Authentic voice

A while back, my son Tucker came home from school imitating an older boy he thought was cool. When the imitations persisted, my wife sat him down and spoke of the virtue of using his own “authentic” voice, the one God gave him. Goosebumps crawled up my arms as I listened. What a powerful thought, and one that I knew I needed to apply to my own life. She looked him in the eye and assured him that his voice was special and every bit as valuable as the one his “cool” friend used.

My wife has given me a similar lecture from time to time – when she sees me scrambling, shooting things my heart isn’t in or that I am not really good at. I do this because I need to make a living, I assure her.

She retorts, “Do what you do well – what only you can do – and the money will take care of itself.”

Yeah, that’s easy for her to say, I think. She doesn’t feel the financial pressures the way I do.

Truth is, I have given that same advice to many people struggling in their careers, and the advice was sound. Young lives were changed for the better when students applied that wisdom.

The Bible asks a rhetorical question meant to challenge any sincere-hearted reader: “Thou that teacheth another, teacheth not thyself?”

Ouch!

I am too often guilty of losing confidence (or faith) in the talents and voice God has blessed me with. Like my son, I slip into imitating the voices of other photographers and lose my authentic voice – the one God blessed me with.

As a photographer, I can do many things, some better than others. I can light a senior or business portrait on location or in a studio.

But I am not a portrait photographer.

I can photograph products in a way that reveal their beauty and entice others to buy or use them.

But I am not a product photographer.

I can shoot better-than-average sports pictures. I have covered March Madness, the World Series and the NBA championships.

But I am not a sports photographer.

I grew up in the hills and creeks and love the great outdoors. Capturing the beauty of the land, the sky and the sea is both challenging and therapeutic.

But I am not a landscape photographer.

I love photographing animals – in the wild, in zoos, even people’s pets. I have had many nature photographs published in magazines across the globe.

But I am not a wildlife photographer.

I have photographed many famous people – presidents, actors and musicians.

But I am not celebrity photography.

Architectural shapes – lines and shadows melding together in dreamy juxtapositions excite me. I can spend hours on end trying to capture interesting arrangements of light and line.

But I am not an architectural photographer.

I have photographed accidents, disasters, political campaigns and conflicts.

But I am not a news photographer.

So what am I?

I am a storyteller – a visual poet who observes and interprets life.

I document relationships.
I am comfortable with a camera in places most are not. I feel for the suffering, the brokenhearted, the frightened, the struggling. I would rather be at the quiet bedside of a hospice patient than a loud Academy Awards show.

I live in the shadows of life, in the subtle emotions from those everyday events that unite each of us as human beings.

I choose to make pictures that celebrate life and love rather than documenting tragedy or conflict.

There is no shortage of “photographers” who can shoot sharp, well-lighted, well-composed pictures. But there are few blessed with sensitivity and storytelling ability.

But I am also a teacher and a coach.

I have been given a gift, a talent to motivate students to do their best work – to connect their eyes with their emotions and intellect. And I have been truly blessed to achieve in others what I am not able to accomplish in myself alone.


- David LaBelle

Nearing the finish line

I remember the day my father cut down an aged tree near our house that had likely been there decades before we arrived. Probably no more than 5 or 6 at the time, I can still see the wood-frame house, the old tree and the rusting car that sat beneath it. I also remember the cavity in the earth after the stump was pulled from the ground. But mostly I remember how different – how much smaller and lonely - the little house looked without the tree.

When Ethel Key – a tree of strength and comfort to so many – died three years ago, she left a cavity in many lives, including the heart of her “Little Man.” Without his wife, Earl looked smaller and lonely, much like our little house without the tree.

I remember when I met Earl, a small man behind the wheel of a monstrous, 40-foot motor home. He and his 65-year-old-bride (His first wife, Helen, had died) were on a cross-country trip, a honeymoon of sorts. Ethel had been a part of my life for two decades but I had not yet met her second husband. I found him a delightful, humble man, witty but not reckless with his words.

It is hard to believe more than 20 years have passed since that meeting.

Now, as Earl Key nears the end of a life that began 87 years ago and a Christian walk started as a young man, I am once again reminded how quickly cherished moments become distant memories.

Soon, Earl will go “the way of man” and join those souls who long to see “The Living Tree of Life.”

I will miss you, Earl, but I hope to see you and Ethel again.

Thank you, my friend, for your gentle, steadfast example of faith in Jesus Christ. Like Ethel, you will leave a cavity in many lives when you leave. I will miss your wit and wisdom and hearing you pray. When you talked to God, I always felt like I was sitting with you on His lap.

We should all be so blessed to leave holes in at least a few hearts when we are pulled from this earth.

-David LaBelle

lovely man and lovely deed

Last winter I was blessed to spend several weeks teaching in Singapore. During the visit I accompanied 39 East photographers Eng Hong and Aloysius Lim as they photographed a dying man and his loving family. Similar in age and both with young families, Jeffrey Aw and I hit it off immediately. Even in his weakened condition, he managed to shoot a few pictures of me with my camera. We laughed and I found myself wishing I had met him earlier. I am confident we would have been friends.

Before we parted, I kneeled on the wet grass and we prayed together. It was one of those beautiful life moments that connect us as human beings.

I just learned that not long after a warm Christmas with his family, Jeffrey left this world. A sadness fills my heart for his young family, especially his children, who will no doubt hunger for their father's wisdom and touch in the years to come. But I am grateful to a loving God for allowing me to meet such a wonderful and loving soul
and his supportive family.

I thankful for Eng Hong and Aloysius Lim, who made time in their busy schedules to meet the family in a park on a rainy day and shoot tender pictures which they put in an album and gave to the family at no charge, a present from 39 East and the Rotary Club's "My Wish" project.

God is good.