The pictures I make help me remember where I’ve come from; they help me make sense of the places I find myself in. But I also like to have some pictures of myself — to maintain a family record, to remind myself that, yes, I am actually married to that beautiful, loving woman that shares the frame with me, and so that my son will know that I did, in fact, go on vacation with him and Kristen. Usually this means stopping a stranger and asking them to press the shutter for me. This is a very hit-and-miss procedure, that often results in many more misses than hits. Sometimes, as on the last day of our summer vacation this year, a stranger just walks up and asks to take a picture of us. I can’t say no. Hopefully, that eagerness to get behind the camera means the would-be photographer is at least comfortable looking through the viewfinder. The kind beach walker who got this one certainly was.

Seven and a half years ago, I found the courage (via AIM) to ask my future wife out on a date.

Two weeks later, she broke up with me. Apparently, it was because she didn’t want to spoil our friendship. Blah! Word of advice girls: that doesn’t make it any neater.

Seven years ago, after a wonderful summer together, I began dating my best friend.

Three years ago today, we were married in an outdoor chapel pieced together with hand-hewn stones overlooking Grandfather Mountain.

Two years ago, we left our mountain home in search of new adventures, and new jobs.

One year ago, we shared a brief glimpse at the beautiful tapestry of life God has been weaving around us.

Today, my best friend and I woke up to the sound of our baby crying in our room and our puppy trying to break through the wall and do her part to help (or at least enjoy) the situation.

Happy Annivesary!

We’ve been cautiously letting Abigail have more and more freedom around Samuel. She seems to be able to distinguish him from food now. Our real worry has never been that she would consciously hurt him, but rather that she would trip over him, or forget she was standing beside him and just collapse into a nap. To be so elegant, she is the most clumsy dog I have ever seen.

Our pediatrician encouraged us to let them spend time together though; he thought it was good for puppy and boy to grow old together, although puppy has grown much faster than boy. Up until now, it has always been Abigail that has approached Samuel. She will lick his hands and feet a little, get bored and move on. Today, however, Samuel decided it was time for him to take control of their relationship. He climbed on board and hasn’t looked back since.

Photo by Kristen Anderson

Photo by Kristen Anderson

in High Definition

I am way behind on pictures, and even more behind on work, so I’m just going to let you sort through these for now. Click a thumbnail to open the viewer, browse through at your own pace and enjoy. If you’re feeling really adventurous, start up some theme music before diving into the pictures.

Just based on the photographic record, it would be easy to wonder where I have been during Samuel's first few weeks. Kristen took this shot to help create a semblance of my presence.

While it was one of the most significant things we have done as a family, naming our firstborn was quite possibly the easiest decision Kristen and I have ever made together. Samuel just fit. We both thought of it independently. We had joked about other names before, but when it came time to make a list, there was only one boy name on it.

There are several reasons why we settled on Samuel, not the least of which is the fact that it’s simply a fine sounding, timeless name.

Samuel became especially significant to me early last year when my position was cut at the newspaper I had been working at and I found myself with an abundance of time on my hands. I began focusing on developing a more disciplined daily routine and one of the big elements in this new routine was an increased level of scripture study, in addition to devotional readings. The first book I decided to explore, for no particular reason at the time, was Samuel. If I want to be honest (and I do) then I have to admit that up until this point, my knowledge of the Old Testament was hazy at best. I knew all of the key stories and characters, but really understanding how those stories fit together and what drove those characters to act like they did had been left out of my Sunday school lessons.

Samuel made the biblical narrative real to me.

First and Second Samuel document the history of the early Israelites during the time of Samuel — the prophet, priest and final judge of Israel — continuing through the rise and fall of the nation’s first monarchs, Saul and David. Reading these stories of Samuel, Eli, Saul, David and Jonathan, I was struck by how very real these men were. These were the great characters of the Bible, the pioneers of our faith, but understanding their journey means understanding that they were not much different from you and me. They were very real men with very real flaws, yet they loved God with all their might and wanted desperately (with a few exceptions) to serve him. Samuel was a great leader and a devout man of God, but he wrestled with the same problems I face today: pride, fear and frustration constantly threaten to hold him back from the tasks God has set before him; he wants his own sons to know the Lord and seek him, but he understands that ultimately he cannot be responsible for their choices; he has trouble reconciling the ideal community of fellowship God has called his people to with the reality of their situation and the desires of the nation. Samuel, David and Saul may have moved in the upper echelons of society, they may have had personal encounters with God too intense for us to possibly imagine and they may have lived in a radically different world 3,000 years ago, but they were still more down-to-earth than most of the people I come across at church, at school or on the street.

Samuel helped make God real for me. My most ardent prayer — my greatest hope and strongest desire — is that he will be real for my Samuel as well.

