Seek and Ye Shall Find
People tell me I have a “good eye”: friends, family, even strangers at art shows. The funny thing is, I have poor eyesight. Without my contacts, I can’t see well at all. But I know what they really mean: I notice. I pay attention to small, easily overlooked details, and I photograph my subjects in a way that shows their quiet beauty. If there’s anything unique about my photography, it’s probably this ability to find something worth capturing almost anywhere: in a backyard, an alleyway, even a parking lot.
That way of seeing didn’t come naturally. Over the years I’ve trained my eye to look for the right light, shape, color, pattern, texture, and timing. But my desire to dig deeper has always been there. In literature class, I loved when the teacher asked, “What does this mean?” It was a chance to think creatively—analyzing, interpreting, searching for symbolism. Of course, I sometimes read too much into things, finding meaning that wasn’t really there. I had to learn discernment, to tell the difference between truth and imagination.
Sometimes that search for meaning revealed itself in the smallest ways. Like seeing a dead leaf curled on the ground. It looked lifeless, finished, something to step past. But then the light would catch it, and it became striking again. I’d find myself thinking about how even things that seem broken or done with can still hold meaning and lead to something more. Other times it was a camouflaged caterpillar hiding on a flower petal, almost invisible until I looked closely. It reminded me that there is often more happening beneath the surface than we first see. It also made me think of the ways we try to hide ourselves or blend in by becoming something we’re not.
What I didn’t realize then was that all this searching—in art, in books, in photography—was really a search for God. My decades-long hunger for meaning, truth, wisdom, and beauty eventually led me to Him. The journey wasn’t easy. I wandered, got lost, and struggled. But that made the finding all the more satisfying.
One verse in particular captures my story: “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you” (Matthew 7:7). I was seeking all those years, and I slowly began to find. But it wasn’t until I started knocking that my life truly changed. For me, photography became the catalyst for faith. Those long walks with my camera, alone with my thoughts and surrounded by creation, were when I began to see and feel God’s presence in my life, even if I wasn’t fully aware of it. Each walk became like a prayer. And often, depending on what I was going through, the things I noticed seemed to reflect it back to me: offering perspective, meaning, and a kind of peace. I think that’s what art, or any practice we return to again and again, has the power to do.
I share this to encourage anyone who is still searching, or who has given up hope of finding. The verse is true: God wants a relationship with you.
As I write this, a moth is outside my window, tapping against the glass as it tries to reach the light of my desk lamp. But the window is in the way. We’re a lot like that moth. We long for God. We can sometimes see His light. But something blocks the way. Often it’s not God—it’s the brokenness of the world, or our own distractions. Some days the curtain is drawn, and the light seems gone. Yet the lamp is still there, whether we see it or not.
So when people say I have a “good eye,” I smile. Photography did teach me to see, but not just in the artistic sense. It taught me how to look closely, how to notice. And that practice of noticing is what finally helped me see God. And it can help you too.
