Monterey Mist

In November of 2017, the week before Thanksgiving, I took the first of what feels like a hundred emergency trips to CA to be with my Dad. He was struggling with the daily tasks a person needs to navigate in order to live independently like paying bills, getting groceries, and doing the laundry. After a sleepless night and a particularly troubling few days, I took him to one of his favorite breakfast places in Sunnyvale, Country Gourmet, just to get out of the house. I sat across from him, utterly exhausted and emotionally spent, unable to process the painful reality of a parent rapidly disappearing into dementia. That breakfast, that very moment, was one of those times in your life that you know you’ll never forget even as it’s happening, like how the world slows down in a car wreck. I was confronted with the reality that I was losing my father.

As I sat at the table trying to avoid the terrible truth sitting across from me, my eyes caught sight of a photo hanging on the wall across the room. It was a beautiful picture of the sunlight breaking through Cypress trees at dusk along California’s central coast. The setting was unmistakable - the breathtaking 17-mile drive in Monterey, which I had visited myself many times before.

There was just something about the light breaking through the foggy mist at dusk that captured my attention that morning. I couldn’t look away. I found some hope in the power and resilience of the light beams. Light is just brighter, more active, more alive as the sun is setting or rising, isn’t it? As day transitions to night, and as night gives way to the day, new depths, dimensions, and colors of light are revealed. I left the meal that morning with no fewer problems, but I eagerly returned each subsequent visit to see “Monterey Mist” and receive a booster shot of hope, optimism, and encouragement. The light is different at dusk. The light breaks through in the transformations of life and creation.

After my Dad died last year, one of my first moments of clarity in my grief was a certainty that I needed the light from that photo in my life again. I had viewed the photo many times on the artist’s website over the years, and so within days I had placed an order and the photo was on its way to me. It hangs in my living room now, a reminder of both the painful end of my father’s journey and the hope that breaks through in life’s transitions.

But this isn’t where the story ends…

Because life goes on. And life is full of new transitions and transformations.

Recently, my youngest child shared that they are gender non-binary, and I am blown away by their courage to be their authentic self in a world full of hate, violence, and bigotry toward anyone different. This is obviously their story to tell, but they have also asked that my partner and I share openly with friends and family so that they won’t be misgendered. I write this now, in part, as a way of honoring their request.

As our little four-person family unit works to educate ourselves and surround Kai with love and support, our eyes have been opened to the ways that we have missed the beauty, wonder, and createdness of our neighbors on less familiar parts of the gender spectrum. In support and love of Kai, we have finally turned to look… and in seeing, we cannot deny the beauty and love and wholeness that exists in this child. It’s a joy, a delight even, to see our Kai for who they are, and for me, a seminary student, to discover more of God revealed in the process. Kai’s courage to be who they are - lovingly created in the image of God, broadens my understanding of who God is, of what God is like.

On a recent episode of the Liturgists Podcast, I heard Kevin Miguel Garcia compare the diversity of gender identity to the diversity of light. In the Genesis creation myth, the Creator made all things, including day and night, and humanity, male and female. This poetic language is often used to dehumanize our transgender siblings, but Kevin used the timeless Genesis poem to affirm their humanity by likening them to the dawn and the dusk. The light and the shadows at these times are neither day nor night, but are they any less a part of God’s creation? Is the dawn broken, or the dusk confused? Are they any less whole, less beautiful?

After I purchased “Monterey Mist,” the artist, Scott Shute, and I struck up a conversation. He shared the story of this particular photo with me, and in light of the last few months, the story has become as important to me as the photo itself. Scott said,

“This shot (Monterey Mist) was taken on the seventeen-mile drive near Pebble Beach. It's one of my favorite places in the world. I was taking my brother, who was visiting from Kansas. We came to this bend in the road where the late afternoon light was streaming through the cypress trees and lighting up the fog. I call this the ‘God light’.

It was so beautiful.

I pulled over as best I could and did my thing, lost in awe.

When I finally came out of my photography coma, I turned around to see a stack of cars, waiting behind me. (Ok, in my haste, maybe I didn't pull over very well). I was running back to the car, but then I saw nearly all of them outside of their cars as well, snapping the scene with their iPhones, or just taking in the splendor. I felt like I had done a public service...getting everyone to slow down and take it all in.

It's a special moment for me, and a special place. I hope it will be special for you as well.”

Slow down, and take it all in.

The light that broke through the mist and gave me hope in my father’s death now reveals a wider and more expansive understanding of God than I knew before. The light that hangs on my wall and gave me hope in life's transitions shines brilliantly now in the beloved child that runs down the stairs and hugs me goodnight.

May we all be so drawn to the beauty and wonder of God’s diverse creation that we cause a traffic jam behind us. And may we get out of our own cars when people on the road ahead of us stop to marvel at the wonder of God’s beautiful creation that we didn’t see or appreciate before.

Support Scott's work here:

https://www.scottshutephotos.com