Another lesson that I learned from Samuel came from a simple phrase often repeated by the biblical author: “Do what seems best to you.” This phrase is repeated, with some variation, throughout the story of Samuel. Elkanah says it to Hannah once it is revealed that she has pledged Samuel to a life of temple service; Saul’s soldiers offer this affirmation to their leader; David uses the phrase as he heeds the advice of his generals; Mephibosheth uses it to express humility before the king

When Eli receives a prophecy of God’s displeasure with him and his sons, he simply concedes: “It is Yahweh; let him do what seems good to him.” When David decides to begin construction on a new temple at Jerusalem, Nathan tells him, “You should go and do whatever you have in mind, for the Lord is with you.” Once Samuel has established Saul as the nation’s first king, the judge leaves the young man with a final word: “When these signs have taken place, do whatever your hand finds to do, for God will be with you.”

When the prophet’s announced “God is with you” to David and Saul, they were speaking to the kings in a particular context. Still, as Christians, we know that God has sent us his Counselor to guide us as we make our way through life. If our desire is to live within the Lord’s will, his desire for us will become clear.

It may be dangerous to simply say “Do what seems best to you,” especially if there is a possibility that our bad choices may be interpreted as God’s bad guidance. An important part of maturing is accepting responsibility for our actions; an important part of growing as a Christian is trusting God to guide us when we seek to make responsible decisions. This lesson from Samuel came to me at an important crossroad in my life, a time when I had to make a responsible decision but no choice seemed absolutely clear. Finding this balance between freedom and faith, between personal responsibility and surrender to the universal, is a constant struggle for me, and I’m glad.

My first wish for my son is that he may come to know God in a real way; to love him and seek him out, just as the prophet, the king and the shepherd boy did many years ago. My second wish is that he may have the faith to trust God with his hard decisions; to have the humility to know that, even if he is a king on Earth, he will never be able to walk the journey alone, but he does need the courage to act in faith — to “do what seems best” — because after all, as Samuel so eloquently said, “God will be with you.”

I’ve barely had time to seriously reflect on my first semester at Divinity School. My summer classes, and a propitious summer internship, will be starting up next week. The house is a mess, and the remnants of my last few home improvement projects still taunt me when I pass through the hallway, but Samuel doesn’t care about that. It doesn’t worry him, and I won’t let it worry me.

Parenthood is good. Already, it feels as though Samuel has been a part of our family all along. I look at him and love him. I take him in my arms, cup his head in my hands, press my belly into the bedspread, prop myself up on my elbows and just stare into his bright blue eyes. Yes. It’s true. I love him.

So many of our “first” moments are flying by faster than I can register them. We met my former boss and wonderful friend Bing Oliver at McDonald’s (his choice, by the way) this week; once the meal was done and the conversation was moving fast it suddenly hit me that this was Samuel’s first time in a restaurant. Sunday night was Samuel’s first time in church. Monday was his first doctor’s appointment. Wednesday afternoon he made it through his first cookout and Thursday morning he made it five hours without waking mom or dad up.

Today we took Samuel to the photo studio for his first big shoot. He did great. I have to give thanks to Ken Tart for having an infinite amount of patience, and diaper wipes. Ken was also kind enough to lend me a spare lens while my 50 mm f/1.4 is being repaired after conking out during Samuel’s first week at home.

Today we also had our first big scare as parents. I’m a natural worrier. I try to keep things in perspective, and I’ve been doing pretty good about letting things go, but having Samuel in our life pushes the potential for worry to a whole new level. I worry when he cries too loud. I worry when he gets too quiet. I worry that he’s too hot. I worry that he’s too cold. I worry about leaving him alone to rest, and then I worry about over stimulation. I worry. Kristen, on the other hand, is not a worrier. Whenever she begins to acknowledge the validity of my worries, then I know it’s time to get serious.

Today Samuel had us both worried. This afternoon we noticed he was breathing heavy when he was awake and wheezing when he was asleep. His doctor’s visit Monday revealed a healthier-than-normal baby (he had gained 14 oz. since he left the hospital four days earlier) so we took a little comfort in that and just kept an eye on him. Then he started crying. And crying. And crying. He was crying like I had never seen a baby cry before. Every now and then he’d take a break from crying to cough a little. Each time he’d cough, I would have an opportunity to suction a sizable chunk of mucus from his mouth. Then the crying would pick up again, and the cycle continued for about 40 minutes. Once he began to lose steam, I swaddled him up and he drifted off to sleep. I called the doctor for advice and was told to bring him in.

Samuel continued to spit up mucus in the car, but by the time we got to the doctor’s office, he was in a smiling, contented state. We described the symptoms to the nurse and got Samuel undressed so she could weigh him. The moment his diaper came off, though, he spewed a mucousy mess all over table and the nurse. It was like he had a Super Soaker 3000, loaded with slime, hidden in his pants. The nurse courageously threw herself between Samuel and her laptop; I had never seen anything like this before, but clearly she had experience dealing with such assaults. We cleaned up the mess and the doctor came in. He checked Samuel over and couldn’t find a thing wrong. Apparently, Samuel had developed a mucus plug that had given him a little trouble breathing, but he managed to expel it on his own just in time to shower the nurse and a moment too early to give the doctor anything to do.

