Natalie Norton Photography

our shadow by day.

natalie — Thu, 17 May 2012 05:54:14 +0000

PS. Dear Instagram,
Thank you for making the life of the every day blogger infinitely. . .
well, better, in every way.

This morning, I was packing sack lunches with as much satisfaction as I’ve experienced in the entirety of my life (in sincerity).

Tears of gratitude streaked across my face as my soul joyously proclaimed, “What else matters, but lunches?!” (Yes, this description truly necessitated the ridiculousness of language like, “joyously proclaimed,” so get off my back.:))

In that messy moment, not a thing in the world mattered to my heart more than the mouths those lunches would feed. Not a thing.

“Our shadow by day” is a line from a hymn that I love. (Read the lyrics here or listen here: verse 3, where the men bust it out a capella??? Woooooooosh.)

Our shadow by day. . . I never realized the significance, until I moved to the desert. The difference between the shade and the beating heat of the sun, can very literally mean the difference between life and death.

The spiritual parallel is astonishing.

You see, I’ve felt so broken. So disoriented. So utterly small and completely overwhelmed.*

Then, I stepped into the shade. I stepped into His rest. And nothing has been the same.

As I actively seek my Father in Heaven, I find him. As I actively seek that spiritual shade, so to speak, my life is more fulfilling in every way that truly matters (and in most of the ways that don’t).

My brown paper sack at 6 in the morning . . . my shadow by day.

No matter how you slice it, God is there, and He is great.

(Psssst. You matter to Him, SO MUCH, by the way.)

*These feelings are part of the path we walk, those of us “who know.” All of these feelings are lingering symptoms of the journey through grief. That said, they are also symptoms that come as the result of other overwhelming, life shattering, circumstances faced by each of us every single day. Please don’t think that I’m EVER trying to compare battle wounds. Because I never am.

Smitten!

natalie — Wed, 16 May 2012 06:04:35 +0000

I’m deeply sorry for the lame-O post, but I simply cannot help myself. I just have to tell you!

I am absolutely, completely, unquestionably smitteny by Tide’s Pods.

The smell, the ninja-esque cleaning power, the all-in-one-ness. I die.

Amazing.

If they were a human, I’d have them over for a congratulatory BBQ to celebrate their utter awesomeness.

Buy them.

The end.

(Seeing as I’m blogging from my phone, there is a high probability that the resolution on the above image is poor. I promise to remedy said problem, should it in fact exist, just as soon as I get home from field trippin’ it with Raleigh-Roo tomorrow at the science museum! Thank Jupiter it’s indoors. It was 107 degrees today! Somebody please remind Arizona that it is, in fact, still MAY. Good gravy!)

Post Edited to Include (at 10:02 pm the next day might I add): WHAT THE HECK PEOPLE! I knew the resolution would be bad, but THAT BAD?? How did none of you send out a search party and TELL ME?! Holy cow patty. Problem (finally) solved, no thanks to YOU. ;)

(And no, I am in no way affiliated with Tide. But thank you, all the same, for questioning the sincerity of my enthusiasm. Mwahahaha.)

goodbye. hello.

natalie — Mon, 14 May 2012 07:09:35 +0000

When I was a teenager, my mom and I used to head up American Fork Canyon every morning to hike the trail to Timpanogos Cave. Some of the most profound spiritual experiences of my life occurred on the face of that mountain. It was there I learned to listen to my Father in Heaven (I’d always been very good at talking AT Him).

These early morning adventures are among my most treasured memories with my mother. However, one experience stands high above the rest.

I may have a stronger build than Mom, but boy does that woman have endurance. She can go and go and go and go and go. But when you’re 16 years old, you’re supposed to be faster, stronger, and more fit than your old lady mom. I was none of the above. And it was INFURIATING.

On this particular day, I was determined not to finish in her shadow. As we approached the final stretch of the trail, 3 steep switchbacks (by far the steepest of the entire climb), I opened the throttle. I literally sprinted the remaining distance to the top of the mountain.

