Today, my friend Benji and I celebrated people. We went into Lancaster City with only one plan: to give people professional photographs of themselves and their loved ones as a Christmas gift. We believe each person deserves to be celebrated. In that conviction, we set out with a “portable studio” and a prayer that God would guide our steps. He did, in the most beautiful ways.
We arranged, set up and doted on people. The children sparkled as they were adored and praised as the camera flashed. We wanted each person to feel cherished after we left–cherished just as Jesus cherishes them.
We didn’t come with an agenda to preach or to tell anybody anything. We came as learners, wanting to truly hear the people… to see them… and to express to them how valuable they were by photographing them.
Who do we see?
Chuck and Mateo sat at the bus stop. Chuck, an 80 year old Korean war vet, was going home from visiting his girlfriend. Mateo, a jolly man with limited English, giggled and gave me hugs every other sentence. He told me in Spanish (how thankful I am for the little I know!) that our testimony was one of happiness. I laughed and agreed. We are very happy. He gave me another hug. Chuck wasn’t so happy. He had a hard life. Benji sat with him and listened. That’s the key to enter into anyone’s heart: listening.
Across the street stood two men, beer in hand. We talked to them, asked if we could give them a photo session. They eagerly agreed. We found ourselves in a living room, taking a picture of a man with a Santa hat. Pablo, a sad man, sat in the chair. He started to talk. He told a sad story of how his girlfriend of twenty-five years died in a tragic fire several years ago. As Benji photographed his friend, he intently told me the story three times. Whenever my eyes would veer from his, he’d get close enough for me to smell his beer-breath and plead, “Are you listening to me?” “Yes, I’m listening,” I assured him and took in the pain of the story afresh. He only had one picture of his girl, Barbara… a fading, old Poloraid. It hurt to look at it.
We went to two families with many children. I loved watching the children dance with merriment as the camera flashed. They felt cherished. Each one had dreams tucked into their little hearts–each had a future, waiting for them. As the little hands were folded, and the innocent, shy smiles shone at us, I wish that I could always keep them that innocent and darling. But, of course, it’s not possible. But, today, we can celebrate them. Celebrate the children, celebrate the bitter old men, and the weary mothers.
The snow started to fall in the afternoon–huge, intricate snowflakes dancing in the skies. It seems to me that God was celebrating with us, too.
