Here’s a few things you’ve missed:
That day I made my her laugh
That one really late night
That place we used to live
That day we moved
That day I finally fit
That time we were small
That other time we were small
The day we played with friends
That day we got away
That night we just relaxed
That day at the beach
That day we picked a winner (or two)
One of the great pleasures of doing photography is the time I get to spend with friends and families. Over the past few years I’ve been doing family portraits for various seasons and occasions, and I wanted to share some of them with you. For those of you who have been to my portfolio site, some of these you will have already seen, but there’s definitely a lot of unpublished shots in this batch.
:: warning: “shaymless” self-promotion below ::
Come September I will begin to schedule family portraits for Christmas cards and holiday events, and I would love to photograph your family. I try to keep my sessions short and to the point and I definitely try to make it fun for the whole family. Feel free to contact me at shay[at]shaythomason[dot]com and let’s get together and make some memories. Until then, enjoy these from my past clients:
All photography by Shay Thomason. © Shay Thomason. All rights reserved.
Shot this over the weekend and thought it was fun. More of this series on my flickr account.
Three years ago my parents moved from a lifetime of residing in southern California to central Kentucky. Their new town is home to Abe Lincoln’s birthplace and you can literally walk the downtown area in about 5 minutes. I just got home (California) from visiting them for the past six days and I only have one thing to say: Kentucky is not my home.
It’s not that Kentucky is all bad–it does have it’s moments. Louisville is a pretty good city, for example. They boast that they are the 16th largest in the Union, but what I love are the old brick buildings and the Ohio river that it sits against. Also, there is something to say for the American history that Kentucky holds. Everywhere you go you’ll find bronze signs with gold lettering telling you that you’ve just entered a historic city and then explain the significance. But that might also be it’s downfall. The reality is these cities were probably a lot more exciting in the mid 1800’s then they are today because I don’t think anyone has done anything to keep them up in the past hundred and fifty years. But that didn’t stop my parents from loading us up in the car they borrowed (or in Kentucky it could be pronounced “burred”) and lead us around every place that might have any significance, historical or not. The view from the back the car wasn’t always bad as the photo above portrays. The chances of seeing a tractor in your lane with a nice water tower in the skyline isn’t that likely in southern California, so I had to get a shot of it at least for posterity. Nevertheless we saw most of what Kentucky has to offer in a few car rides and it’s not something to write home about–which is why I figured blogging might be the option in my case.
California, at least for now, is home to my home. I say “home to my home” because even as I’m writing this I’m realizing that my home really consists of more than a location, bedroom, kitchen, or even fond memories. Bethany (my lovely wife) was telling me about a blog she read the other day that discussed this very topic. The writer, CJ Mahaney’s daughter, basically explains how she isn’t sad that her parents are moving out of the house she grew up in. She explains how her parents aren’t ones to live in the past and how really home is “where mom is.” As I grow older and continue to establish my own home with my wife, I agree with this sentiment completely and would further add some qualifications to it.
Home for me really consists of the following: where my wife is, where my church is, and where God is choosing to use me. To be without my wife (and I don’t mean to sound cliche) would be like a half-me walking around–it would be weird, gross, and pretty awkward for those around me. She is the one that God designed for me and the more we grow together, the clearer that becomes. Furthermore, to be without a local church would be devastating to my spiritual growth. To miss the teaching of God’s word, the fellowship of other believers, and the constant use of my spiritual gift would leave me misguided and spiritually bankrupt. The church is really an extended family. These are people that I trust my life with and people that I want to be around all the time. They are my friends, my mentors, my brothers and sisters, and my teachers. I want to learn from their experiences, rub shoulders with them, share my prayer requests with them, hold the battleground with them, sing with them, learn with them, share the Gospel alongside them, and learn to love Christ more with them. Finally, I want to have God use me where I am. I don’t want to be idle in my obedience to God. I want to do what he says and trust him for the results. It’s in these things that my home is really established. If my home only consisted of my bedroom, some framed photographs of times past, and some simple memories it would missing some very key elements of my life and wouldn’t be much of a home at all–it would be missing God’s plan and God’s people, and those are things I just can’t live without.
Yesterday (Christmas eve) I drove down to Los Angeles to pick up a friend so he could celebrate Christmas with us and some mutual friends. As I was driving I called my dad to ask him his thoughts on what traffic in L.A. would be like on Christmas eve. My dad spent some 20+ years driving to and from Los Angeles, commuting to work so I figured he would be a good candidate to know something about what my travel would be like. But it was his answer to my simple question that killed me. He said, “I think you should be fine…” to which I replied, “great!”–but he didn’t stop there. He continued by adding, “The feelings about Christmas are really bad this year…they’ve taken Christ out of Christmas.” How exactly would Christ being taken out of Christmas affect my drive to L.A. I’m still trying to figure out, but the truth is–he was serious.