VICTORY!

But the sense of accomplishment very quickly gave way to absolute terror. I reached for my throat, desperately gasping for air.

None came.

I panicked. I began to feel dizzy. Thankfully, I was coherent enough to lower myself to the ground in order to avoid falling over the edge. The harder I tried to gasp for breath, the more frantic I became. I could not breathe. I was horrified, certain I was going to die. A few other hikers had gathered around, but that detail is foggy. I don’t remember what they said, if anything, or what they did, if anything. I just remember them being there, and I remember sensing their sincere concern for me. The next thing I clearly remember was my mom trotting up over the top of the trail. The moment she saw me, she rushed to my side.

All she did was place her hand on my back.

Immediately, I took a long, deep breath. And another, and another. . .

I was safe. My mom was there.

________________________________________________________________________

For the last year and a half I have been heavily involved in The Making Things Happen Intensive. This is work I believe in. It is rich and fulfilling. It has made me a better person in every way.

And . . . it’s time to say goodbye.

As much as I love this work, the girls (Gina, Lara, Em) and the remarkable alum, the reality is this: God has been knocking on my heart for some time now, and just like I learned during those mornings on the trail, all those years ago, I need to remember to listen.

(Yes, I’m licking my son’s face. Believe me, the punk had it coming.)

As it relates to my professional life, this may be a big, bad business decision (and by “may be” I mean “most certainly is”).

Yes, I am afraid. There is a tremendous amount of uncertainty ahead. But I am absolutely certain that I am being called home, and I am thus absolutely certain that I will NEVER live to regret this decision. . . as difficult as it has been to make.

As much as I hate saying “goodbye” to something I love so very, very much, I am also saying “hello.” I’m saying “hello” to something I love even more.

Clearly the last 5 years haven’t exactly been easy on my family. It’s important to remember that not only did my boys lose their brother, they also lost their uncle. . . who had lived with (or very near) them for the entirety of their lives. Their sense of loss has been tremendous, beyond anything I could have ever imagined would be our reality. They still struggle daily from the remnants of this devastation. . . and though I firmly believe that they will eventually heal, I also believe that they will continue to struggle for some time to come.

They need me. Here. To wrap my arms around them and echo my mother before me.

“You’re safe. Mommy is here.”

All photos in this post courtesy of G.

PS- I love you Lara, Gina and Emily. Your response to all of this has been nothing less than as gracious and supportive as everything I have come to expect from each of you. You are remarkable. Exceptional. The best friends I ever could have dreamed up in my very wildest of imaginings. I’ll always, ALWAYS, be your biggest supporter and your number one fan.

PPS- All, happiest of Mother’s Days, by the way.

I am still.

natalie — Fri, 11 May 2012 04:47:44 +0000

Caping, Sedona, AZ. Watching the sunset at the lookout on Airport Road.

I have been thinking.

A lot, actually.

About life. About love. About what really matters.

Not what I’m TOLD matters, but what sincerely matters to me. . . at the very core of who I am.

You know, this image is it. Nothing beyond that, nothing beyond them (all of them, pictured or no) matters a lick.

As I rest there, in THAT reality? I find peace. I find clarity. I find perfect direction. In this world, spinning at a maddening pace, I am still.

I am still.

“the blessings of God on our labors we’ll seek. . .”

natalie — Mon, 07 May 2012 07:17:25 +0000

The first time, I worried over what to wear, how to sit, what to say. What colors would be most flattering? Should I cross my legs? Which statistics would pack the most punch?

I’ll be honest. In the very beginning it was fun. For a total of about 33 seconds.

Then you remember what you’re doing it all for. You remember what it felt like to kick and scream and pray and bargain and plead. You remember what it felt like to put your child in the ground.

Yes, you remember why you’re here. And you stop caring what you’re wearing or how it will look under the lights. You stop caring if you’re eyebrows look even or if you brought the right color slip.

