FIERCE LOVE. No limits.

So this is my current compelling but shaking-in-my-boots-at-the-very-sound-of-it mantra. Fierce love. No limits. An act of the will. No matter what.

I can't do it. Not even close.

I am mesmerized and awe-struck at the love I've witnessed in others. Inspired even. I haven't had to love like this. Yet. I'm captivated and otherwise charmed by the love of a fellow Mama, Kate, who both suffered and embraced a level of love for her lost son that is equal parts heart-wrenching and beautiful. Or Gayle Haggard who chose to love her husband because of who he was, not what he did.

Love.
Without fear.
By choice.
Given freely without asking anything in return.
Does not lose heart.
Perseveres patiently and bravely.
Endures misfortunes and troubles.
Kind.
Does not envy.
Does not parade itself about.
Is not provoked, irritated, angered or exasperated.
Does not rejoice in injustice.
Endures all things.
Conceals the errors of others.
Protects.
Believes.
Hopes.
Never fails. Ever.

Nope, can't do it. I can't seem to love like this. Oh, I want to be loved like this, but I can't pay it back.

*May the Lord make you increase and overflow in love for one another. This love, agape, is love by choice, an act of the will; an unconditional love demonstrated by an undefeatable benevolence and unconquerable goodwill that always seeks the highest good of the other no matter what; a self-sacrificing love that is given freely without asking anything in return and without considering the worth of it's object. You do this so that God may establish and strengthen your hearts as blameless and holy before your God and Father.* 1 Thessalonians 3:12-13 (taken from several sources: 'In Pursuit of God's Heart' by R. Crawford, NIV, and Strong's Concordance)

So with God I'm decked out, geared up, stocked, feathered and endowed. He will increase my love for others. Terrential downpours of sticky sweet, undying, enduring-heaping-mountains-of-crap-with-not-the-least-bit-of-ill-will, patient, kind, long-lasting love all for me to dish out to my preferred list of love suckers, I mean, friends and family.

That sounded crass. Was that crass? Darn, meant to sound genuine, honestly.

I'm merely scratching the surface with my attempts at this ridiculous, crazy love that I know is being asked of me. My amazingly beautiful, majestic, gloriously gracious God is asking me to love like this. Because I think, with His unrelenting help, it's possible. Christine Marie Sweet, choose love even when it hurts. Even with it feels like a thorn, no, a machete in your side. Even when your spent, empty. Even when it's undeserved. Do it especially then.

O God, are you here? Are you listening? I need you for this so desperately. How I long to love my husband, children, everyone the way you endlessly love me. I'm at least armed. I'm at least presumably equipped. What am I saying, I'm totally equipped. Hmmm, now how do you use this blooming thing? Anyway, we'll see how it pans out. Stay tuned, or call my husband at 757-333-LOVE.

Just them.

What if at the end of the day I'm not doing what really matters? Like playing with my kids, really playing, quality playing, and not the kind where I'm acting like I'm playing but my mind is elsewhere, on dirty dishes, or showers, or facebook, or God even.

Yes, I really said that.

Because when it's 7:30 at night and I'm sighing in relief at bedtime's final arrival, I wonder. Did I see them today? Did I hear them, listen to them? And it's not 5 minutes after they're sound asleep that I don't ache to go in and scoop Zion up out of his crib and hold him for a while, nestled on my chest, knowing him. Or to slip into bed with Jersey under her flannel sheets next to her warm skin and soft hair, breathing her in and begging God to make her stay like this forever. It happens so often like this.

These indescribably normal, everyday moments are hissing by me so fast I'm wracked with whiplash and I don't know how to pause time and cement these frames of glorious-ness in mind and know that in 25 years I can go back and hold my kids, warm from a nap in my arms and it makes me mad.

