Well. Today was a good day. Today was a fabulous day. Today was a day out of the ordinary. So much so that I wish that I could bottle it up and open it every morning. Here’s why: Out of the blue, we (the family- all of us- what a mess) went to a place called Prattville Pickers, a flea market that just opened up. Now, I love to shop for neat finds. But I hate to do it with children in tow because you may leave with more than you were ever going to buy (just in little pieces). Off we go, and on the outside circle, I finally made my way to a booth that was in the middle of a maze (in which I lost Robert and the kids, on purpose). On that table were 3 books. Yearbooks from Prattville High School, years 1949, 1950 and 1951. I picked them up and almost cried. Tears came up in my eyes, and I was in awe. In awe of what had to have been put there by someone who was meant by God to cross my path in a weird, crazy way. The yearbooks were from my mama (my grandma who raised me) and my daddy’s (granddaddy) senior years. I didn’t know what to do. The kids found me and Robert just stood there and looked and just kept saying, “You’re kidding.” To you, it’s probably not a big deal. And I can almost hear you saying, “What’s this crazy girl talking about?”
Well, here’s the thing. When Daddy died, my world as I knew it was over. I grew up, as I should have all along, into an adult overnight, literally that night in February when he left forever. For 10 years, and if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, “Gosh, I wish I could talk to him.” And this day wasn’t any different. It’s just that today, God let him talk back to me. Today of all days, I saw him when he was 18 years old- strong, handsome, with a head full of black hair and a gorgeous smile. Which, contrary to what he believed, is the same way that I’d always seen him even when the strokes took it all away. He never looked weak to me even when he was at his weakest. So, there you go. A photo of my daddy. It wasn’t an out of the blue coincidence that is so easy to explain away. It was put there by someone who unknowingly did God’s work, on a day that God knew that I needed it.
And even more comforting, if that’s possible, is something I found on the way home in the back of the yearbook. As I was flipping through I saw a thank you from the high school to someone who had taken photos of the seniors, who’s who, etc. And when I looked down, I saw that the man who did it was my great grandfather, EB Cargill, a photographer from the 1920s and 30s who did amazing work that to this day would blow folks away. And in one fail swoop, God told me to keep going. In His own way, God told me that I was doing what was right in doing my photography thing. And I smiled. I smiled big and held my head up high. And then went to the Montgomery Biscuits ballgame and snorted a bug straight up that nose. But I’m still smiling. Not holding my head up so, high, but still smiling.
Here are some of the pictures that made my day a wonderful one. So amazed at the power of the lens, which doesn’t compare to the power of God.