Guest Post!

 One of the most helpful people to have on your writing team is what I like to call a "writing buddy". A writing buddy is, essentially, someone who is close to your age and experience and who you can swap ideas, critiques, and pointers with. The extra help and encouragement you get from each other is extremely helpful!

So, without further ado, meet my writing buddy, Danielle. I met her at a Christian writer's conference and have been emailing back and forth ever since. Here is lovely sample of what she can do, both with words and a camera. Enjoy!

Childlike

When do children stop being children? When they become tweens? Teens? Adults? When do they stop being childish—or more importantly, child-like?

I’m not sure. I do know that when I was a child, I was fascinated by all kinds of things. Grasshoppers, sand castles, cacti, silly string, glass Gerber baby food jars. Trees—oh yes, the lovely leafy portals to the sky. Quartz rocks and ant lions. Almost anything—life itself?

Technically, legally, I’m an adult now. Somehow between child and adult, I neglected that fascination, funneling it into a few specific areas and forgetting to use it everywhere else. Why? I’m not sure. Efficiency, probably—why “waste” time marveling at the crisp feel of pencil lead skating across scrap paper when I had math to master? Chores, homework, TV shows, videogames: so much to do, so little time. I could obsess, perhaps, or grow through fads, but as I became bigger, my awe at overall existence… it shrank.

God kept it with me, though: He gave me a cheap camera. Well, I say He gave me; I mean, my parents did, but certainly God used it. Maybe it was His idea in the first place and my parents caught on later. Anyways—a cheap camera with macro and panorama settings. I learned that to use it well, I couldn’t just point and shoot. I had to see what I was looking at. I had to think. I had to take in what was around me. So I learned: I saw jetstreams in the sunsets, buildings in the city skylines, and closer still, the pattern of light and shadow, the texture in the page of a book or a brick wall or even a housecat. When I carried a camera, even if I didn’t plan to use it, I began to see photos, and with them: beauty. It was fascinating.

Still learning, I am. Learning to delight in these moments, in the detail and grand scale, the sights and sounds and sensations. Learning to look around with the alacrity of a tourist and the appreciation of an artist—even on grocery runs, even on school days. I’m learning to take Father God’s hand and, childlike, chortling with joy, tug Him over:

“Look, God!” I’ll point out the finely-flowered, full-leaved lilac bush nearby, bursting with color, grinning ear to ear. “Look what You made! It’s so pretty!”

Or I’ll gaze down an alley as we drive past, see lines and shapes and shadows and squeal into God’s ear about the rule of thirds, architecture, and intersecting planes.

I’ll smile into my coffee or the grains of sugar spilled on the faux-granite countertop and murmur about lighting, depth of field, texture details.

I’m learning that God hides things in the mundane—He works His creativity, his beauty, even glimpses of His glory into the people and places around us. He’s tucking little Easter eggs into the everyday, planting clues, setting out a scavenger hunt for us on our credit union runs and gas station refills, our school passing periods and employment hours. We may think ourselves wise and clever, but God shows us great and mysterious things when we are seeking Him, childlike.

Maybe the question shouldn’t be, “When do we stop being childlike?” Maybe we should ask, “How do we return to childlikeness?” Meekness and faith and simplicity and joy, and even fascination.