I know, I know it’s been a long time. Cold Feet has been more of a blob than a blog lately. I have all kinds of excuses for this, but if you are like me, you don’t want excuses, you want action! Yeah, well, back off!

One of the things that’s contributed to the blockage in my blog is that I got a new camera this summer, a Fuji FinePix S5200 (This isn’t an excuse, it’s an explanation!). Suddenly I had a camera with real potential, especial for a newbie photographer with all his bliss of ignorance still fully intact. So, to make a long story short, I have a new love in my life – my camera.

What I love most about taking pictures is that it takes me somewhere else. There is something about having a camera in my hand that very much gives me a new window on the world. It allows me to look around with new eyes. The small, the insignificant, the common, can all become special with the right light, angle, and focus.

A camera also allows you to capture the moment. True, life can seem like a endless cycle of repetition and routine, but in reality each moment of each day is unique, never to happen the same way ever again. Today may feel and look the same as yesterday, but it isn’t. That sameness is artificial. It’s man-made. Every day is new. Every moment is new. So, there is nothing quite like finding a moment and capturing it. Unfortunately, my inexperience means that for every captured moment I get, I miss about ten others, but at least I got the one!

Through the viewer of my camera the world has become a magical place. Art and beauty can be found in the most unlikely places. With the right perspective, even what’s considered ugly can become an object of beauty and fascination, it just has to be put in the proper context. So for me, the camera has become a sacred exercise in appreciating what I used to walk by without looking. It’s become an exercise in seeing something more in what could easily be missed. It is a celebration of the uniqueness of the moment. Taking pictures has been an offering of prayer to the God of Creation who sees more than I will ever see – even with my camera.

I guess that is my ultimate satisfaction into this foray of photography. I sense that God is teaching me to see differently, to look differently, to appreciate differently. It’s like he is saying, “Open your eyes there is far more beauty, and value in this world than you’ve ever considered before. Don’t give up on it!” At least, now I am looking. I certainly don’t see everything there is to see, no one does, but I see more than I used to and that’s what matters.

In the days ahead I plan on using some of the pictures that I take as the launchpad for new scribbles in blogdom. In other words, I plan on shamelessly sharing my photos with you with the passion and the total disregard for propriety that a first-time grandfather might have. Until then, here are a few observations and questions from my shutter:

1. When was the last time you stopped and looked around? Life is a journey, not a race.

2. How many moments, opportunities have you missed-with your family, with your friends, with what really matters?

3. What makes something beautiful or ugly? More importantly, what do you need to do to find beauty? Make it part of your life-mission to find the beauty that everyone else misses–in life, in people, in situations, in faith. Sometimes the greatest beauty is covered in an unattractive veneer that has to be pealed away.

4. Recognize that you don’t see most of what happens around you. If that’s the case, then how silly would it be to base your entire life and future only on what you do see? I’d rather base my life on following the One who sees it all!

5. There is something wonderful about turning the common, ordinary and perhaps even downright ugly, into a work of art. A good photographer can do that with an image; Jesus does it with every soul offered to him. Paul puts it this way in his letter to the Ephesians: “For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so that we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” (Ephesians 2:10, NLT)

Get the picture?

If you’ve been reading “Cold Feet” for any length of time, you may have read the article entitled “Crocs & Christ” about Steve Irwin. I was a big fan! His death was such a shock last week! My heart goes out to his friends and family in the time of their loss.

I’ll miss his enthusiasm. You just don’t see that kind of energy expended by most people. Steve was like a chihuahua with a caffeine addiction! Steve was excited to do what he did. He didn’t have a job, he had a lifestyle that oozed from his convictions and passion. He was an amazing ambassador of wildlife and conservation. One report I saw indicated that he spent a considerable part of his income buying tracts of land to preserve habitats, not just in his native Australia, but also in other endangered areas of the world. I’m not surprised!

Neither was I surprised to see that Steve died the way he did. After all, he spent a lot of time with dangerous, unpredictable animals. He must have had several close calls over the years. Still, as I watched and read the reports of his death last week, one word continued to reverberate in my mental membrane. The word was ironic. In a way, Steve’s death was ironic. I mean, how many dangerous situations has Steve been in? How many dangerous animals had opportunity to do serious damage throughout the years and yet a rather docile, mostly-well behaved animal was the one to end his life.

While I am sad that we lose such a great personality and ambassador, I have a hard time being sad for Steve–can you possibly imagine any more fitting way for him to have died? At the same time, I come back to the word “ironic”. Steve’s death as a result of a Stingray attack is the first such death in Australia in sixty years! These creatures are known to be friendly and good natured. If you looked in their year book, the comment beside their picture would be, “swims well with others, a treat to be around!” And yet, such was not the case for Steve. Everyone has clearly stated that Steve was not provoking this animal. Diver after diver has stated they have been in very similar situations and felt safe. There may be a few theories or suggestions that come out of this event in the days ahead, but the bottom line seems to be that it was a fluke. It just happened. In fact, Steve wasn’t actually supposed to be in the water that day because of the weather. Filming had been canceled earlier in the day but he went out anyway. I prefer to think that it was merely Steve Irwin’s time. Why? I don’t know–God does!

