46

Thirteen years later. An event at church allows the girls and I to don our chapeaux. Grace takes this picture of me in the early morning light as we depart. I see a settledness in my features. In the years now past I have seen the perseverance of my husband and the consistent, faithful and benevolent care of my dear Lord. Though, at the time of this picture, the future is as unclear as it has ever been, I don’t seem to mind. I have seen how the Lord has led and I am content to walk by His side and not run ahead. I have seen one child married now, and at this point I am thinking it won’t be long until another flies, too. Little did I know how right I was. I love that I am dressed up and wearing a hat and that my sweet daughters are also decorated in their finery. Our children make us laugh and they make us proud. We have weathered the early storms and they have formed us.

We have built a home. We have sought to dispense love and wisdom to our children. We long for them to stand on their own with their eyes fixed on God and their hand in the hand of their very own loved ones. There is less, “I wonder…” now and more, “I see.” I worry sometimes how a quick burst into laughter at something poignant or sentimental melts right into a brief tearful fit of sobbing. Joy and sadness seem to dwell so closely now, but I’m okay with this. Love and loss, laughter and tears, victories and struggles all seem to be a part of this life and without the blessed mixture of them all we really wouldn’t be living.

At 22, when I was a new bride, I knew nothing of life, of determination, and of true wealth that is measured in that which has no price. I am as wealthy as can be. This reality, God’s economy, is the true reality and impoverished not am I. His custom made path for each person is right and true and just. I have, Lord willing, more miles to journey and am sure that more treacherous paths await me, but fearful not I choose to be. For He walks with me, carrying me when necessary, and teaches me, always teaches me, that His way is the blessed way.

Silly me, I was looking to the world to be so kind and benevolent. When I called out to Him, He accepted me and handed me my future. Now, I smile at Him and He smiles back at me. And His is the only smile I need.

Portals of Time

Two boards hang on our bedroom wall. Flanking my bureau they stand as two pillars, monuments of what makes us, us. On our wall we have placed printed reminders of why we are called a family and what that means forevermore.

The past and the present intermingle. Amazing it is to gaze into the eyes of a younger you, then step two feet to the left and stare into those same eyes in a mirror you purchased as a young bride never knowing of the reflections to come. Spring, winter, golden fall, pictures of my babies, my boys, my men; greenhouse with a youthful father of mine and his tender tomato plants; my young husband in his trademark jeans and blue flannel with his dog; weddings, graduations, a trip to the shore; armfuls of puppies; a yet-to-be first born in the womb of a naïve 23 year old woman hosting her first Easter; and sisters in dresses at 5 and at 12-- the same sisters in dresses again at 16 and 23; same chair, same shaded setting. 

Moments held suspended in time on photographic paper gingerly tacked to a board on our wall. In uncertain times it is good and right to fix one’s eyes on the solid and immoveable. Moments that have traveled through the bottleneck of the hourglass should be viewed with gratitude and as a window to our future. God frequently reminded the Israelites of where they had been, who they were and where He was taking them, which was invariably, closer to Himself. Likewise, images of the past remind us of God’s blessing and provision which, when meditated gratefully upon, serve to draw us closer to Him.

Therefore, it seems good to me to medialize; to bring the past, present and future together in one place; to draw together the pieces of what has brought me to this place in time. I look to see who I am and Whose I am by seeing where I’ve been and seek to envision where I am going. The particulars of where I am going aren’t as important as knowing that I must cleave to the One who is leading me there. There are clues from my past from which I may glean lessons and strength for my future.

I highly recommend finding the images of your past and placing them in your present; right before your face. I frequently stop and stare at these images and am reminded of my position as mother, wife, friend and daughter of the King. It reminds me why I want to improve myself and that I want to collect more memories to add to our wall. It reminds me to actively create the moments that we will want to capture and then pin to our wall.

Sometimes I find my husband stopping to look through these portals of time. My children, too, will occasionally be drawn to the boards as they notice a new image or two has been added. When they do, they stop and stare. Their eyes drift from one image to the next, with a smile upon their face. They will point one out and vocalize their perspective. Often these comments produce laughter and, inevitably, warmth between the spirits in the room.

As for the particulars, I found two pale mauve office boards, circa 1990 at a thrift store that must weigh at least 10 pounds each. They have cut outs in the back for use in mounting to the wall. They are made of a material that thumb tacks can be pressed into them. They measure about 18” x 36” x 1”. I purchased a yard of decorator fabric that complemented our room and used fabric glue and a staple gun to wrap the front side of the board. I use clear tacks to hold pictures to the board without piercing the actual picture. This is a truly simple craft for the non-crafty person. Any board will do that can be covered and that will hold a tack.

The images you gather are representative of the souls God has placed in your home. As governess of your home, please understand that, “Home influence may be estimated from the immense force of its impressions. It is the prerogative of home to make the first impression upon our nature, and to give that nature its first direction onward and upward. It uncovers the moral fountain, chooses its channel, and gives the stream its first impulse. It makes the ‘first stamp and sets the first seal’ upon the plastic nature of the child. It gives the first tone to our desires and furnishes ingredients that will either sweeten or embitter the whole cup of life…Our habits, too, are formed under the moulding power of home. The ‘tender twig’ is there bent, the spirit shaped, principles implanted, and the whole character is formed until it becomes a habit. Goodness or evil are there ‘resolved into necessity.’ Who does not feel this influence of home upon all his habits of life”  The Royal Path of Life, Home Influence.