2024

Man must say goodbye in diverse ways, 

daily learning a new tongue.

When full day comes, he'll rise up swift

and need no tutor for hello.

2024 was a hard year both individually and as a family. When we cast our bread upon the waters, it did not return, but new grain grew pliant and green on the opposite shore. Bereft of sister-friends and Grandma Owen, my older children have walked a lonely road, and though I can't set their feet on softer ways, I can haltingly speak our Hope. One day, we'll have no separation. One day, we'll have only hellos.

God continually remakes the face of the ground, and He "is making all things new," a promise in the present tense, but sometimes new looks less like bright dawn and more like stiff boots that ease only after miles of walking. One result of aching feet inside new boots was my blogging desertion. I bought an amazing camera right before Annika was engaged but haven't used it for anything more than hasty snapshots of birthdays and the like. I've used my crummy phone camera significantly more than my fancy camera, which also lessens my desire to blog. Slapping on phone pictures that I took to text to my children hasn't seemed worth the time, and light commentary seemed daunting, but if I don't start, shotsnaps might bite the dust. 

Here's your warning that for a good bit, shotsnaps will be worse than a badly executed Instagram account, but I have children for whom this blog has worth, shabby snapshots and all. So, starting where I left off 18 months ago, here's August of 2023. 

After the old is up, shotsnaps, too, can be all things new.