4:10 p.m.
Me: “Honey, it’s 4:10. We are running out of light. We were supposed to be there by 4:00.”
The Dad: “I thought Leesh was coming over here.” “Where are we going?”
Me, as if it was obvious: “Will Bigby’s farm.” (where else would we go?)
The Dad: “Will Bigby’s farm? How would I even know that?” “Why would we go there?”
Continuing frantic putting on of clothes, doing hair, putting on makeup, and chasing of George.
4:23 p.m. Made it to Will Bigby’s barn.
The Dad: “Did you ask Will if we could take pictures here?”
Me: “No.”
The Dad: “Did Leesh?”
Me: “I don’t think so—when they took their picture here, they just came and did it.”
The Dad, with not a small amount of exasperation, starts hunting in his phone for the Bigby’s number.
Leesh pulls up, and we pile out of the car.
Me: “Did you get a hold of Will?”
The Dad: “He says, ‘well, if you are already here…’ No, I talked to Ellen. She said it was fine.”
The Dad, to Leesh: why we would want to take our photos at Will Bigby’s?
Leesh: “Because they have all this cool old stuff!” (of course)
The Dad, with his very logical mind, does not get it, but thankfully, he is patient with his wife and her ideas.
We make our way down the slippery hill to the barn.
And we take some shots by the cute, rustic window.
Me (and Leesh): Ooooh! Let’s take some by the fence!
The Dad, holding George, moves to another window, kind of by the fence.
Me: “No, Honey, over here.” He doesn’t move. “Over by the fence.” “Honey, over by the fence.” (see how I nag.)
The Dad, moving slowly and reluctantly to the fence (patience of wife’s ideas wearing thin): “To me, this says: “here we are, living on our pig farm.”
Fast forward to later that night, as I’m staring at photograph after photograph, trying to figure out how I’m going to have to:
a. switch three heads, if I use that one, because…why are they making those faces?
b. change the color of Chewy’s leash, if I use this one, because it is red, and we have a blue motif.
c. move Goose over, if I use that one, so it doesn’t look like my bottom is in the crook of her neck.
d. remove the vein poking out on my head if I use this one, because…why am I becoming a person that has veins poking out on her head?
e. move The Dad’s smile from a different picture if I use this one, because he is doing his square “grin.”
f. etc, etc.
Because, you know, we want this to be realistic. Like how we are EVERY DAY—happy, without wrinkles or poking-out veins, no weird faces, and combed, cereal-free hair. Getting up at the crack of dawn as a family on our pig farm, wearing lovely sweaters in coordinating colors with our old jeans, so that we can feed the pigs and mend fences and stuff. And though it is snowy, we don’t wear coats. Or gloves. Well, a couple of us throw on cute hats and scarves--we aren’t CRAZY. But mostly we have our love of one another to keep us warm...because that is how it is EVERY DAY, on our pig farm.
The Dad, coming up behind me, and pulling me out of my thoughts: “What are all of those structures in the background? Can we Photoshop those out, or fuzz the background or something?”
Me: “How about we just tell people we live in a Hooverville?”
This world--full of avatars, photo editing, plastic surgery, and entitlement teaches us that “perfection” is attainable here, now, immediately. But is this perfection or an illusion?
I’m inclined to believe that this quest for beauty, riches, and lack of want or pain, isn’t the type of “perfection” Christ speaks of when he says “be ye therefore perfect even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.”
I strongly suspect it is Satan’s counterfeit of this commandment. Satan is all about twisting the important, and making it seem like something else. He is the master of illusion.
The "pig farm." The family photo. An excellent opportunity for me to be reminded of what is really important...
and it isn't worldly "perfection."
What is really important is for me to use faith and obedience and repentance to come to Jesus Christ, so that through the Atonement, someday I may be perfected in Him.
It is Godly Perfection.
And it won't happen through anything I do, but through what He Has Done. Boy, do I have such a long way to go.
So, so grateful for the Atonement. And for Hope.
Praying that each of you feel the love of the Prince of Peace, whose birth we celebrate this time of year.
Merry Christmas!
