Finding Beauty in the Ordinary Moments

cultivating joy and building meaningful connections with others

This picture is one I took in the first gentle light of morning, well before my friends who lived in their historical home were awake. Mark and Tamara’s lovely garden often caught my imagination, and they had given me permission to prowl around their property early in the morning with my camera any time I felt inspired. Sometimes I would make blank cards for them with the photos as a gift and expression of my gratitude. They understood my strange but wonderful addiction to chasing beauty, my love for delicious morning light illuminating vibrant flowers and lush foilage.

Mark taught art at the local high school many years, and I had worked with Tamara earlier on in the rehabilitation counseling field. Their historic home in Jefferson, Oregon, had gorgeous gardens and a graciously sloping front lawn. Their garden held many delights, and the raised beds full of lettuce and fresh tender kale fed my family and many others. Butterflies fluttered softly and bees buzzed, happily pollinating soft pink blossoms on their trees.

Their generosity and artistic vision had made them a beloved part of this rural little town. Inside their majestic two story home, Mark and Tamara had lovingly created a bit of a wonderland for the senses. The bright red whimsical features in the kitchen always made me smile, and the artistic touches in every room, including the ornate ceilings were tasteful, even gentle. Whenever they invited me in, or I joined them on their front porch or back patio, I felt welcomed and loved. The care with which they created and restored their home spoke to my heart, nourishing my sometimes weary body and mind.

Their front porch had comfortable chairs and space for them to sit and visit, a reflection of their love for this community and their own quality of life. Their daughters told me they thought of their upbringing as a “Cream Puff Childhood.” They understood they experienced something very special growing up in this loving, talented family in a home where creativity and love flourished.

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Dear friends,

I hope this article finds you doing well. I wrote this several months ago, and tucked it in my draft folder. This topic is one that has been very essential in my life, and one might say even central to my purpose here on earth.

Much like writing, photography and art cause me to pause and notice the moment, to reflect on the deeper story present in the scene unfolding before my eyes.

When I write something deeply meaningful to me, or take pictures, or do other forms of art, something changes inside me. My spirits brighten, my heart rate slows peacefully, and I exhale, all signs of the flow state shifting everything within me for the better. I lose track of time completely, and sometimes hours later I find chapters I’ve just written, or I return home with a memory card full of photographs that capture the essence of those moments suspended in time.

Over the years I have come to understand a bit more about why these times of creativity and the tangible results were so good for my health, and why shared joy feeds healthy connections with others as well.

Inspiration for this article began with a note I posted this past June about how uplifting photography had been for me during a tough time in my life. I’ll include a link here so you can see a few more pictures of the cards or photos I wrote about in that note. I ended up mailing one of my cards to a beloved writer friend here on Substack, along with a couple of the stickers (created from my photography or art) after our conversation.

Sharing joy and beauty can be so healing.

I hope this small gesture lifted her spirits or encouraged her heart. In a world where people long for tangible and personal connections, we need beauty. We need joy.

(Please note: I’m trying something different. This topic is one close to my heart, so I hope you’ll be blessed. The first part of this article is available to free subscribers, but you’ll see a paywall a little ways in. I’ve decided that for articles that closely relate to chapters in the book I’m writing, I am going to put some of these behind the paywall. While I’d be glad to keep everything free, this distinction is necessary and helpful while I’m writing my book. If you’re unable to afford a monthly or yearly subscription, feel free to message me. Or if you’re a faithful reader or friend who simply wants to read the whole thing, reach out to me as well. I’ll gladly do what I can to make this available to you. In this case, the paywall isn’t there because of a desire to earn money, it’s just a form of sheltering material that may end up in my book in some form. Thanks for your engagement and encouragement!)

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We live in Oregon, and our area is known for enduring months of rain and overcast days. While this also creates the vibrant green landscape we love, these rainy months can be tough. Many people struggle with seasonal affective disorder (SAD), and the shorter hours of daylight in the winter months at our latitude also make things more challenging. We’re at the 45th parallel.

Some years ago, when my health grew more challenging as multiple sclerosis progressed, I had to reduce my work hours a lot. As a single woman at the time, I found this really stressful and discouraging. I really loved my work in the rehab field, and I missed my coworkers and the sense of purpose my job had given me. Initially, I struggled with this unwanted change in my life, and tried to adjust.

I adopted a rescue dog named Teddy, and this beautiful border collie provided companionship and affection. I would often take my dog with me and roam the sidewalks in my neighborhood with my digital camera. Sometimes I’d wake up early because of pain, and I’d grab my camera and my dog, and I would drive somewhere with a view of the valley and mountains, and we’d watch the sunrise. I took lots of pictures, and I found that as I turned my attention to the beauty around me, I found the pain easier to manage. The adjustments felt less overwhelming, too.

I grew up on a farm, so hard work was really all I’d ever known. I come from a line of very hard working people, and work is so central to the identities and collective sense of purpose of my family. We hauled a lot of hay and cleared entire fields of bales before the impending storm hit. But that love of hard work made the storm I faced now even more difficult to accept.

Not only do I love to work, helping others gave me a reason to get up in the morning and overcome the health issues that had accompanied me for years. I found it easier to live with the mobility and other limitations when I could use my skills and empathy to serve and care for my rehab counseling clients.

So when my rehab specialist told me I needed to resign from my job because my health really wasn’t sufficient to continue working regular hours, she gave me some important words of advice. She said, “You’re blessed with a bright mind. Whether you work for pay or not, you’re going to need to challenge your mind. You won’t be happy if you don’t.” Dr. Donovan couldn’t have been more correct.

In those early months, I felt anxious about what the future held.

For one thing, I had to adapt to a reduced income. I wan’t used to so much free time. I found a first grade teacher in the local school who would allow me to help kids with reading or writing their letters whenever I felt strong enough to roll into the classroom. I loved the children. Feeling useful helped in this time of loss and change.