A Bride in Boots

It was such an honor to take this couples picture. I grew in my skills & creativity but mostly in the area of coaching from behind the camera. This is something I still need much improvement in, but it was a delight to start with Belina & Ashton. I plan to post my top 10 favorites over the next 10 days... so to the few who stop by regularly keep on coming by to see how the session unfolded.

A fun fact: Belina is from Albania but she loves to where cowboy boots! She is a true Texan at heart. I told her to come wear'n her boots since those were the shoes that make her feel most comfortable. It turned out better than I could have imagined!

Belina

If you're tired of seeing pictures of my kids you are in for a treat! 
I have the honor of snapping one of my first non-family member tomorrow!
Belina is a friend, a newly married friend, who only had ONE picture taken of her and her husband on their wedding day. This disappointment has opened up an opportunity for me.


Her "session" will be her bridal pictures. I hope to capture sweet memories of them as newlyweds all dressed up again. Come to think of it, who wouldn't want to put their wedding dress on once more? 
Come back next week to see results! 

A Day Of Play

A day of play 

can seem a day of

insignificance

Yet to the little boy

it seems to be

the best gift 

his Mom can give

And this day set

to give to play

becomes

a gift to the Mom

who wonders...

what makes the things of "significance"---

something significant anyway

(C) Emily Murphy - April 7, 2010

The Pen of a Poet

The pen of a writer must tell a story

before the crafting of  a poem can tell it's own.

A Triumphal Entry

A Reading for Palm Sunday

And so it was near Bethany

Upon the Olivet Mountain

Two pair of feet were sent

A colt to be found as they went

Four calloused hands untied -

A colt not one had yet to ride

It was just as He had spoken

It was just as He had said

‘Our LORD has need of it’ were the -

Five words to say when wowed

Mens cloaks upon the colt did lay

His throne clip clopped throughout the day

Downhill they walked with voices raised

Multitude of men set strong with praise

Jerusalem neared as they sang

Wet tears fell from their sitting King

He knew where this trotting led

Gethsemane nears ‘round the bend

The tears which damp the mountain soil

Foretell His bleeding in garden toil

‘Blessed is this coming King

Highest glory and peace!’ they sing

Pharisees rebuked and raised a nose

Yet, stones would've sung if no one was

                                      © Emily Murphy  - March 28, 2010

"And when He drew near and saw the city, He wept  over it saying, 'Would that you, even you,
 had known on this day the things that make fore peace! 
But now they are hidden from your eyes. 

From the reading of Luke 19: 28-42

                               

The Boy Who Steps Into My Dripping Days

See earlier post entitled, A Dripping Day

3 Boys & The Grandaddy Behind The Making

These days of little faces, stubby noses,
flushed pink cheeks, the pitter patter of two clumsy feet,
and tiny crumbs left just for me -
to wipe away at the end of the day
Will all be gone with a blink of an eye
And I'll wonder...
Where it went or how that time was spent

What I oft want to pass quickly
I know...Oh, how I know...
Just as sure as the moon sits above me now
Will be missed as deeply as the sea runs thick

And I'll want that time back
And that is just that...
For what I already want back,
Is right before me this very moment

So may we all take hold
Of what we hold dear
And to whatever it may be that we hold so dear 

May we hold it often and hold it well


(c) Emily Murphy - March 20, 2010

Training Wheels to High Heels

And so it is... she's here again,

Belly curves and the lower back bend

She laughs at the days to come...

She ponders these things in her heart

Knowing there'll be bumps along the way

With each and every passing day

                            she knows...

to high heels!

It will be training wheels

Before she knows it.

I Share A Wall

Have I told you I share a wall?
To my right and to my left
And with a neighbor to my back
I share three walls, to be exact

Have I told you these walls are thin,
And carry noises deep within?
It's these walls which are quite thin
That speak of transgressions well hidden

I grumble at a bang or bonk
I roll my eyes at a noisy song
I toss and turn the whole night long
I share a wall, three, very tall

Have I told you I hear sin?
Noises I wish had never been
Cries that should not be so
But I share a wall, three, very slim

Have I told you of my hate within?
The things I wish had never been
The words that cut the ones I love
But I share a wall, I share in sin

My neighbor may grumble at a bonk
Roll his eyes at a noisy song
Perhaps he's tossed all night long
We share a wall, three, that's all

It's these walls that teach me much
My judgment of rolling eyes and such
My failure to love the ones most dear
I share a wall, I share 'the fall'

Have I told you where I lean?
It's not on these walls in between
It's not on trying to fix up me
I share a need, much more than three

Have I told you I share a wall?
Have I told you how that's not all?

 © Emily Murphy - Reflections from White Rock


March 2, 2010

Sun Kissed Curls

Matthew 21:16

"Out of the mouth of infants and nursing babies 

You have prepared praise." 

Matthew 21:16

 The interesting thing about planning a picture is that it can make time appear differently than it truly is. What is behind this soft, tender photo? I had wanted to catch a picture with Jonah on this antique prayer bench before he was too big. Time was passing quicker than I wanted and Jonah was growing with each passing day. I had the idea, I had the verse, I just needed to snap it. Yet, capturing this idea came at a cost.  I was hard on Jackson and spoke in anger trying to get him to stay out of the picture. Not too long after that, Jonah rolled off the bench onto the floor. You would have thought the child had seriously injured himself… tears fell hard. I held him, and regret immediately followed. I asked for Jackson’s forgiveness.

