Underground, the Real moments

Once upon a time ago, I was living in a season of needing to remind myself of what was good, so as to not get lost in the places I was lost.  And, in that same season, it was painfully clear to me that I had shut my mind and my memory to much of my life leading up to that point.

It occurred to me that when my brothers or my friends were to talk about "remember when?!"....I could not, in point of fact, remember.
But, show me a picture?  Suddenly, there I was, returned.

And so, this blog began with dual purpose:
Look at what's good, and remember it.

And it turned out that I loved to blog, loved the creative outlet of mixing pictures with words, recording moments and spinning them into story.

Which, fast forward to how I've come to approach life, means:
I always have a blog in mind.
And I take a lot of pictures.

There is one person in my life, however, who challenges me on this.  Frequently.  Quite verbally, actually.

And, via other means of communication:

It makes the moment "un-real" she says,
to stop what you're doing and take a picture.
[She doesn't like to make moments "un-real",
if you couldn't tell.]  

What she means is "we're sharing in this time together, and you just broke the moment by drawing attention to it".

She's a wise child.

I thought about this, over the weekend, during moments where whipping out the camera would have been truly odd:

Moments like lounging on the bed, in front of the tv for after-school relaxing, a messy mound of limbs all wrapped up together...

Moments of early morning as I wrap myself in my sweater and pretend that I am functional alongside  9-year-old commentary, such as, "you seem grumpy..."...

Moments of conversation over hair brushing and braiding, before we head out the door and share more thoughts together, walking along to school, our sides bumping together in easy camaraderie as we go...

Moments of overhearing the precious and time-stamped play conversation of these two not-yet-grown girls, or the singing loudly in the car, scatting and laughter all thrown in together...

These are the moments that I found myself knitting together in my heart.  These are the underground, the stolen moments.  The real ones.

Because here's the thing: No picture, no blog can ever capture the fullness of the sinews of life that get shared in between the camera.  It can't pour the feelings back in to you, can't keep the funny turn of phrase and the laughter that accompanies it inside of a magic jar.  It can't replay the little hand finding mine because she wants to know I'm there or the lilt of the laughing voice, calling my name.  It can't re-create the connection of "here we are, sharing together", no matter how much I want to hold on to--to not lose--that precious moment of time.

But, of course:  Still, I take the pictures.  Still, I write the blog.

Because here's the other thing:  That one captured moment can remind you that all the rest was there.

Would we truly remember how fun it was

  to dance in the bathroom with wildly done make-up and hair

if we didn't have a document like this to look back on?

But I hear her, that wise child of my soul:

This blog started because I was afraid of losing the moments, 

when the real moments are the underground moments, 

tucked inside of my heart.