Just in case you were wondering, this time he tipped the scales at 8 lbs. 6 oz. (that’s a post-mucus-explosion weight). It looks like he’ll be catching up to Abigail in no time.

Since we’d already made the drive to Garner, we felt obligated to go ahead and share another “first” with Samuel. For his first taste of Goodberry’s, Samuel decided to order his daddy’s favorite: a regular vanilla mint chocolate-chip concrete.

• 7 lbs. 14 oz.
• 21″
• Absolutely Wonderful

11 p.m.
The Little Prince is lost in space.
Feels like Christmas.
“If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it.” ¹

5 a.m.
“My water broke.”
Abigail is anxious. “Let me out!” ²
The baby needs sleep. Sleep is done.

6 a.m.
Six minutes,
Three minutes,
Three minutes, five.

6:30 a.m.
Questions, forms;
Forms, questions;
Waiting.

7 a.m.
Pain?
Two.
Birth is natural.

9 a.m.
145. 132. 123.
130. 138.
Waiting. Waiting.

10:20 a.m.
“Does it hurt yet?”
“We can make it hurt more.”
Pitocin flows.

11:15 a.m.
High blood pressure.
High voices.
Where is the coffee?

12 p.m.
Stillness.
Gentle heartbeat.
Longing to hold you closer.

2 p.m.
Mountains. Crying. Struggle.
Falling into rest. Surrender.
The next hill approaches.

3 p.m.
The flesh is numb; the heart is heavy.
The end is close, but still so far.
Waiting. Waiting.

3:32 p.m.
Birth. Life.
Love. Family.
Life. Love.

Celebrating Mother’s Day has always been a regular event in my family, but this year offered extra cause to celebrate as Kristen prepares to join the ranks of motherly matrons in our clan. We were blessed with the opportunity to host both of our moms, as well as Kristen’s two grandmas, for a Mother’s Day dinner and a wonderful afternoon of family fellowship.

Mother’s Day also means I get an opportunity to cook for all of the women in our family — a task I really enjoy, but rarely get away with because everyone loves to cook so much. I prepared eight thick-cut, pan-fried pork chops steamed with red onions, squash, zucchini and asparagus. I topped the pork chops with asparagus, drizzled fresh hollandaise sauce over the vegetable-meat combo¹ and left the squash-zucchini-onion medley on the side. White rice and baked macaroni and cheese (which Kristen prepped before I could step in) rounded out the main course; Grandma Mayna brought a Hersey’s chocolate chocolate-chip cake for dessert.

A grand time was had by all.

After lunch, Kristen tried to teach our moms and grandmas a few new stitching patterns to incorporate into the quilt she is putting together for Samuel. I haven’t begun my own quilt square yet, but I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to bond with my brothers, Zachary and Jacob, as the three of us rarely end up in the same room together very often. We jumped head first into Resident Evil for some co-op light-gun action.

And no, those pictures were not posed; that’s just how intense my brother gets when the undead threaten to interfere with Mother’s Day.

Is there anything of greater import to a child than a mother who understands the struggles of life and gingerly guides her children down the path to adulthood? I don’t think so. Kristen and I were blessed with such mothers. It would be impossible to pick out what elements of our personalities, of our worldviews, of our lives, were impacted by our mothers. They deserve much more than a fun day and our heartfelt thanks, but I know that’s all they will accept.

I was reminded again about the critical role mothers play in shaping the perspectives of their children this afternoon while reading a short story. On this one particular street in this one particular village in South Africa lived a great diversity of people: a widowed concert pianists who had taught nobility in London; a retired colonel who had spent his life laying down roots in a multitude of countries across the globe; a few native Afrikaans; two families of American missionaries and a plethora of other expatriates from Germany, Sweden and Portugal. The children living on Kruger Park Street, as is typically the case with children everywhere, didn’t let their varied backgrounds stand between them. Gathering in the street for games and adventure became a regular afternoon ritual. On this day, the children’s game turned out to be knocking on doors, then hiding before the targeted neighbor could get to the door. The children took turns pranking different neighbors as the crowd looked on from a safe distance. As it would happen, one child’s mother found out about the game and was less than pleased. This child was forced to walk back to the house of the old colonel who she had pranked an hour earlier to confess her sin and beg apology. The worst part of the ordeal was that the other children, though equally responsible, seemed to get by unscathed. Still, at least one mother is intent on using the situation to teach her own child a lesson. The apology is offered.

“Very well. Your apology is accepted,” the colonel replied. “And you may thank your mother for caring enough about you to discipline you.” ²

Thanks mom.

Leaving Sunday afternoon, Kristen and I both felt a little perplexed as we reflected on the fact that we won’t be returning to Myrtle Beach until we have a new baby boy to bring with us. Actually, it was mainly just Kristen that felt perplexed; I was too queasy to drive.

