Wait, Where Did My Keys Go? | Reflections on 2011

“Open your mouth and sing out your song. Life is short as the day is long. Can't leave you my body, but I'll leave you a tune. This is my legacy, cheers to you.”
-Brooke Fraser

I have a confession to make – keeping track of my keys is a difficult task. I have a tendency to unlock a door and throw the keys down, not paying any attention to where they land. Often, through the course of my work, the keys get covered up with papers, books, and various items, which leads to a panicked tousle as I attempt to leave the room. And people wonder why my office is messy.

It's been a year of milestones, both personally and professionally. Friendships have been strengthened to points I never knew were possible. Goals have been reached and surpassed. I sit here and remember highlights – watching The Next Big Thing, an event that I poured my entire being into, become a successful reality; winning an ARTIE and having my artwork affirmed by both peers and professionals; bringing Switchfoot and Anberlin, two of Christian music's most influential bands to tiny Siloam Springs, Arkansas – wow. Then there are the other highlights, the ones that are so much more meaningful and important – sitting with a friend at two am on the night of one of the biggest blizzards Arkansas has ever seen and witnessing our surface-level friendship turn into a deep, life-changing relationship; long healing talks over tea with another friend; sharing life with a group of amazing guys who live on a hall named Summit State; late-night gallivanting doing daring deeds; seeing my family for the holidays after almost a year of separation. This year has been incredible.

The high points are paired with the low points. Paralyzing insecurities that left me helpless and searching. Watching as a dear friend was put in the hospital and dealing with the heart-wrenching pain of saying goodbye. Breaking down as the reality of a broken world sunk in, showing me that some of my deepest hopes and dreams must be surrendered. Working through anger and mild depression after harsh words were said by a person I trusted.

I am so blessed.

I see the thread that He has woven throughout the memories. The places where the needle penetrated, the places where souls were stitched together, and the places where the beauty of the tapestry brilliantly burst forth. Here I am, still in process. The needle will penetrate again. Yet, if 2011 is any indication of what is to be, let the stitches come. I am ready and willing, a smile on my face, with laughter not too far behind.

The Triune Being doesn't leave me like I leave my keys. He doesn't toss me off to the side, throw junk onto me, and then remember me later forgetting where I am.

He holds onto me, closely.  

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25 Minutes | A Story of Help Portrait

1. Find somebody in need.
2. Take their portrait.
It's that simple.
The Help Portrait Mission

Laura and me in Studio 2

Watch this before reading.

This morning my alarm went off right as I was getting comfortable. Generally when this happens, I hit the snooze button, roll over and go back to sleep. Then I repeat that same process several times. Life as a college student.

But today was different. Instead of rolling over into that one elusive spot, I wedged open my eyes, climbed down to the floor, and jumped in the shower. As my brain began to realize that sleepy time was now over, thoughts began to flood as quickly as the water peppering my body. I knew I was about to do something that would impact me, but I had no clue what to expect.

Two hours later, after watching a foggy sunrise on the long drive, our small group arrived in Bentonville to participate in our first Help Portrait ever. With anticipation, my partner Laura and I discussed our shooting strategies and ideas for the day as we tested lenses, batteries, lights, and put the finishing touches on Studio 2 - our home for the next nine hours. The finishing touch, a folksy Pandora station featuring the likes of The Civil Wars and Mumford, was put into place as our studio's assistant ran us through the day's schedule. Eight families are going to come through that door. It is mine and Laura's job to make them feel beautiful. This most likely will be the first time any of these people have ever had their pictures done by professional photographers. We get 25 minutes with each family. Down the hall, in Studios 1-9, these same details are being discussed. 25 minutes.

Our first subjects are late. Our assistant brings them in and lets us know that we have about 10 minutes. Single mother. Newborn baby. "She just got out of ICU last week" the mother says timidly, barely meeting our eyes, "She's two weeks old." Between flashes we learn that the baby only weighed two pounds when she was born.  We chat. Laura gushes. A smile begins to form in the mother's eyes. Soon, the smile spreads to her mouth. Joy. 10 minutes. The now seven pound baby opens her eyes for the first time to look at us as they leave Studio 2. I look at Laura, tears are forming in the corners of her eyes.

I walk the memory card down the hall, past multiple other studios, and hand it off to our editor. Back at Studio 2, our assistant brings in our next subjects. Another mother with two kids, ages one and two, pregnant with her third. The kids aren't interested in coming into our studio, but would rather run up and down the hall. Ten minutes later, we coax them in and shut the door. Laura and I look at each other. 25 minutes. The kids are shy, the mother is worried about her appearance. We smile, laugh, joke. Everyone loosens up. Boom. The kids are running everywhere now. "Look, that's you on the screen! Who is that?!" Our assistant appears. We're just getting started. "Your next family has canceled, you have more time." Relief. More pictures. The toddlers are hugging us now. The mother is laughing. Flash. Flash. Time's up.

"She doesn't smile," our next subjects, a single mother with her four year old daughter, "Awhile ago they took pictures of her at her school. When I got them back she wasn't smiling in any of them." Flash. Blank stare. Laura to mom - "You look like a model! Have you ever modeled before?" "Yes, when I was younger, then I got too fat." Flash, flash. We smile, laugh. Mom starts to smile and play with her daughter. She tosses her up into the air and catches her. Flash. Toss. Flash. Then a smile appears on the little girl's face. A big smile. Flash. Flash. 25 minutes.

Lunch break. On our way back to Studio 2, Ron - one of the people responsible for escorting the subjects from registration downstairs to the studios upstairs - catches me. "We just gave the finished prints to the mother and daughter you just shot. She took one look at them and burst into tears." Ron has tears in his eyes. I tear up.

Two more families. Many smiles, lots of laughter. Another break. Laura and I wonder if anyone else is going to visit Studio 2. As we begin to think that all our other families haven't shown up, our assistant brings in our final subjects. A mother, probably my age, and two daughters, ages two and six months. After a short amount of time, smiles are coaxed out of everyone. The two girls attach themselves to "Miss Laura." Flash. Smiles. Big hugs. 25 minutes. Mom literally has to pry the two year old out of Laura's arms. The little girl cries. Laura cries.

We deliver the last prints to the mother - the first time of the day we personally get to hand our work to the subjects. "Oh wow. Those are beautiful." The two year old spots Laura and runs into her arms. The mother hugs us tightly and whispers "Thank you so much. Thank you." We say goodbye. Laura cries again. I tear up.

We pack up all our equipment and say goodbye to Studio 2 and all of the photographers who are now friends. On the drive home, "We are so blessed."

We'll probably never see any of the families again. We'll probably never see the photographs we created today. But, we will remember the smiles and the tears. We only gave photographs today. We received so much more. Our photographs may not change any of our subjects lives, but our subjects certainly changed ours.

I'm crying again.
-Matthias

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