There's nothing better than them. Just them in their clothes that smell of breakfast and disheveled hair and really wet kisses. Hearing Zion say *Mama, Mamaaa, MAMAAAAA* with intensity and love and Jersey telling me about baby dolls, and Astro Girl, and friends, and summer. Seeing her come into my room in the morning and telling me it's too sunny and not meaning the sun but my lamp. Feeling the weight of my son grow heavier with each turn of the page of The Big Red Barn as he makes his way to sleep and peace. Hearing about Jersey's day at school with expressions I don't recognize because she's growing so stunningly fast. Watching her enter a reality that is tangible to her as she sings over, dresses and nurses her baby doll, taking time and care and patience. Hearing Zion say, i wu wu wu, and noon, and aiwuhwuh with arms held up, and theth, and dado, and tith, and the like and knowing exactly what he means and just how to make it better. Accepting a hopeful request from Jersey to play baby dolls or a game and seeing her light up when I say yes.

No, there's really nothing better than them.

In light of this, here are some pictures, unedited, unscripted, unposed. Just them.

Hear O Israel and the like.

So this morning I was praying through a few scriptures for my hot man and kids and heard myself muttering Bible lingo like it was my job (phrase credit: K. McGrath). You know words like *behold* and *O God* and *beseech*. Hmmm, yeah, so I don't actually talk like that, so why do I talk to God like that? Can't you just hear me? *I beseech you therefore, O Brian, to live this moment worthy of your calling as 'Dada' and change this godforsaken diaper. Hear O Husband, I ask that you would not allow any negative thought to enter your mind concerning me, but instead be transformed into the likeness of our Lord, the Holy One of Israel.*

Never said it.

I don't know though, there's something about praying like that, using the very words of scripture when talking to our awesome God that just feels good to me. I have a lot of friends who have eighty-sixed this way of praying and adopted more modern jargon when talking to *JC* in an effort to be more feel-real or authentic. I get it, I so do, and I think it rocks. But for me, in a good way, there's something other-worldly about God, and so when I'm communicating with Him it just feels appropriate to sound like I'm from another planet too.

So on that note, this is my prayer for you. Today. This moment.

God I pray that each of my friends and family would acknowledge you, the God of their fathers, and serve you with whole-hearted devotion and with a willing mind, for you search their hearts and you understand every motive behind their thoughts. (1 Chronicles 28:9) May they be clear-minded and self-controlled so they can pray. (1 Peter 4:7) Prepare their minds for action, O God and may they set their hope fully on Christ Jesus. (1 Peter 1:13) Pour out your Spirit on them that they would be ever increasing in their knowledge of you and may they have the power to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ. May they know this love that surpasses knowledge that they may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. (Ephesians 3:18)

caustic soul madness and deflated balloons.

My heart is on the verge of something great, revolutionary even; To my soul anyway. I'm getting this sense, this feeling. Presumptively I believe it's "the Lord", soberly I believe it's something far more mortal. My resident guerrillas inevitably emerge to hose me with their caustic soul-battering slurs of *Fraud! Fraud! Fraud! You silly little girl with your deflated, subject-to-pooling-where-you-lie-stomach and your shallow mind, and your godforsaken well of so-called knowledge. You'll be found out, you will.*

*Darn.*

The truth is, I've learned to be amused by their banterings, their curses. They've become less consequential, less inducing. Indeed, I've happened upon the God who holds my breath in His hands and owns all my ways. He has captured me fully. I am now undeniably and irrevocably His; always have been. There's something about the written Word of God that just makes things better, simpler, more sound. Oh crap! Here they come. *Seriously, Christie? You've just now figured this out?*

*Silly Satan.*



So yeah, so my stomach looks, in part, like it belongs to an 80 year old. It's been inflated and deflated twice with two glorious, state-of-the-art kids to show for it and my knack for knowledge and wisdom and the like is puny at best. But so what? My Dad is God, ok?

what if I'm not interesting.

So does the fact that I ended a question with a period make me interesting? Or, oh, I've got it, the fact that it thrills my heart incessantly when I get to type in those security checks when you're buying something online or commenting on someone's blog and they read things like "Tuesday Lunatic" or "Panther Cheese". I love the freedom in writing two words together that are haphazard and fortuitous. Happiness.