  ]]> http://galleryd.net/2010/04/beachsansbaby/feed/ 0 http://galleryd.net/2010/04/elizabeth-city/ http://galleryd.net/2010/04/elizabeth-city/#comments Thu, 08 Apr 2010 00:45:17 +0000 David http://galleryd.net/?p=1632

For Easter, Kristen and I travelled to Elizabeth City, a small harbor town at the mouth of the Pasquotank River, near the northern end of the Outer Banks. Our goal was simply to get away from home and be someplace peaceful and quite, knowing this would likely be our last chance to travel together before Samuel is born next month. We stayed at the Culpepper Inn, a prominent local fixture that I had seen many times before but never really visited. We arrived earlier than expected and immediately took a walk through the historic downtown area and strolled the docks. We listened to a pretty good bluegrass duo from Chesapeake fighting for the crowd’s attention at a local eatery and then made our way back to the inn.

Saturday morning we decided to head out to the islands. We drove through Kitty Hawk, where the Wright brothers made their historic flight, stopped for a delicious order of fresh cut fries and chocolate custard in Kill Devil Hills and then pulled over at Jockey’s Ridge in Nag’s Head. Jockey’s Ridge is the largest active sand dune on the East Coast. The bulk of the dune is likely the same pile of sand the Wright brothers launched their airplane from a few miles up the road in Kitty Hawk, it has just steadily migrated south over the past century. The dune is absolutely huge. The main plateau is probably only about 35 feet high, but the giant table-top of sand literally stretchs on for acres. Hundreds of families with hundreds of kites were already fixed atop the dune when we arrived, along with a few hang gliders. Still, it was easy to find a quite place and settle down in the dry, powdery sand that felt so different from the wet, sticky course, beach sand just a few hundred yards away. We capped the day off with a quick visit to the Currituck light house on the northern end of the island.

The dock at Moth Boat Park in Elizabeth City, where the Pasquotank River pours into the Albermarle Sound on North Carolina's inner coast.

Sunday afternoon we decided to visit the Great Dismal Swamp — a national wildlife refuge that spans the North Carolina-Virginia border. We saw turtles, frogs and a woodpecker during our stroll through the swamp, which isn’t really as dismal and swampy as the name implies. The huge swamp areas on the northern coast of the state are worlds apart from the stagnant, slime-coated, bacteria-laden waters found in the woods in the central part of North Carolina, or in my native South Carolina. The Dismal Swamp is full of clear, blue-hued water that lazily flows to and fro among the forest of cypress trees that engulfs it. Wildlife is abundant.

We had a good visit in Elizabeth City. It was Kristen’s first time seeing the town, and the first chance I have had to explore the streets and creeks that occupied most of my time as an adolescent. I had the joy of living in a variety of locals growing up. Each one had unique advantages and disadvantages. It’s hard to compare my experiences growing up in different places because the first 18 years of life are so full of constant changes in themselves. For the most part, the bulk of my time spent living in each different community also marked a different phase of life for me as a child, adolescent and teenager, so it’s not really fair, or easy, to compare them. Still, all things considered, I think Elizabeth City was by far the most interesting, and simply enjoyable, place that my family brought me to live in. I wouldn’t have a single qualm about moving back, if that is the direction my life ever moves to again.

Visiting the places I have lived before is always a little strange though. I can’t help but to recall the experiences I hold connected with each familiar landscape. I notice how so many things have changed in my absence, while other details seem fixed forever. I never really know how to react when I encounter my past. My life has changed so much over the past few years, when ever I visit a place from my past, I can’t help but to feel that I’m no longer the same person I was when I left. I don’t know whether I want to let myself go to reconnect with my past, or whether I should just explore the city anew, looking for new experiences and new details that I would easily miss if I were only looking for things connected with my earlier life. I always face this dilemma when I visit the places where I grew up; I don’t have the same problem when I visit Blowing Rock, where Kristen and I went to college, got married, began our careers and turned our first apartment into a home. I think the difference has something to do with the fact that the life I built in Blowing Rock was my own, while my life in Elizabeth City, and the many other places I lived growing up, was inseparable from the life my parents built for me — not a bad thing by any means, just the way life is. Moving to Blowing Rock was my choice; the things I did there, the job I had, the house I lived in, were all my choices as well; perhaps most importantly, leaving Blowing Rock was my choice. The fact that I wasn’t in control of most of my earlier life — my parents decided where I would live, what I could and couldn’t do with my time and when I would move again — greatly affects the lens through which I view my past.

At least that’s what I think today. Who knows.

So, now that you’ve made it through all of that, enjoy a sampling of my shots from our holiday weekend in and around Elizabeth City. I know this gallery is way too big. Click any image or thumbnail to pull up a full-size viewer that will let you click through the entire collection at your leisure.

*I (David Anderson, Jr.) am the original author of all of the images connected with this post except for the final picture, which was kindly taken by our waitress at the Marina Restaurant in Elizabeth City. Enjoy!

Reflecting pool at Butler Chapel

Following months of careful prayer, long hours of personal reflection and a host of conversations with my own spiritual mentors, a short voice mail left on my mobile phone Friday put my mind at ease and marked the beginning of a new phase of my life. My application had been accepted. In January, I will begin working towards a Master of Divinity degree at Campbell University in Buies Creek.

