KENDRA SET HER TRIPOD TO THE RIGHT OF HER BED NEAR A BIG window, where she’d discovered perfect late-morning light in her very midst. At least she hoped it’d be perfect. But that was the fun in experimenting. She could snap tons of photos with various settings and angles, and if only a few came out well, it was great. She could study them, see what settings she used, and hopefully replicate the best ones next time.
Photography was becoming an even bigger part of her existence. Although she’d never been active in social media herself, since her diagnosis she had realized how helpful blogs could be. She was grateful to the women who’d taken the time to chronicle their journeys, the highs and the lows, letting her know what each step was like. Kendra couldn’t see herself writing daily about her journey, but the idea came to set up a blog nonetheless—and post pictures.
She challenged herself to post a picture daily that reflected God’s goodness, as an encouragement to herself and to others who might be going through a hard time. This morning her goal was twofold, though. She was also trying self-portraiture.
Kendra fixed the height of the tripod and secured her camera on it. She’d been reading about self-portraiture, how it provided practice and developed skills both in composing shots and in post-processing. But what intrigued her most was self-portraiture as a journey of personal discovery, even healing of sorts, as it exposed aspects of the self buried deep inside.
When she realized no one was home this morning, she forced herself out of bed. Taking her own portrait seemed weird enough. She certainly didn’t want anyone watching. This way, she had the freedom to work out the kinks.
Her camera set, Kendra positioned herself against a spot on her bedroom wall for a few test shots. She clicked with her remote and checked for framing, focus, and exposure. Then she took a big breath. Lord, if there’s something I can learn from this about myself, about You . . . let me learn.
She’d gotten a big, beige, floppy hat from her closet, probably from some silly high school event, and set it on her almost-bald head. She’d already put on makeup and dressed in a loose tunic top to try to mask her uneven breasts. She stood against the wall again with a simple pose, clicked the remote, and checked it.
A little too much space up top. She’d lower the camera a tad. But she liked her position, to the left of the frame, her purple wall filling most of it, the entire shot cast in a soft, almost shadowy light.
She adjusted the camera and took another. Yeah! She loved this one, loved how she looked in it. She wasn’t smiling, but the floppy hat gave a cosmopolitan feel, as if her hair was pinned up in the back. It reminded her of her old self.
She took a few more with different poses, then grabbed a baseball cap she’d found. She tried it in the mirror first and wasn’t too happy with the look. She was used to long curls falling from the cap, or a ponytail. Now she could see the baldness.
She snatched it off and in that moment knew this was the photo she needed to take of herself . . . with an almost-bald head.
Kendra closed her eyes. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to see herself like that. She heard herself say it in her heart—it’s ugly.
She opened her eyes again. Wasn’t this part of the photography journey, to face herself? Could she somehow see God’s goodness in this?
She walked back to her spot, head uncovered, and took the picture. It looked different from the others. Her countenance was different. Her eyes were different. With the hat, there was a little spark. Without, they were lifeless.
She sighed and decided to take another. But first she considered God and His goodness, on purpose. And after she took the picture, she saw a difference yet again. It was as if her gaze had moved off herself. Her soul was in it.
As hard as it would be to post a picture of herself like this, she knew she had to do it. And she would caption it: Today’s goodness—His life in me. I am so much more than what my eye can see.
Kendra was debating whether to take more when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Trey or Molly probably, heading to their rooms. Lance hadn’t been up here since the day he cut her hair.
But seconds later she heard a knock, and Trey stuck his head in. “Oh good, you’re up.”
“You can come in,” Kendra said.
Trey opened the door wider and walked in—with a young girl beside him. She had pretty brown eyes and thick, dark-brown curly hair gathered in a long ponytail.
“Well, hello,” Kendra said, half-eyeing her brother.
He’d gotten fired up after the message he heard Sunday, researching various ministry pursuits online. Kendra might have thought he was starting an in-home camp for the disadvantaged if the little girl didn’t look like a Gymboree model, in her picture-perfect shorts, shirt, and matching socks.
Trey took the child’s hand, leading her farther inside. “Kendra, this is Brooklyn,” he said. “Brooklyn Patterson.”
Fatigue began to wash over her. Kendra sat on the bed. “Hi, Brooklyn, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Kendra.”
“I know, Trey told me,” Brooklyn said. “He said you’re my sister. I always wanted a sister.”
Kendra raised her gaze slowly to Trey.
Trey cleared his throat. “Her mom is Ellen Patterson. I got to meet Brooklyn this morning, and I wanted you to meet her too.”
Brooklyn walked closer, her little head angling to the side. “Are you sick? Because my teacher last year got sick, and she had to cut her hair off, like yours.”
Kendra nodded. “Yes, Brooklyn, I’m sick. And the medicine made my hair come out, so I cut it.”