I want to be like her when I get older.

Or I at least want the freedom to do what she's doing at some point on some random occasion. Like one minute I'm workin' some crossword puzzle in the Reader's Digest and the next I'm like, "Oh hells yes, I need my fuchsia pants NOW, and where are my Kristoff Maduros and my sneakers?" Sometimes you just need that. I guess.

I'm at least wearing Elf socks and flashing 4th of July earrings when the occasion is appropriate and I might not wait 'til I'm 65.

trees in winter.

Void. Grey. Dead, brittle wood stretches, climbs like ambitious businessmen from frozen dirt. Cold and sparse, dense and unorganized, life hibernating for endless miles, as far as the eye can see. Airy in it's entirety, dry, yet somehow still beautiful because I know what is within, what is to come.

I am filled with longing and hope.

Sometimes I see my heart this way. Not always, sometimes. I see my resident condition as this arid but frozen plot of ground. I know life and color are eminent yet elusive in my sense of hope. Maybe that is not hope at all. Maybe I'm kidding myself. Maybe it's all a mirage, simply a comforting idea like drinking Hot Chocolate while decorating your Christmas tree when in reality you stuffed yourself at dinner and tasted the cookie dough so much you feel nauseous and weighted. You still drink it though. As if not doing so would render the evening less memorable. I do this all the time.

So maybe if I didn't hope for freedom and a Savior, my life would mean less, have less significance. But then as assuredly as my doubt emerges, my so-called faith rises to meet my thoughts and mind, my heart. This doubting is ludicrous. Haven't I enough evidence, both physical and spiritual to anchor my wandering, unpredictable, freakishly inconsistent heart forever? Indeed I do.

But for today, I remain alien to this world of peace that supposedly transcends our understanding. I remain, for today, a skeptic, possibly a cynic even.

Oh God, if you hear the groanings of your people, hear me now. For I am a wandering child striving desperately to chart my path but observing only brittle tree after tree. Every one looking identical to the others before them, no way to possibly know where I'm going or certainly where I've been. No landmark. No map. I feel lost. Your Word even at times remains confusing, unfathomable. I long for a way out. Not sure if you can help, hoping beyond all hope that you are who you claim to be. Help me with my unbelief. I have resolved to go on, even to wander until I find You. Until You find me.

my awesome Mom and Pops.

So I don't think I've had more fun photographing anyone in my life. My folks are crazy yo. But super cute!

This next one is after telling them to look like they're in love...

And THIS next one is after I told them to look like they're on the cover of "Silver Retirement Cosmopolitan" or something like that...

They actually started acting like their bones were on fire. Holy Mother they're so crazy.


And pre-shoot, I needed to test my light. When my Dad saw that I was taking a picture of him, this is what he did. Seriously dude? I love him. I love her.

the coolest kids ever.

10 years ago I became an aunt to the most special little girl of all time. You see, she and I have a special connection. I'm her 'Bistie'. Still. Before I had kids of my own, I couldn't imagine loving another baby as much as I loved this girl. Kerri, you remain a vital part of my heart.

And meet Aidan. He's a super hero. No, I'm serious. Don't mess.

And Elly Grace... ahhhhh, Elly Grace.

Abby & Chris' Rockstar Romance Session - [Hampton Roads Couples Photographer]

So if there ever was a couple who were completely natural and ushy gushy in front of the camera it was these two. They describe themselves as an old Italian couple. I saw none of that going on, just lots a lovin'. This gorgeous couple was a freakin' BLAST to photograph. What an awesome evening! These are some of my faves.

The Sibs - [Hampton Roads Family Photographer]

I was seriously honored to have spent some time with these fabulous siblings! The love and attentiveness they showed one another, not to mention their hysterical banterings made them a blast to be around. Thanks guys for letting me glimpse your family for the afternoon! These precious peeps gave the gift of photography to their Mom for Christmas. Here are some snaps from the day. Booya.