Life together.

"Ethan, I love doing life with you, kiddo."

"Me too, Mom. I can't imagine life without you. Even when I get in trouble and stuff. I just can't imagine life without you."

(I just cried.)

alli dunham photography

Hello faithful friends, family and followers ~

I am so excited to announce the launch of my brand-spanking-new photography website:

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www.allidunhamphotography.com

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If you think you've seen it already, hop on over anyway! Chances are, it's changed since you last visited. If you're on your home computer or laptop, enter the full site. If you're visiting from your mobile device, enter the mobile site. 


Feel free to refer your friends and loved ones over. I'd be honored to meet them!

Much love, xoxo.

Play date!

They were playing all morning long when her mom and I realized that we'd somewhat lost track of them. They're inside the house, but where?

"Where are they?"

"Micahhhh! Addyyyyy! Where are you guys?"

"Has anyone seen Micah and Addy?"

"Micah?"

"Addy?"

"We're up here, Mom," Addy said. "We're in my room!"

"What are you guys doing up there?"

This is where I giggled and nearly muttered under my breath, except that Addy beat me to it,


"We're playing doctor."


What? (laughing) What did she just say? Did she just say...? (laughing more)

Fortunately, it was a legitimate physician's kit. And they were fully dressed.

Chocolate-covered-something-fruity, please.

"Micah, what will you have for dessert?"

"Chocolate stickers!"

"What? Oh, snickers?"

"No, a candy bar!"

"Okay. What kind?"

"Mixed berry!"

"Honey, that's a yogurt. Not a candy bar."

"I'd like a chocolate candy bar. With blueberries in it."

He settled for Milk Duds, in the end. They kind of look like chocolate-covered blueberries.

Criticism stings.

Let a righteous man strike me—it is a kindness;
let him rebuke me—it is oil for my head;
let my head not refuse it. (Psalm 141:5)

Say again? A kindness?

Left to myself I wouldn’t share David’s perspective. This kind of kindness I can do without!

But criticism from a faithful friend (and at times, even from an enemy) is a kindness. It is the kindness of the friend willing to bring an area of concern to my attention, and most importantly it is an expression of God’s kindness, because often through the criticism I perceive my enemy that still lives—my sin!

I find this to be a helpful reminder when the sting of criticism arrives.

Receiving criticism hurts. It always will. I don’t anticipate maturing to a point where receiving correction will become a pure joy. A wound is a wound. It leaves a bruise. It hurts. But I need it.

Let a righteous man strike me—it is a kindness.

Let me not refuse it.

-- C.J. Mahaney

I remember my parents being thirty-four.

I remember the purse my mom carried that year, and how she wore her hair. I remember the shirt my dad wore a lot during my summer in Monaco, and the look in his eyes when he'd sit and talk to me.

I remember.

I remember thinking they were so much older, wiser, stronger than me.

And so this birthday, this thirty-fifth birthday that is lingering just around the corner, is doing something to me.

For starters, I feel older than my parents. This makes me laugh and choke up all at once.

I feel sad for having missed out on an adult relationship with my mom. I wonder if she was sad to know she’d miss it too. I miss her.

I found myself calculating how old I’ll be when Ethan graduates from high school. That’s less than a decade from now. And that felt a bit like a punch to the gut.

It makes me re-evaluate relationships, reactions, spontaneity, ... life.

This birthday, this thirty-fifth birthday that is lingering just around the corner, is doing something to me.

I want to be like Jesus.

"Here is the man for all seasons: overflowing with joy, intimate with sorrow, hospitable to sinners, nemesis of evil, tempted in all ways, innocent of all wrongdoing, at home in lonely places, the life of the party, one who turns water into wine, just because he can, who multiplies loaves and fishes, just because he cares, but who denies help to his cousin John as he languishes in prison, who, indeed, refuses to help himself when he staggers in a desert or groans from a cross. He goes up on mountains and down in valleys. He preaches to thousands but takes time for any lone beggar, weeping whore, groveling invalid, writhing demoniac, pleading father. He leaves banquets to visit the sick ward. He is silent when talking would help his cause, and talkative when silence seems most prudent. He is rude with bullies and phonies and prigs and, at the same time, tender with losers and seekers and penitents." -- Mark Buchanan, Spiritual Rhythm