Outdoor photography prompts me to notice—truly notice—something other than me. When I look through my camera’s LCD monitor to make an ordinary scene or object picturesque, the moment feels magical.

I often dream of traveling the world with my camera; capturing the uniqueness of God’s character through nature.

Mountains and deep waters display His power and strength.

Fragile snowflakes reveal His mystery and grace.

Fragrant flowers divulge His love for calm and peace.

Nature’s colors, shapes, and sizes express His boundless heart for variety…

…a heart for all things to live in harmony.

But I have learned we don’t have to travel the world or even parts of it to capture God in nature. We see His character, draw near, listen, and learn from Him in our own backyard.

Most of the pictures that I make are taken on or near my rural property. Mornings are a good time to photograph outdoors. The air is crisp. The vegetation is perky, and the light is just right. Somehow, these natural elements open our soul and mind to the positive tempos in our life.

So, I head out the kitchen door loaded down with props. My camera hangs from its strap over my shoulder and bounces against my hip as I stroll to the barn, smiling with anticipation.

The small outdoor space where I create still life sits between one end of the barn and a locust tree. Beneath the tree, thick lantana drapes across low mounts. The ground cover has a pungent scent. But its graceful movements and lavender blooms are pleasing to the eye.

I use an old window to stage windowsill compositions. For the picture below, I snipped the last of three Pentas Falling Star clusters, dangling from the tops of dying stocks.

As I photographed them, I thought of a Facebook friend who commented pink is her favorite color. I don’t believe it’s an accident that others come to mind while we work (or play). God speaks to us no matter what we are doing. But there is something special about hearing His still small voice while we’re surrounded by nature. Perhaps, because His voice fills us with gratitude and prayer on behalf of those we know and love. Maybe it’s because there is peace in knowing He is the creator of the first garden.

Excitement feels my heart as I look through my camera’s monitor. Later, when I sit at my desk and study the images on my computer screen, I wonder if observers will notice the fine, almost invisible veins of a leaf. How will they translate the delicate curl of a pedal? Or the color that graduates from deep velvet to soft pastel.

Each of us interprets a different message, a different story.

Whatever prints hang on your walls, I hope you see an artist working with God.

“You don’t take a photograph, you make it.” —Ansel Adams