So I was searching this blog for some anniversary posts and realized the videos were quite outdated. Here then, on this July 30, 2016 ... is how we roll.

Happy 39th anniversary to us.

39 from STORIES Photography on Vimeo.



It's time.

This coming Saturday will be STORIES Photography's last wedding.  I'm handing the wedding photography business over to Jennifer Grace Photography ... she's much better at it than me.

I'll keep my facebook page (until we figure out how to merge it with JGP's fb page) my website (making it more of a lifestyle blog), and I'll always have a camera around my neck, but it's time to retire.

Seems like eons ago, since I woke up in the Lafayette Surgical Clinic minus a body part.

We rented out our house in Muskegon which involved packing up and downsizing a lifetime.

We started snowbirding in Florida.

We added Spencer, Moses, Calvin, and Lucy to the family roster.

We reevaluated.

We floundered.

We pulled back and we drew close.

We navigated.

We babysat.

We laughed.

We cried.

We lived and loved and hardly ever at the lake.

As the cicadas start their 2016 summer song, life finds us traveling back and forth on the Michigan road ... reworking, repainting, refinishing floors, restocking, and rethinking the little house on Henry Street. It's a labor of love and a fixer upper, for sure. More on the logistics of farmhouse vs lakehouse, later.

What I really wanted to talk about here is I-65 and sunsets.  I think I've mentioned this before but I love sunsets.  I love sunsets at the beach, I love sunsets over the street.  I love sunsets here and there, I love sunsets everywhere.  If I ever built a house it would have a wrap around porch so I could watch the sunrise and sunset from every angle.

My view from this old farmhouse has only one good west window to watch from and it's our bedroom.  All the traveling, floundering, navigating, fixing and problem solving,  has taken it's toll on my bedtime and so if I get horizontal as the sun begins to dip, I'll be the first to admit, I've fallen asleep before it sets.

So the other day I planted myself outside in full view of train town skyline and the Interstate that slices thru the Indiana fields, driving the world past us at breakneck speeds. As I sat and watched (mainly trucks, since the cars are covered as the corn grows) every truck started to shine as the sun reached a certain spot in the sky.  It was a brilliant reflection on each and every tractor trailer.  They couldn't help it and they didn't even know it, but for a certain moment in time and only for a brief second, the semi's bounced the sun from their billboard sized trailers ... reminding me of how I'm to live my life. As a reflection. Of the Son.

My walk, my words, my attitude, my work, my play, my floundering, my living and loving, whether it's at the lake, the farm, along the interstate, or in a tiny trailer in Florida, should be a reflection of the Light. So thank you, I-65 and the trucks traveling along the corridor. Thank you my Heavenly Father for 3 added years of health and life. And to you, the reader here, thank you for following along and I hope you notice a reflection of Him, bouncing off me.

This little light of mine.