When I looked up the scripture little did I know this picture, and this verse would bring, phao, or light to such a humbling lesson. Jesus is clearing out the temple in righteous anger. His house of prayer had become what he calls a “den of robbers.” Money making business was taking over His place of worship. What was built for something beautiful was being filled with greed. Who were the men behind this? The Pharisees, men that appeared “holy ” on the outside but were full of ugliness under their elegant robes. How my heart sunk. What I thought I really wanted, a beautiful picture of Jonah, crumbled when I realized the ugliness that hid behind it. As the staged beauty began to fall I saw the true beauty I missed - to set the camera aside and “capture” time with my sons. Time is a funny thing. We want it to pass but we fear what is ahead. We can’t escape stepping into what’s ahead but regret what has passed. It’s fleeting, it’s fragile, it’s cursed because of the fall… yet God says it’s set with purpose if we would grab hold of Him in the midst of this fleeting & frail life.

The passage ends with a picture of irate Pharisees due to the children who are filling the temple with praise, crying “Hosanna”. Jesus’ response, “Have you never read, 'Out of the mouth of infants and nursing babies you have prepared praise?”  Jesus didn't just put a stop to the ugliness but He restored the time, setting it back in place to begin ticking with purpose.

May we be able to discern when to stop and reset, so our ticking can be one that passes with purpose too.

“So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” Psalm 90: 12


To listen to a beautiful sermon on Psalm 90 visit:
http://www.providencepca.org/downloads-links/sermons/
click on the sermon listed as Psalm 90

Like Father, Like Son

Precious Pumpkin Seed

Been meaning to post this. It's hard to remember exactly what it was like when Jonah was such a little seed. One things for sure my back probably didn't hurt as bad! He turned 6months the day of yester... that is, yesterday, in my silly lingo. It goes by too fast. 

Covenant

A little over four years ago Jack rested on one knee and I said, "YES!"

Come back tomorrow, February 14th, to read a Valentine poem...

If Love Is…

If love is a choice and not a feeling

And if love is a mindset and not an emotion

And if love is a calling and not a duty

And if love is inwrought and not made by hands

Then it’s you who I would choose to love

And it’s you I would set my mind to love

And it’s you I would accept the call to love

And it’s you my soul longs to love

For it’s God who chose us in Him to love

And it’s God who set His mind to love

And it’s divine of God to call us to love

And it’s through Him our souls sing to love

So, if love includes all the things above

And if it’s you a lifelong I'm called to love

And if it’s God who decided you, my Love

Then this I cannot help but say,

“It’s His sovereignty shown in such a beautiful way!”

                                                                © Emily Murphy

 Written for my husband, February 14^th 2009

A Dripping Day

The day drips like the leaking of a faucet.

Falling flakes out the window offer

happiness to my tired, hurting heart.

It’s white outside. The snow sticks.

Jackson plays with toy trucks,

He laughs when one falls in the flower pot.

Jonah watches Jackson. He coos.

I brew a cup of chicory.

The day drips on.

Flakes still falling…

Wishing the day would fall just as fast.

I should make dinner.

Hearing babes in the background while stove top burns.

Husband comes home, tired but helps.

We eat together, we talk together.

The day drips on.

I nurse.

Jonah sleeps sweet now.

Hear laughing, splashing in the bath.

Jackson soon to close his eyes.

The night keeps its constant drip.

“Knock, knock”

It’s May May.

A ten year old boy steps,

Into this dripping day.

Wet from flakes yet full of brightness

He’s outside? At this hour? Alone?

I think to myself.

"Stay here for awhile, I’ll make you coco."

His favorite.
He smiles and takes comfort inside.

The night still doing its drip, drip, drip.

But it’s this dripping at this hour,

I find...

Even the dripping days are set for purpose.

©Emily Murphy – Reflections from White Rock
Feb. 11^th 2010

“My heart overflows with a pleasing theme;

I address my verses to the King;

my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” 

Pslam 45:1

O' Come

Scripture tells us repeatedly to come to Jesus as a child. We (including me), are pros at doing just the opposite. We've grown up, right? We should only approach God when we have it all together, when we feel we have the right words to say, or in the right setting when our minds are fully attentive on Him... where are these moments, I'd like to know!
Yet, Jesus tells us to approach him as a child. Having children has turned this concept on it's head for me.  Jesus, are you really saying I can come in all my messiness, with my short attention span, fumbling for words to say, and to come whenever I want, saying whatever is on my mind and that I can say it over and over if I desire? You get the idea... like children!

In light of these lessons I share my second poem. 

O' Come

O’ Come unfaithful to the faithful One

Come messy, weary, heavy, undone

Come just as a little child

Come O’ heart that is not mild

In My arms I’ll hold you well,

 O’ weary one I’ll hold you well

Come My own just as you are

Come raw, guilty, in painful scar

Come just as a little lamb

Come wobbly to your great “I Am”

In my arms I’ll hold you well

O’ weary one I’ll hold you well

Come like Thomas in doubtful pride

Come and touch My very side

Come just as an infant cries

Over and Over and Over once more

In My arms I’ll hold you well

O’ weary one I’ll hold you well

Come little girl or little boy

Come skipping in youthful joy

Come just as tiny ones dream

Come twirl and dance with your King

In My arms I’ll hold you well

O’ Precious one I’ll hold you well

(c) Emily Murphy - 11/19/20008

Inspired by watching my children & A Praying Life –
By: Paul Miller