Since I began the application process nearly three months ago, I have known without a doubt that God has called me to better equip myself as I work to serve his purpose with my life; pursuing formal theological training was the clear step to take, and looking back, it is obvious to me that the Lord brought me to this place for this purpose from the beginning of my journey.

I originally made this Web site to present myself and my work to potential employers. I quit my job at the Sanford Herald in October and, while I will not place any limits on what tasks God may use me for in the future, I don’t plan on looking for another newspaper job anytime soon. I hope to revamp the site in the near future to coincide with the new direction my life is taking, but in the meantime I would like to share my admissions essay with you to hopefully answer any questions about the circumstances that have brought me to this point. As always, feel free to contact me if you want to talk more.

–David

Butler Chapel at Campbell

As a Christian saved by Christ’s love, I have no greater task before me than spreading the truth of God’s love to those who don’t believe — either because they haven’t heard, or because their hearts have been hardened in such a way as to keep them from truly understanding the message of Christ. From the time I dedicated my own life to Christ I have hoped that everything I do, whatever job I work at, wherever I live and whatever circumstances I find myself in, that I live my life in such a way that others would see Christ working in me. I believe this is the duty of every Christian, and that everyone can be an effective piece of the body of Christ by seeking to please Him everyday. I also believe there is an unprecedented need for spiritual support in the world today, and I want to equip myself as well as possible — spiritually, mentally and physically — for a life of daily service to the Lord. I feel sure I will find that preparation at Campbell University.

I was blessed with the opportunity to grow up in a Christian home. I learned the importance of daily prayer, Bible study and Christian fellowship from my parents by example. When I was 7 years old I made the decision to give my life to Christ. I approached my father (who was ministering at First Baptist of Four Oaks in his first position as a senior pastor) one evening after dinner and told him that I wanted to be baptized. We spent some time talking about the decision and what it would mean for my life before he joyously consented to baptize me.

I remained active in church throughout my childhood, but the next significant milestone in my spiritual life came as I entered high school when I began to be very involved with the youth group at my church. Over a period of two years I attended several youth conferences with my church, including one hosted by evangelist David Nasser. Nasser was raised in a Muslim society and was forced, by his father’s choice, to sever ties with his family when he abandoned the teachings of Islam and committed his life to Christ. As a teenager who had spent most of my life in the Southeastern United States, I had little first hand knowledge of the sacrifice many must make to follow Christ, and Nasser’s lecture opened my eyes up to the power of the gospel. During this time I also participated in summer mission trips through the World Changers program of the SBC. Short-term mission trips to Joliet, Ill. and Birmingham, Ala. showed me how effective spiritual ministry can be when it is coupled with programs that meet the needs of the lost — not because people will follow anyone offering a handout, but because the effort and resources expended to care for strangers demonstrates the reality of our faith in a way people can understand. These programs showed me how real God’s presence could be in my everyday life and challenged me to take my faith to the next level.

At this point I began seriously focusing on regular, daily spiritual devotion and prayer. For the first time I understood what it was to have a truly personal relationship with the Lord. I started turning to God not just when I was curious about spiritual issues of heaven and sin but for real world issues I dealt with at home and school. I began to take a leadership position in my youth group at Jonesboro Heights Baptist in Sanford, serving on the youth committee of the church, leading Wednesday night worship for my peers whenever our youth minister was absent and delivering the morning sermon on youth Sunday. As I was preparing to finish my high school career, several people in my church and in the community spoke with me about entering the ministry. They told me to seek God’s guidance in the decisions I made about my future and encouraged me to explore a career in the ministry. I knew how taxing the work of a pastor could be on an individual. My father would frequently leave the house in the middle of the night to aid a struggling church member and cut vacations short to return home to comfort a family coping with an unexpected death. As an adolescent I had made up my mind that this was not the life I wanted for myself and my family, and as I finished high school and laid out my future I was already numb to any suggestion that would put me on that path.

The summer before I began college I traveled to Surabaya, Indonesia with a small group of youth from my church, my future-wife Kristen included. This was my first experience overseas and the most involved outreach program I had been a part of. I saw the need for strong Christian families to be in the world, sharing their faith with the unchurched but also living it out each day with the compassion and true love of humanity that only comes from knowing Christ. I experienced the challenge of openly sharing my faith and limited knowledge of the scriptures with those who were raised to reject Christianity. I understood the reward that comes with knowing that I have allowed Christ to work in me, bringing others to know Him and understand His teachings for the first time. Our experience living and working with career missionaries in Indonesia led Kristen and I to think about pursuing a career in missions — not that it would be our clear path when we entered college, but we would give it equal consideration.

I continued to mature spiritually during my time in college. I was blessed with the opportunity to learn from professors who did not make an effort to hide their faith, despite teaching in a public university. I learned not to separate my own faith from academic endeavors, as any knowledge gained about creation is knowledge of God’s work in our world. In college I truly developed a passion for knowledge and for understanding the human condition. I majored in journalism, thinking it would be a career path that would allow me to live a life of constant learning while providing a critical service to society.