My dad grew up in a different time. He grew up in a time where saying “Merry Christmas” was the norm and wouldn’t turn heads or bring about an awkward stare. But this hasn’t been the case for my generation. I’ve grown up in the “Happy Holidays” transition time. That is-the era in which we have tried to make the switch from saying “Merry Christmas” to “Happy Holidays” in hopes of not offending anyone. In fact, I was out with my wife this past week and I overheard a conversation that made me laugh. A lady was telling her family who was with her a story about a child at a restaurant that evening. Apparently the waiter came to the table to give them back their card and check and said “Happy Holidays” to which this child replied “We celebrate Christmas!” That really sums up where we’re at today: in a constant, silly battle as to what to say, when to say it, and how to say it, and all in hopes of not offending anyone by adding the word “Christ” to our greetings.
As I sit here this Christmas morning my heart is drawn to think about these things because this is the morning when Christians celebrate the birth of a Savior. Yes, Christians will most likely also participate in the cultural thing that is Christmas with the lighted tree, sharing gifts, and eating a meal together and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. But I also want to remind myself (and that’s probably why I’m writing this) that today is the day I celebrate the birth of God coming to this world as a baby. Humbling himself even to become a human and ultimately humbling himself to take away the penalty of my sin on the cross. This truth alone should be enough for me to be joyous today, even despite a culture that wants to remove Christ from everything.
Every so often I find myself overwhelmed by God’s grace in my life. Sometimes they are small things, but when I start thinking about my whole life and I look back and see how God has used so many people and so many situations to make me the man He wants me to be–I get overwhelmed emotionally. Today I came across some photos of my home church of which I’m not in or anything, yet as I looked at them I began to weep. There are photos of young people painting houses for “Neighborhood Impact Paint Day!” and other images of church BBQ’s and game days. And I was reminded of the place where God first showed me the Truth of the Gospel I couldn’t help–and still can’t–but be amazed and simply overwhelmed by His good grace.
I need to look back a lot. It’s not that I don’t see God doing amazing things in my life today, because He is and has, but I need to look back and remember how far God has brought me and cared for me so I don’t get prideful. It’s so simple for me to get caught in the trap of thinking that I did anything to deserve the life God has provided or that I should get any glory for His work. The truth is, apart from His grace–I’m just another lost sinner in need of a Savior. Apart from His plan, His sovereign will, His work, His love–I am nothing. Even coming to Salvation wasn’t something I did, it was a gift given to me by Him and I am eternally grateful. That’s all for today.
As I write this it’s 3:45am…. yes, I said AM!
We’re off to be with family in the Great Northwest so I thought I’d leave you with the above photo. It’s a shot I took from a plane of Mt. Rainier. If there’s one thing that defines the great state of Washington, it’s that mountain. They’re hard core about their mountains up there… bunch of mountain snobs.
That’s all from me… have a great Labor Day Weekend.
Last night I had a strange dream. I stole a car from a high school friend–actually it was his dad’s car. I then proceeded to drive as fast as I could towards the nearest freeway entrance as an escape route. Everything seemed to be going great–no traffic (which is rare in L.A.) and the entrance was a straight downhill slope, just perfect for my needs. At first the entrance looked normal, but as soon as I made a right turn to jump on it, the road turned to rocks. These weren’t just little pebbles, these were boulders. Of course this piece of junk Oldsmobile bottomed out and there I was stuck on four or five large rocks not about to go anywhere. I’m pretty sure these things just popped up right out of the ground, because I’m telling you–I might be dumb enough to steal a friends car, but I’m not dumb enough to drive it over the Rocky mountains overpass. So after getting my bearings back I figured I’d unbuckle and get out the heck out of there. But unfortunately, that’s not where it ended.
Lately I’ve been having some really odd dreams, but it’s not just the dreams that are odd–it’s what I’m doing in real life while my imagination is out of control. In the past two weeks I have woken Bethany and myself up three times because I’m audibly proclaiming these dreams. No, I’m not speaking full sentences, I’m just basically yelling. The first two times it happened I remember just wanting out of my dream, so I thought I’d yell. I guess they were more like nightmares, but I don’t remember them like the one I had last night… which is where we left off.
After I unbuckled to get out of the car that I had just destroyed, I turned to open the door and BAM!…some crazy grandma lady was all up in my window yelling and screaming. I vaguely remember her wearing a muumuu and being of Asian decent, but don’t quote me on that. I guess she wasn’t happy that I was now blocking the entrance to the freeway and when you’re in L.A., that’s just not cool–not even for grandmas. And that’s when I start yelling really loud. I mean, c’mon–how would you react if some wild women was trying to attack you? It freaked me out! Thankfully, I woke my wife up with my audibles and she was able to wake me up before things got out of hand.
Don’t ask me where I get this stuff. I promise I’m not watching late night Sci-Fi or fighting with any of the many grandmas here in the old folks home where we live. But I am starting to worry that my reactions are going to escalate and freak my wife out more than I already have. So if you see Bethany around you can joke and laugh about my strangeness, but be sure and give her a nice hug and reassure that’s she doing the right thing by waking me up.
