This evening as I walked on the treadmill, Abby sat across from me on the kitchen counter working on a story she's been writing. At one point, she sighed and told me that her computer's battery was dying, so she closed up shop, pulled her knees to her chest, and just watched me. It took about 10 seconds for the staring to make me uncomfortable, so I turned to look back at her, and slowly stuck out my tongue. She responded by screwing her face into an equally ridiculous expression. We went on with our little game for a few minutes until I finally busted out with a look that made her lose her composure. As she laughed, I quickly held up my phone and snapped a pic.
This is, from a perfectionist's standpoint, a technically inferior image. It's blurry, it's too bright, and the background kind of sucks. But in spite of those aspects of composition that I'd like to call imperfect, it's still beautiful because my girl --one of the biggest, boldest reflections of God's love in my life-- is the subject.
Life never has to be perfect to be beautiful.
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