After graduation Kristen and I (now married) looked for an entryway to the mission field. We were both willing and eager to travel abroad and dedicate ourselves to serving God by meeting the needs of the lost, but wherever we turned, doors seemed to close. We felt that as Christians, our first responsibility above all else was to share Christ’s message with the lost. We desperately wanted to go, but for a variety of circumstantial reasons, it seemed that God was keeping us here. We changed direction and started looking for work in the fields we had prepared for in college. We moved to Dunn, N.C. when I was offered a position as a reporter at The Daily Record.

I enjoyed my job there and I learned a great deal about government and society, but I did not feel satisfied in my work. My position was cut after nine months. Our first thought was to explore our options in the mission field again. Just as before, new circumstances beyond our control kept us at home. I was offered a job as a feature writer at The Sanford Herald and returned to working as a journalist. Through my interactions with people at work, the Lord has opened my eyes to the spiritual hunger of the people in the community. Over the course of several months I began to feel the Lord urging me through my personal devotions to prepare for a full-time career in the ministry. I shared this sense of direction with my wife, and within the next week the calling was confirmed through unplanned conversations I had with two former youth ministers, friends and our pastor at First Baptist Dunn.

After talking with one of my former youth pastors, Nate Leonard, who is an alumni of the Campbell Divinity School, as well as other people connected to the university, I realized that Campbell is clearly the place God wants me to be as I prepare myself for the ministry. I do not know if the Lord will lead me to the mission field, to work in youth ministry or to lead a church as a pastor, but I do believe that His hand has been involved in every decision that has brought me to this point in my life — including the decision to work in the newspaper industry for two years, where I gained an insight into society that would be difficult to come across in any other line of work, as well as the chain of events that brought Kristen and I to live in Benson, just down the road from Campbell Divinity School.

There are certainly specific areas of ministry I would prefer to work in and I can identify the jobs my current skill set qualifies me to do, but I do not want to place any limits on what God will use me for in the future. My hope is to enter the Divinity School at Campbell University in January with a completely open mind, to focus on the tasks immediately before me — preparing for a life of ministry — and to let God lead me to the next step, wherever that would be.

My world just got a whole lot bigger.

Kristen and I saw the heart beat of our new baby for the first time today, blowing away the cloud of doubt we had harbored since the doctor first confirmed the pregnancy two weeks ago. The little guy (or gal) is about the size of a large olive, but it has a healthy heart rate of 166 beats per minute.

My heart, on the other hand, nearly stopped this morning when the news that I was going to be a father began to sink in.

It was a very surreal moment to say the least. I have always known that I wanted to be a father. When I was in college laying out the blue print for my life, I made a little note in the corner to remind me that on the priority list, “being a good dad” ranks way above “landing a staff job with National Geographic” or “paying off the mortgage.” Just like those other goals, though, I didn’t really expect this one to come to fruition so soon. I certainly didn’t want to put it off for too long, it just seemed like something that would take care of itself eventually.

And it did. Now I can’t imagine a better time to bring a new life into the world.

An Annotated Guide

My cousin Rhett married his long-time girlfriend Sayla in August of 2009, and I was thrilled to have the opportunity to be involved in their wedding. As one of the groomsmen, I wasn’t able to get any shots during the actual wedding, but I did have a good time trying to capture the excitement of the rehearsal and the reception that followed. This was my first experience really taking pictures at a wedding, and I have to say that from a portrait photographer’s point of view, weddings have to be a dream come true. Everybody wants their pictures made, and everybody wants to do it right. Every face you see has a smile and every interaction is overflowing with emotions. Trying to catch it all in a single photograph is a challenge, in the same way harvesting a tree heavy with fruit is a frazzling task.

What got me back on the fairway today was a guy’s morning out with my cousin Rhett and his buddies to celebrate his upcoming wedding. Kristen and I got into town at 1:30 this morning. My brother Jacob woke me with a phone call at 7:20 to tell me they had booked an 8 a.m. tee time. I got to the golf course tired and hungry, but I’m so glad I went.

I’m very excited to see Rhett and Sayla take the first step in building a new life together tomorrow afternoon. Rhett is just the second person in our generation of my family to get married, and I’m thrilled to see others recognize the true blessing that marriage can be once you have met the person that God created for you to share your life with. I want to support them in whatever way I can. If that means stumbling through 18 holes of golf to show him a good time, I’m there.

I visited the science museum often as a child when my dad would take me and my younger brothers strolling through on Saturdays while my mom was at work. At that time, the coolest things in the museum were a fake T-Rex skull in the foyer and an impressive blue whale skeleton that hung high overhead in its own exhibit hall. Years ago the museum underwent a major renovation, and though I had stepped in from time to time, I hadn’t taken the opportunity to really soak it all up before.

Obviously bored with his audience, this guy made his own perfectly sized hammock to chill out in.