Today wasn’t a normal day for me–I worked on my wife’s car. I’ve never really been “Mr. Fix-It”, but I was willing to give it a shot today. For a few months now we have been forced to get in to Bethany’s 20 year old Toyota Corolla (which I call “Black Magic”) from the passenger side. The door handle on the driver’s side decided it didn’t feel like working and we’ve been perplexed as to how to fix it for some time now. But after months of this annoying problem, I decided that today I would fix it. Actually, it really wasn’t all that hard and if it were not for the learning curve of how to disassemble a car door, it probably wouldn’t have taken that long. Thankfully I have 2 fathers (birth father and father-in-law) that were able to guide me through some of the processes to keep me moving forward in my mission. With only about 3 hours of work–including driving to a from Pep Boys twice–I finally got the door fixed, put back together, and the wife is quite happy. But the point isn’t that I fixed the car, it’s really about dads.
My dad really was Mr. Fix-It. I’m convinced that man could fix anything and everything that is mechanical. I’ve seen him take engines apart, air conditioners, thermostats, dishwashers and many other items and put them back together in a functional fashion. The same goes for my father-in-law. He too is a very handy guy and though I can’t say I grew up seeing him fix things, I’m confident that he could get the job done if need be. I guess it just comes with territory of being a dad. And as I drove around town today picking up parts and getting the right tools, I felt like a got a glimpse of being a dad. Dads do things because they love their families. They also love accomplishing tasks and getting jobs done–that’s probably a guy thing too, but mainly it’s a dad thing. Dads have to be able to think outside the box and get creative when they don’t know what they’re doing. They have to be able to learn on-the-fly and act like they know what they’re talking about to the “super knowledgeable” sales guy at that auto parts store. They have to be confident in front of their wives and convince them that the car door will actually work again and that the scratch they just made on the door isn’t noticeable or already existed. Dads have to take their Saturdays off and work the yard, fix the car, mow the grass, clean the garage, etc. Even today when I called my own dad for help he was out in the yard and I quote “taking these 1/2 inch weeds, loading them in a wheel barrow, and putting them a big pile so I can burn them.” That’s just what dads do.
I know tomorrow is Father’s Day and many will celebrate with gifts and big meals, which is great. But can I urge you to thank your dad for the many hours he spent putting bikes together so you could ride with your friends. Thank him for playing catch with you so you could learn to throw the ball just right. Thank him for going to work at 4:30 every weekday so you could live in a house and play in the yard that he mows. Thank your dad for taking care of your mom and bringing her flowers, cards, chocolate and remembering their anniversary. Thank him for showing you the way to hold a screw driver, start the grill, hold a baseball bat, and chop wood. Don’t forget to thank him for showing you how to fix a leaky faucet and at the same time, how not to fix a leaky faucet. Thank dad for buying you cleats, shin guards, and a soccer ball so you could go to practice equipped. Thank him for taking you to “urgent care” when soccer practice didn’t go as planned. Thank him for showing you how to tie a tie, drive a car, and how to apply for a job. Thank your dad for whatever you’ve learned over the years that you are just starting to apply in your life. For me, it was fixing a car door, but for you it might be something different–either way, you know you wouldn’t have been able to do it without him.
Today is one of those days I just need to write.
I met some of my family for the first time on Sunday. Without going through a long, drawn out explanation, it really wasn’t the first time, but it might as well have been. It was probably one of the largest sibling gatherings that I have seen, other than my grandpa dying. It was nice to visit with them without the death of our grandpa looming over our heads. Plus, I think I was 16 when that happened, so being a few years older helped. Nevertheless, the night was enjoyable. We ate a great meal that one of my sister’s made, played foosball with my nephews and brother, and got to talk about what has happened in the past ten years.
I didn’t grow up knowing some of my family. It’s not a choice that I made, nor do I think it’s any one person’s fault. But I feel that experience has skewed my view of what family looks like. That’s definitely an area where marriage has helped. I have been able to see and be apart of my own family, as well as see the inner workings of my wife’s family. Sure, every family has their quirks, but family is probably the quirkiest. But for about two hours, last Sunday night, I sat in a room with three sisters, one brother, one step sister (sort of), and at least five of my nieces and nephews.
After my wife and I left, I called my dad. Of the children he has raised I am probably the closest with him, and I wanted him to know what had occurred. My hope was that it would encourage him–that it would bring joy to his heart to hear of his children being together. I believe it did. His initial reaction was surprise, which then lead to realization. We talked again on Monday, and he was still in shock. He said he sat in his easy chair for a few hours after I called him that night and just thanked God for what had happened. Hopefully that gives you an idea of how big of a deal this was.
You see, I want to know my family, but I’m scared at times. Though these people have the same blood as me, I don’t know them anymore than I know the President of The United States. But the Lord has opened a door for me. In fact, it’s wide open and I feel like I just took a step in and looked around a bit. It still seems dark in this room. I can barely make out the faces, but I know they look familiar. Maybe if I step in all the way, and grab a flashlight I might be able to make contact with those dimly lit faces. Nevermind, just flip the light switch…
