Being married to a photographer, I have been blessed with seeing many sunrises and sunsets. They are the two best times of day to take photo’s in nature because of the colors they cast on the sky and on the world. So, during our photo trips, we (many times, just Tony) get up when everything is still dark, drive to a spot, and wait for the sun to bring beauty out of the shadows. Or, we end our sight-seeing early in the afternoon, drive to a bright place, and wait for the sun to recede.

Once, while we were doing the latter on a trip to Maine, we drove out to the southern most tip of Mount Desert Island, to Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse. We pulled into the parking lot, grabbed our gear, and headed down a small path to the shore, where you could get a better view.

As we came out of the wooded path onto a narrow shoreline, we could see quite a few photographers were already there, tripods and cameras at attention. The small beach was mostly composed of large boulders, and the tide was coming in, which meant the space for photographers and sunset gazers was shrinking by the minute.

Immediately, my husband began to assess the best place to set up, and as he did I couldn’t help but notice one photographer stood out from the rest. Right in the middle of one’s view of the lighthouse sat a large, round, six foot high boulder, and on its top, stood this man. Behind a set up tripod and camera pointed at the lighthouse, this guy looked like superman. Hands on his hips, his legs spread wide, he stood confidently in a power stance. He was the “king” of the beach. No one was going to mess with—or share—his spot. From my point of view, he seemed to have laid claim to the best possible photography real-estate.

But as I began to wonder if we should have come earlier, Tony made his way, dodging the incoming waves, around the boulder. I stayed more inland, yet walked toward the lighthouse as well. When I reached a spot where I could see the other side of the “king” and his “mountain,” I saw Tony had found a spot below, with about a half a dozen other photographers. He started setting up his stuff.

Taking in the wonderful view, I breathed in the salt air. Having grown up near the ocean, it felt like home. Then I remembered it was going to be at least an hour or two before the sun fully set. So I signaled to Tony that I was going to walk around and explore while he did his thing. He nodded.

I headed back up the path to the parking lot and then down another path that lead to the lighthouse. You couldn’t go inside, but they had interesting signs about its history, and there were some nice views of the ocean. As I looked around, I couldn’t help but continue to think about the “super photographer” on his big rock.

My first response was sadly to judge. I laughed to myself, thinking he looked ridiculous up there, hogging the rock. But then, I felt a little convicted. Having the best photo spot isn’t a big deal to me, but there have been other times when I definitely have been—or wanted to be—on top. Times where I have easily been the first to make it, or others where I have embarrassingly scrambled to come out ahead. All the while, thinking that being on top defined me, that it made me important.

In my earlier years, I was quite good at coming out on top—especially when it came to school, leadership, and work opportunities. But in college my life began to take a different turn. My heart still wanted the top spot, but it also wanted to live the life God was calling me to. I prayed for God to make me like Jesus. Yet though I grew up in a Christian home, I didn’t really know what that meant. I had a vague understanding of serving others, but I didn’t realize that when it came to being “on top,” Jesus couldn’t care less.

When in your life have you wanted the top spot?

Down Below will be continued next Monday, October 31st. 

 

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