“I need to hear you. I need to feel you. I need to know you’re there. God I don’t feel you near!”
Things I hear myself say all too often. My name is Erin Bolton. You may know who I am, you may not. I can bet you have seen me at some point in time at any given PCC campus with a camera strung around my neck.
When I came to PCC I almost immediately knew I wanted to plug in. I didn’t know how or where I would fit in, but I was determined to find a place to belong. It didn’t take long to find out I could serve and use my gift of photography all at the same time.
I have been drawn to photography since I was little. I have an aunt that I think was born with a camera on her eye. While we, yes me too, may have teased her relentlessly I was always intrigued. Somewhere in my early 30s I was gifted with my first real camera. I didn’t know what I wanted to capture but I knew I had to try.
For me, it started as a hobby that grew to a business but always fueled by a passion. A passion to tell a story. I love trying to pull out the unseen. When I take photos they are almost always outside. I love the unpredictability, the constant change, the “something new” each time. I am drawn to Psalm 139:14, that talks about being fearfully and wonderfully made. While that may be talking about human creation, I like to think of it as ALL creation.
I am forever and always in awe of what God has created. A flower, a tree, a butterfly, a sunrise (or sunset), the family of deer that live in my yard. I see the love, the creativity, the joy, the generosity in His handiwork. I have been lovingly teased about my love of the sky and the way light plays.
I always have something with me, be it me my big camera or my cellphone, they are always ready. Just the other week my kids and I were leaving from serving at a Mega Camp and I was rambling about how beautiful the sky was. I made my daughter pull over so I could capture the moment. So I walked over, took a few pictures, and just quietly stood staring. Taking it in. The vibrant blues, reds, yellows, purples; it was a myriad of deep colors on display. I couldn’t help but stop and be present in that moment. As I walked away I realized not only had my kids walked up but we had drawn a small crowd who were all standing in awe.
I love to stop time in an image. A way to tell a story in the briefest amount of time. It’s the way I can show someone what God can do. I’ve caught myself walking through the woods, on the beach, at a baseball game, whispering to God, “I see what you’re doing, I see you showing off!” and giggling to myself. It’s a reminder to me to slow down, look around, and let it soak in.
I have struggled with self worth for most of my life. I try to measure up, I want to be as good as, as talented as the next person. For most of my life I didn’t feel like I did. I felt that start to shift a little over 10 years ago when I started actively naming myself a photographer. In that time I’ve been able to capture some moments that otherwise would have been lost. I’ve met so many people, I’ve made long lasting relationships, and I’ve been a part of events and organizations that, had I not stepped out in faith, I would have missed. Just like the intricacies in the crystals forming, we are not meant to be the same as anyone else. It’s not about comparisons, it’s about living into the calling that God has for us.
So circle back to that night after Mega Camp, I posted my picture of my sunset. Within minutes, comments came from all of the other perspectives of the very same sunset from others eyes. It made me smile because it reminded me that God showed me one thing, and in the exact same moment and place he showed someone else something completely different.
He is constantly reminding me that the eye he has given me is for me to use as a ministry to others. So you may see me taking pictures at your campus on a Sunday morning, or during an event; you may see me out somewhere, very possibly on the side of the road taking a picture. I’m trying to follow His voice, to use the gift He gave me to speak to people through art, without words.