Here are a few thoughts that came to mind:

1. No one knows how long they have. You can be a thrill seeker or the king of caution, it doesn’t matter. When it’s your time, it’s your time. Of course many people take stupid risks with their lives that lead to their early demise, but, regardless, our time is unknown. That’s why it is so important to REALLY LIVE! Steve dying at the age of forty-four isn’t half as sad as many who die at eighty, without having ever done anything with their lives. As a Christian this is particularly important to me. I don’t know how long I have. I have the greatest message of love ever given. I hold in my hand something that has eternal consequences. Am I out there swimming, even when the weather is bad? Am I spending my time focused on what matters? Am I doing everything I can to preserve souls? Is my faith in Christ as infectious as Steve’s love of animals?

2. Steve died in a situation that he had every reason to think was safe. Perhaps that was part of the problem. When you are dancing with the crocs, you watch your step. When you are facing an obviously dangerous situation, you prepare yourself. You look at the scenarios. You plan. I doubt very much that Steve was foolhardy. I don’t think he went beyond what he thought was safe. According to what others have said, what he did was safe, but… I think Steve was an expert at estimating his risk. He had to be, but the lesson for me is that sometimes it is the thing we consider safe that get us in the end. It is easy to discount spiritual danger. It is easy to, in the excitement of the moment, ignore the possible consequences. A lot of people have been stung in the heart as a result. Sometimes what we consider to be safe is most dangerous of all. To put it another way, with the wrong attitude, nothing is safe!

For my part, I wouldn’t mind leaving this world the same way Steve did. I’d love to die in the middle of doing something bold for the passion of my life, which is Christ. What’s your passion? How much time are you really spending in pursuing it?

It’s summertime–the season of daydreams and slipstreams. In the summer you don’t have to finish your thoughts. Thoughts are allowed to wobble and shimmer like the heat waves above a fresh patch of asphalt. So in the spirit of summer, let me throw a few random thoughts your way. None of these musings are to be considered perceptive, or even insightful, they are merely summer notions–ice cream ideas–toes in the water ponderings.

A couple of weeks ago I was at a wedding. As a pastor, if there are weddings, I tend to be a part of them. Me and weddings don’t get along! I love the fact that a man and a woman fall in love and want to live the rest of their lives together. I love the God-created mystery of two becoming one flesh but the actual stuff that surrounds weddings leave me rather cold. In my opinion, the stress and planning and showers and pattern picking and all the rest of the wedding refuse very nearly sucks the joy out of the occasion. Once in a long while, the couple gets through the ordeal relatively (note the double meaning) unscathed, but that is a rare and beautiful thing. Thankfully, this last wedding was very much like that.

But, what I really find interesting with this particular wedding was what happened at the wedding reception. I felt like an anthropologist discovering a new shift in the social fabric. This shift had to do with the traditional throwing of the bride’s bouquet. The loosely assembled female unattacheds, instead of reaching for the prize, did all they could to dodge the flowers. Without exception the flowers were treated like some kind of plague-encrusted manifestation of Beelzebub. Young ladies literally jumped out of the way. It was surreal to say the least! What does all this mean? I am not completely sure, but it made me laugh nervously and look the other way. Marriage, it seems, has fallen on hard times, or maybe it is just the human heart. Oddly, the world seems a little more cynical and lonely after that display.

Recently our family received a bobble head that now adorns the dashboard of our van. At any moment, when the urge strikes me, I proceed to flick the nose on our bobble Goofy and watch his head go up and down. The satisfaction this action brings to my soul is far more substantial than I would have imagined. I now know that there is a great power behind the bobble. Power to sooth. Power to relieve stress. Power to bring joy – even in a traffic jam! POWER!

It seems to me that if we genetically altered the human race to incorporate bobble head movement we would be far better off. How can you be mad at anyone whose head is bobbling? How can anyone whose head is bobbling be mad? Mark my words, the bobble head is the end to all wars! In the very least, wouldn’t we all profit from being a bit more flexible?

Right now I am on holidays. Doing some work around the house, spending time with my family. Thus far the holidays have been filled with variety and relaxation, not to mention physical work and some serious headway on my long list of home procrastinations. Often my life is distracted with the list of things I can’t do anything about. Sometimes I am numbed by my inabilities, so it’s a wonderful thing to be able to focus on a few things that I can fix and then cross them off my list. I need to work on spending more time on the fixable. Small accomplishments lead to bigger hopes. Small steps lead to greater faith.