I remember after Raleigh was born, I’d fantasize of a full night’s sleep. I’d imagine how wonderful it would feel to go to a hotel room, all by myself, climb in to bed. . . and wake up in the morning. UNINTERRUPTED SLEEP. Oh. The. Glory. Now? I’d give exactly anything for Gavin to interrupt my sleep. Heck, I’d be perfectly happy with that arrangement all the way until he turned 18. Where do I sign?

I’m only an hour from home, but it may as well be 4,000 for how lonely I feel. I tucked the boys in to bed, and I’ll likely be back home before they even wake up in the morning. Even so.

Hold them close. As hard as it is, the sleepless nights, the changes in your body, the new dynamic as husband and wife, the laundry, the messes, the MADNESS, it’s such a gift. Every bit of it. I hope you NEVER have to learn first hand just what a BEAUTIFUL gift it really is.

Yes, I’d love to be home. In my husband’s arms, with a bed wetting toddler in the room next door. But yet, here I am. All alone. Wishing to be anywhere but here. Anything but this. But on the other side of all that pain, I’m so happy to be doing this. So willing to be making this TINY little sacrifice of time and emotional energy.

. . . Because babies are still dying. And every time one does, I think, “AREN’T YOU PEOPLE LISTENING?!”

I don’t know how to make my voice loud enough. I don’t know how to say this all in the right way, in the way that will STICK. In the way that will inspire ACTION. So I’ll just keep on saying it, over and over and over again. Hoping and praying that the right people hear.

4:45 am call time over at ABC. Time to tuck myself in. Wish you were here Rich. Love you millions.

Good night, all.

xo,

PS. The title of this post is mostly for me. . . we sang a song in church today. . . one of my very favorites. One of the lines is “the blessings of God on our labors we’ll seek,” and I suppose that’s what I’m doing. . . my very best. Seeking His blessings along the way. Knowing I’m not enough on my own. Knowing I can’t make a dent in this big bad world all by my broken little self. Praying that HE hears my voice and somehow amplifies it in ways that only He can.

POST EDITED TO INCLUDE: 5:35 am. I did the interview for the 5:00 hour. It was by FAR the worst interview I’ve ever done. I felt so blindsided and unprepared. There was a breach in communication as to my expectations and what actually happened at ABC this morning. Then. . . my story was bumped from the 6:00 hour because of breaking news of a house, car, apartment fire in the area. That’s show biz, baby. But here I am, back in this lonely hotel room. Quite certain that I am the reason the story was bumped and that the fire was the cover. Bleh. Anybody have a time machine? I’m ready to go back to my real life. . . where babies are healthy, and mommie’s are frazzled because of being up all night, not because they woke up at the crack of dawn to botch morning show interviews at ABC.

Oahu + Maui Summer Photo Sessions

natalie — Wed, 02 May 2012 19:12:31 +0000

Dates:

Oahu: June 4 – July 7

Maui: July 9-13

Details:

I only have space for just a few more photo sessions. I would LOVE for one of those sessions to be YOU.

Sessions are booked FIRST COME, FIRST SERVED! In fairness to all, no sessions will be held on good faith. A 50% non refundable retainer is required to reserve your space.

Email me at aloha{at}natalienortonblog{dot}com (or just fill out the contact form above) for pricing/package information and to reserve your date!

Can’t wait to make magic together in June/July . . . because this should be YOU!

natalie — Tue, 01 May 2012 04:21:30 +0000

So happy to share part II of Jenna’s maternity session (catch part I, here).

I first met Brian and Jenna when I shot their engagement photos in Hawaii a couple of years ago. I had thought their love and commitment to each other was strong then. . . there are no words for what it has become. This baby will likely never fully understand just how lucky he is. His parents are crazy about each other. What a blessing that is. What.a.blessing.that.is.

Enjoy.

(Keep those fingers crossed that Brian makes it home in time for the birth! Oh, I’m praying with all of me!)

