Back in the Spring of 2022, Brad and I got to travel to New York City for a few days after a speaking engagement. I had never been before, and was so excited to explore as much as we possibly could. And let me tell you, we did just that. We covered A LOT of ground. From Long Island to Time Square to Central Park to Freedom Tower to Wall Street to Rockefeller Center to Brooklyn to Broadway, even to Coney Island, with lots and lots of stops along the way, it was quite the adventure.

One of the stops I was most hoping to make was the Museum of Modern Art, or MoMA for short. And one of the main reasons I wanted to go there as opposed to another of the numerous art museum options is that the original Starry Night from Van Gogh is on display there. Not only do I find much of Van Gogh’s story fascinating, but the painting also played a major role in a Boy Meets World story line between Cory and Topanga back in the day, so to see Starry Night in real life, up close and personal, was something I was very much looking forward to.

We arrived and wound our way through six levels holding nearly 200,000 works of art in the building. It was all incredible. But when we finally came upon Starry Night, I was very much underwhelmed. Not because of the painting itself, but because of the huge crowd surrounding it, almost every person in said crowd with a cell phone trying to get the perfect shot. I wanted the chance to stand right in front of it, to take my time, to notice the textures and colors and intricacies you can’t quite make out in a photo. But when it became clear the crowd wasn’t going anywhere and would likely only grow, I went ahead and reluctantly snapped my own quick photo before continuing on. I was able to document my being there, but it felt very much like a missed opportunity.

Truly, more and more, that is becoming our reality. We want to remember. So we take videos of our favorite songs while they are being played at the concert. We’re in the stadium or arena, but watching the game through a  small screen right in front of our face, hoping to catch the last minute shot or goal on film. Or we’re so struck by the view, we spend all our time trying to snatch it up in a snapshot, rather than soaking it in, letting it sink deep down into the memory of our souls.

Professor and author Jamie Smith puts it this way in his book, How to Inhabit Time,

“Bent on capturing the moment, [we] are no longer present to it. Determined to hold on to the experience, [we] miss the opportunity to experience it. The moment is lost by the desire to seize it…It’s mostly a matter of giving [ourselves] opportunities to remember rather than turning every experience into something to be archived. The penchant to capture every instant of beauty on [our] iPhone[s] becomes a way of losing the world. Rather than living with [us] in [our] visceral memor[ies], all the joy and beauty [we] experience ends up buried in a photos folder [we] rarely look at.”

As Jamie Smith shares, it is true that trying to capture the moment often ends up distracting us from it. It’s a reality we need to recognize, because our screens do often keep us from truly experiencing and even deeply remembering. We say a picture will last longer, but research shows a picture only skims the surface of all our memory can hold.

In recent years, in attempt to avoid just this, I’ve given up taking photos altogether. Because if I forget to take a photo, it must mean I’m fully present to the moment, right? Well, not always.

Often I find I’m just as distracted, with or without a camera in hand. Worry, a too-full or fast-paced schedule, insecurity, discontent, or familiarity {just to name a few} can keep me from fully experiencing and appreciating my actual, right-now life.

Which makes me wonder, what if the camera in and of itself isn’t the issue? What if there was a way we could use our cameras, not to capture a moment or hold on tightly to a memory, but to notice the things we are prone to forget or tend to miss? That’s a question I’ve been exploring in my own life recently, and it has led to a new spiritual practice for me.

It started in Scotland. As you might imagine, I was quick to take a picture there. The landscape, the architecture, the life we were living were all things I wanted to hold onto. But I also learned pretty quickly that photos could not do the view justice. Rarely could my camera actually capture the grandeur of it all. With this reality in mind, I didn’t stop taking pictures altogether, but I did stop trying to get the perfect shot. I found myself beginning to take pictures more intentionally or preemptively, not in an effort to keep a moment, but as a way to mark it. Over time, I found my internal posture while taking a picture became less about capturing and more about noticing.

Which meant my camera still remained in my purse or pocket the majority of the time, but if a detail caught my eye or an experience felt particularly meaningful, then CLICK. I marked it. Photo taken. Phone put away again. For about six weeks, this was my normal.

And then, we came home. And as I was reflecting on the plane ride back, I recognized how life-giving that particular practice had been for me. And I remember thinking to myself, “What if I don’t have to stop? I might not be in Scotland, but what if there is still plenty of good to notice and mark in my regular, ordinary, day-to-day life? And what if the camera could still be a tool to help me be more intentional about noticing it?”

And so, since we’ve been back, I’ve continued on doing just that, as best I can. There are still plenty of moments I forget to mark, plenty of times I still end up distracted or aloof; but I’ve also noticed a greater awareness of God-with-me, a deeper appreciation for what is beautiful around me, and I’ve experienced more joy within me as I go about my day and my week. This practice is helping me remember my connection with God. And that is making a difference.

When I notice the way the light falls in-between the tree branches while walking the dogs, I remember and—CLICK—I mark it.

When I notice how much I laughed during a meal with good friends, I remember and—CLICK—I mark it.

When I notice the flowers blooming through the chained link fence at the school where I’m subbing, I remember and—CLICK—I mark it.

When I notice how the Spirit showed up in a way I wasn’t expecting during a spiritual direction session, I remember and—CLICK—I mark it.

When I notice words on a page or in a card that move me to tears, I remember and—CLICK—I mark it.

Taking a picture might not help me remember the moment, but it is helping me remember my connection with God. And most of the time, that’s exactly what I need most.

So today, if you feel distracted, stale, or overly familiar with your everyday life, remember to maybe take a picture. Not to capture the moment, but to mark it. To notice the beauty and goodness it holds. In doing so, may we remember our connection with God every step of the way, even in the normal and regular parts of our day.