One of the highlights of the museum is a prominent exhibit hall with a fully-developed dinosaur display. The old T-Rex model still greets guests as they walk up the stairs, but the star of the show is a full size display of Acrocanthosaurus. The dinosaur supposedly lived 45 million years before the first Tyrannosaur arrived on the scene. More importantly, “Acro” as he’s affectionally called at the museum, lived in the southern states from Texas to Maryland (including North Carolina) while his larger, younger and better-known brethren hung out on the West Coast.

Acro circling his prey.

The skeleton at the museum in Raleigh is only 53 percent authentic, with the rest being cast models of bone. Still, this is the most complete Acro remains found to date. Only four sets of Acro bones have ever been found, making this dinosaur one of the rarest known to science. At just 40 feet long, Acro doesn’t have the size of T-Rex, but he made up for it with an aggression all his own. While T-Rex is largely believed to be a scavenger, Acro was taking on dinos twice his size to grab a bite of lunch.

As strongly as I believe our state needs to keep a better grasp of how they spend money and reign in some dollars that aren’t being used in the best way, I am very proud to have such fine museums in our capital city. These projects represent a great use of state funds because they are offered to the benefit of everyone, everyday, free of charge. Most of the exhibits, including the $3 million Acro skelton, are funded through donations and grants from companies and individuals. The state keeps the doors open, the lights on and the payroll staffed with experts who can educate the citizenry — school children, seniors and guys like me who just like to know stuff — whenever they take the time to ask.

An open rainforest exhibit, staffed by teenaged-volunteers, is planted on the top floor of the museum and is free and open to the public. A similar attraction cost tourists $13 each in Myrtle Beach before business dropped off and it shut down.

Kristen and Acro

Clouds Over Grandfather

We made it back from the camping trip with nothing put a set of sore legs, a half eaten box of oatmeal and some good memories. I don’t believe I’ve really spent a whole weekend vacation with my mother and brothers in the five years since I graduated from high school, and so it was good to have the whole family together in my old stomping ground in the western part of our state with nothing on the agenda at all.

After much coaxing, I was able to get the group to set off on a hike of the Boone Fork Trail — a five mile loop that should take two to three hours. During the first three hours we tried unsuccessfully to find a spur trail off of the loop that would lead us to a waterfall / rock formation we had only driven to before.

Zachary frolicking over the falls

Then Zachary, my 19-year-old brother, disappeared up the side of a mountain and into the woods. We didn’t think much of it for a while and continued on down the trail, but after 30 minutes or so when he didn’t show up, we began to get worried and set off looking for him.

By this time we had given up on finding our missing waterfalls and were just hoping to find Zach and get back to camp before nightfall. Jacob and I set off into the woods about 1/4 mile from the spot on the trail where we lost Zach, hoping we would head him off. He heard us calling for him and shouted back. He had no idea how he’d done it, but while trying to find the trail again, Zachary stumbled into the rock formation we’d spent all day looking for. The boys played around some and then we got back to camp just in time to get a fire and supper started before the sun set — six hours after we’d started our hike.

At The Village Cafe in Blowing Rock

Earlier in the day, Kristen and I set out on a hunt for breakfast. I decided not to tell Kristen what we were doing and just lead a walk from our campsite alongside the Blue Ridge Parkway and into Blowing Rock, where we had a formal brunch in the outdoor garden of The Village Cafe. Our smelly camp clothes stood out in sharp contrast to the waitstaff and tourists that sat around us, but after walking more than five miles to get to our table, we felt like we deserved a good breakfast just as much as the next guy.

As far as photographs went on this trip, I was pretty captivated with the cloudy skies over the mountains at every vista. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to shoot the mountains in sunny weather and generally tried to avoid taking the camera out in the rainy months. After the first night, we never had much rain on this trip but the scattered cloud cover hung over us the entire weekend, creating some neat sunburst scenes and really providing a powerful atmosphere that matched the prominence of the landscape.

Reading by the lake

Jacob. Lost.

Dusk on the river

Camp stove

On the way to breakfast

Parenthood

Last night we left Sanford at 9:30 with a packed car and an already car sick dog. We got to Blowing Rock and set up our tent a little before 1 a.m. and settled in for the night. An unexpected rain shower woke us up a few hours later and we scrambled to get our rain fly on the tent and make sure the dog was alright, but then I had the soundest nights’ sleep I’ve ever had in the woods.

My mother and brothers had come to camp earlier in the day, planning to stay the weekend as a birthday treat for Jacob. We had said we didn’t think we could come, and when I was abl e to get the day off of work, we kept the secret until the next morning when my mom found our tent set up next door.

Our first full day was spent laying around Price Lake, reading, fishing and paddling around. I’ll see if I can’t get some more strenuous activity out of the family tomorrow.

A surfer scopes out the waves at Wrightsville Beach while a sailing armada drifts in the distance.

It’s been almost three weeks since my last post, but I still don’t have a motorcycle. During the interim, Kristen and I have been stripping and repainting the interior of our home, I’ve been transitioning into a new job at The Sanford Herald and working with our downtown development director on a personal project to add some atmosphere to my neighborhood. It feels more like three months than three weeks, but I had a good energy boost that kicked it all off.