I’m not sure just what it is about these next two images, but GOSH they make me wild. In.love.

hello, baby.

natalie — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 21:03:19 +0000

I feel like every inquiry of late has been for birth or maternity photography. I’ve been living in the magical world of all things baby, and boy oh boy does it do my soul gooooood.

This is Jenna. She and her sweet husband, Brian, are expecting their first, a baby boy, in May. I get to photograph the birth as well—my first home birth (Jenna’s too, high five sister;))! Now, everyone cross all your fingers and toes, say a little prayer, and wear your lucky socks, because Brian is currently deployed. We’re holding out every bit of hope that he makes it back in time to hold his beautiful wife’s hand as they welcome their son into the world. Enjoy part I of Jenna’s maternity session. More coming soon.

PS. Can you believe this nursery? I died. It’s even better in person (times 10). Jenna and her DARLING mom worked this magic all by themselves!

maili.

natalie — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 08:17:19 +0000

Do you remember what it felt like to be 8? I sure do. It felt just like this. Just.like.this.

And this.

And this. . . and. . .

natalie — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 17:04:53 +0000

Above quote by the tap dancing goddess, Eleanor Powell.
Above photo, sweet Mailee, spinning in the sun.

I wish I could pass my life by simply spinning along through the warm rays of the sun.

I’ve been left in awe in recent days as I’ve pondered over just how very much I have been given. This is a refreshing respite from the cold and lonely land of self pity I’ve danced my way through over the past couple of weeks.

People, God loves us. He loves you. He loves me. He wants us to find peace. He wants us to find joy. He wants us to have security, laughter and all the beauty and goodness this world has to offer. But like the little chick, we must break out of the egg on our own. We must push and struggle, and sometimes even kick and SCREAM, in order to break that shell. But once we do. . . we are free. We are strong. We are prepared for the big world that awaits us. God doesn’t make things easy for us. No. Because he loves us too perfectly for that. He knows we need to grow, to progress . . . to prepare for what lies ahead. . . otherwise where would we end up? Well, what happens to the chick who doesn’t develop the strength necessary to break out of his shell on his own? What happens if a well intentioned master steps in and helps by pulling the shell away? Eventually, the chicken dies, for it has not developed the strength to survive in the outside world.

As my wonderful husband reminds me (as it relates to this analogy, which ultimately belongs to him, not me), “Natalie, we are all big chickens.” (And he’s right.)

Once upon a time, someone asked me if I would die for God. There was no hesitation in my heart, “Of course I would.” The question that followed has never left my soul, “Will you live for Him?”

It’s interesting to think about. And by interesting, I’m sure I mean Earth-rattling. In quiet moments I’ve imagined myself standing up for what I believe, fighting for integrity, truth, purity, light. I’ve imagined myself as the heroine of my own story, willingly making the ultimate sacrifice for all that is good and holy! But God hasn’t asked me to make that sacrifice, what he has asked of me is a broken heart and a contrite spirit. He has asked me to truly LIVE for him.

What would happen if I were to translate that same courage, that same commitment to what I believe so perfectly that I would die for it, into the LIVING of my life? How would I approach everything I do? With courage, with faith, with resolve, with a willingness to see clearly and sacrifice as necessary for the people and things in my life that matter most.

I’m in the process right now of drawing the strength and courage necessary to make a couple of very large sacrifices. I’m sure they would seem insignificant to most, but they are nevertheless, gut wrenching for me. But I want to live for my Father in Heaven at all times, and in all things, and in all places, even if that means taking big risks, doing hard things and offering up my heart and soul. . . (the living of my very life) as evidence of my faith in Him.

I believe that true sacrifice — our will for His— brings forth the greatest blessings of heaven. The greatest blessing I could ever ask for, and the greatest blessing that I believe comes as a result of our greatest sacrifices, is that of PEACE.

. . . peace that feels like spinning along through the warm rays of the sun.