The little girl stared at Kendra. “Can I say a prayer?”
Kendra stared back at her. “Sure, yes, I’d love that.”
Brooklyn clasped her hands tight and closed her eyes. “Dear God, could you please, please heal my sister? Amen.”
Tears sprang to Kendra’s eyes. “How old are you, Brooklyn?”
“Eight. Well, eight and two-twelfths, to be precise.”
Kendra smiled. “Where’d you learn to pray such a beautiful prayer?”
“My dad prayed with me when I was a little girl.” Brooklyn played with her fingers. “When I used to see him sometimes.”
Kendra and Trey exchanged a glance.
“Brooklyn, come sit next to me.” Kendra patted the bed. “When was the last time you saw your dad?”
Brooklyn shrugged. “A year and a half ago.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“Once or twice.”
Kendra struggled to understand. Despite his failures as a husband, Marlon Woods had always been a doting, very present dad. If Kendra and Trey hadn’t distanced themselves, he’d still be a regular part of their lives.
Kendra smiled at her. “So you always wanted a sister?”
“And a brother,” Brooklyn said. “Now I have both. Can you believe that?” She shook her head. “You appeared out of nowhere.”
“I know what you mean,” Kendra said, eyes on her brother. She couldn’t wait to hear how Miss Brooklyn had appeared.
Evening Bible study was in full swing—the meal part anyway—and Brooklyn hadn’t yet left. Whenever her mom phoned Trey, Brooklyn would plead for a little while more.
“There’s nothing to do at home,” she would say. “I’m having fun with my brother and sister and Molly.”
It was easy to grant Brooklyn’s request since they only lived around the corner—a fact that blew Kendra’s mind.
Had Ellen lived there during the affair? Was it that easy for her dad to step out on his marriage? Kendra tried not to dwell on that. She had no desire to think about, let alone meet or talk to Ellen. But Brooklyn—that little girl had stolen her heart.
She’d stolen Chase’s too. Cyd’s toddler had a playmate now, as Brooklyn played hide-and-seek and tag with him.
“Today is her first time here?” Cyd asked, watching them run around the kitchen. “She’s so comfortable already.”
Trey laughed. “I think she’s pulled out every game we had in storage. If I’m not mistaken, she moved in when we weren’t looking.”
“I saw the Twister game on the dining room floor,” Cyd said. “Brought back memories.”
“Oh, that was a blast.” Molly crunched into her taco and chewed a second. “Brooklyn and I were all about that.”
“Brooklyn, you didn’t finish your taco,” Kendra said. “Take a break from playing and finish eating, sweetheart.”
Brooklyn scooted into her chair next to Kendra’s and took a bite, as she’d done several times before.
“Where’s your food?” Brooklyn asked, looking at Kendra.
“Right here.” Kendra lifted her glass. “Trey made me a drink with vegetables and fruit because the sores in my mouth make it hard to eat food right now.”
Brooklyn’s brows bunched. “You’re still sick?” She pointed behind her. “That was all the way this morning when I prayed.”
Kendra pulled her into a hug. “God’s making me feel better because you bring a smile to my face.” She made a pouting face. “But I still wish I could have tacos. This drink is really nasty.”
“Don’t blame me,” Trey said. “Lance was the one who suggested it and told me what to put in it.”
“Where did Lance go anyway?” Cyd asked.
“Downstairs,” Trey said. “Cedric wanted to see his camera equipment.”
“Oh no,” Cyd said, “not another hobby in the making.”
“Look out,” Kendra said. “It’s addicting.”
The guys came back up as the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Lance said, “probably Timmy.”
“Mmm. Smells like a Mexican restaurant in here,” Timmy said, walking in with another guy at his side. “I hope it’s okay to bring someone else. This is David, a friend of mine from SLU.”
Jess and Molly’s friend from last week showed up next, and a contingent went to the dining room to eat.
The doorbell rang once more.
“It might be this other girl I invited,” Molly said. “I’ll get it.” Seconds later she called, “Trey, it’s Brooklyn’s mom.”
Kendra quietly called him over and whispered, “Please make sure you handle everything at the door. I can’t take that woman coming into Mom’s house.”
“Brooklyn, your mom’s here,” Trey said. “You have to get ready to go.”
Brooklyn folded her arms. “But I don’t want to go. Can I stay the night?”
“Brooklyn,” a voice called. “Let’s go, honey.”
“Give me a hug, sweetheart,” Kendra said. “It’s okay. You can come over anytime you want.”
The little girl’s eyes lit up. “Really and truly?”
Kendra smiled. “Really and truly.”
Brooklyn followed Trey out, and Kendra could hear her telling her mother all the things she’d done.
“Tell Trey thank you,” Ellen said.
“Thank you, Trey.”
Kendra heard the front door close and for the first time wondered about her dad’s side of the story.