Back in May, Kristen and I took a day trip to Wilmington and Wrightsville Beach. We had lunch on the waterfront in Wilmington, strolled through the historic district and then spent a good five hours wasting the day away on the sand at Wrightsville.

Kristen strolls near the water's edge looking at the treasures washed in with each new wave.

I’ve been to dozens of beaches along the Carolina coast, lived at a few of them, and seen more exotic shores in Asia, Florida and the Caribbean. The more beaches I visit though, the more I’m impressed by how unique each mile of sand really is — especially in Carolina. On this overcast Saturday, we found Wrightsville Beach covered in a powdery white sand that faded into the bluest water I’ve seen north of Cozumel. Typically the ocean in the mid-Atlantic holds a greenish-gray tint within 10 miles of the coast and then slowly starts to blend into the richer blues of the gulf stream 100 miles out. Not this day, though. I couldn’t take a picture that did the water justice, but standing their looking out, it just seemed to transition perfectly into the rich blue sky.

About 500 yards out, hundreds of sailing dinghies clustered together for a couple of hours, possibly waiting to see if the brooding clouds would dish out any rain, and then scattered off into the sea. Without any fanfare or warning, a wedding party complete with a steel-drum player, stormed the beach, each guest carrying his or her own folding chair, and held a short ceremony in the midst of the sunbathers and surfers.

Being at the beach really gives Kristen and I a great chance to catch up with each other and talk about where our life has brought us and what we plan to do next. We split most of the day between laying in the sand reading and walking for a few miles along the coast. I couldn’t resist the rush of racing into the cool water and fighting with the salty waves, though, and I was able to drag Kristen along a couple of times. The ocean offers a true feeling of renewal when I need it most.

At times I wish I could live in a real beach town again. Somewhere with real character and history like Wilmington, a peaceful fishing village like Beaufort or even my native Myrtle Beach. But I do love the town I’m in now, and Wrightsville Beach is just a little more than an hour’s drive from my door — not even twice my daily commute to work — so for the time being, it’s perfect. I hope to make many more day trips like this as the summer continues.

Looking Ahead.

I was flipping through some of the thousands of pictures I’ve taken over the past few years (most of them were better left covered) and, even though I’m sure I’ve seen them all many times, every now and then one pops out that I never really noticed before.

Distant Dreams

I don’t remember what inspired me to take this far-off picture of the U.S. Capitol, but I do remember the trip I took it on. I can say with certainty that as I walked along the gravel path that day I was almost spellbound at the experience of being in the midst of real power. When I look at the picture today it leaves a different impression. I’m struck by how far away the Capitol — one of the many grand products from an earlier age, when a nation was built on personal sacrifice and hopes for a better future — is. It seems almost too far to reach and definitely too small to be of any real importance in the world of this image.

The picture of the Capitol serves as both a reminder of my trip to D.C. that day and, at least in my opinion, a fun piece of art. Other photos fall short of both of these goals, but are still just as fun to make and look at.

Spinning Turkey

This was just a spontaneous shot of Kristen pulling the bird out of our oven last Thanksgiving. Below is another fun shot of my brother Jacob, having fun and smiling of all things. I think the different shades of green and yellow in the background add a neat touch.

"Where's my helmet?"

Neither pictures try anything that hasn’t been done, and over-done, millions of times before; but both were fun for me to take and fun to look at again.

Kristen and I spent two nights in the Wilson Creek wilderness area, just south of Grandfather Mountain, over Easter weekend in 2009. We had intended to stay for longer, but, being freshmen backpackers, we weren’t able to accurately pace ourselves using the rough map of the area.

Click any image in the sequence to open up a slideshow viewer.

At least we started the trip on the right note. This was our first time backpacking together, and the first real outing we used our new Canon 450D.

Our trail followed the Lost Cove Creek for the first four miles. The lightly blazed trail crossed the river every few hundred yards, usually with no 'easy' way across.

We didn't start hiking our first day until about 5:30 p.m., giving just a couple of hours to get familiar with the terrain before we had to set up camp.

Kristen managed to find the sun, despite cloudy skies and thick rhododendron overhead.

Having not passed anyone but a group of a day hikers who started at the same time as we had, we just set up camp on the trail by the creek our first night.

Posing together after breakfast.

Much to our surprise, barely 100 feet from our camp site was a beautiful set of waterfalls we lounged by the next morning.

In April the water was still too cool for swimming, though it was tempting.

Water crashing off a rock

We spent hours baking on the cool rock, reading, eating grapes and listening to the rushing water on Easter Sunday.

Waterfalls feed a whirlpool perfect for soaking.

Kristen and Dulles romping on the rocks.

Another mile or so down the trail and we came across this towering blue waterfall.

Kristen rests after reading by a mountain lake Sunday afternoon.

We camped just above this waterfall, which poured down another tier before emptying into a crystal lake.

Camping in the Blue Ridge.

A mountain watering hole.

Loaded up and ready for the home stretch.

The only crossing where staying dry was an option.

Days well spent.