Happy nine month birthday, Soph-a-loaf.When I decided to work part-time from home as a photographer this year rather than full-time as an English teacher, I knew this would be a risky choice. Emotionally. Socially. Financially.In case you're looking for an update, nine months later I'm still in the thick of the decision...These days I have enough work projects to keep me consistently busy -- but not overwhelmed --during nap times. And, truthfully, my photography work delights me, invigorates my spirit. Taking pictures of families brings me such joy. But even though I love this photo-mom-job, choosing it still felt like a risk. When I worked full-time as a photographer before I started my teaching career, I was lonely. The process of culling and editing 5,000 photographs from each wedding (not exaggerating) pushed me into a season of isolation where I found myself typing on my couch, often in the dark, with Netflix on in the background. The cave life. Out of the periphery of my vision, I binge-watched show after show as I edited. Terrible shows -- Dawson's Creek, Pretty Little Liars, One Tree Hill. (I also watched Gilmore Girls twice, but I stand by that. Someone convince my husband of its greatness). My brain split itself between mindlessly editing reception dance-party pictures and mindlessly absorbing television chatter.I knew if I decided to go back to photography as a career, I needed two things: to once again find a sense of mirth (I googled synonyms for "joy," and even though "mirth" doesn't really fit, I'm sticking with it because we should bring it back now y'all) in the act of creating and to find my people, both of which teaching fulfilled for me. Strangely, at the moment, the joy I feel in creating stems not only from photographing families and babies (the niche and heartbeat of my photography work this time around) but also from practicing the craft of writing. Blogging is so 2009, but it's a white, blank space I can fill with storytelling. Photos and words and thoughts and work. I'm discovering blogging is personal and scary -- again, such a risk but such a gift to have this place to share work, document life, and hone writing skills. Someday (like every good American boy or girl), I'd love to write a novel. I've started drafting one. Mostly in my head. So, in the meantime, I'll oil my squeaky metal fingers on this blog.Writing and photographing have been oh so mirthy for me. Mirthy mirthy mirthy. (Bringing back 'mirth' one misuse at a time). But the other thing I knew I would need in order to protect my emotional stability? People. When Sophie was two months old, I once again found myself binge-watching Netflix as she nursed. Thankfully, the shows improved-- The Great British Baking Show and Margaret Atwood's Alias Grace-- but I needed to get off the couch before I let my buns mold their cast into the cushions. I texted my closest girlfriends from college and invited them over for tea and scones. (Thanks to Mary Berry, I could now bake all the things, hell0.)  Months later, we still take turn hosting these monthly teas. People. At least once a month.I've also become hyper aware of other women with strollers in my community. Hyper, hyper aware. Walking-through-a-parking-garage-at-night aware. Community is so important, they say. But, how do you find community other than dashing across the street to introduce yourself to a mom with a stroller? You don't. There are no other ways. You dash over and casually (read: forcefully) give her your phone number. Or you leave your name and digits on your neighbor's front porch. Or you invite the waitress you met at brunch to storytime at the library. So, I guess there are other ways, but the see-the-stroller-dash-right-over method works for me too.So, I'm proactively dealing with the socio-emotional risk of working from home as photographer. So far, so good. I'm creating photos, stories, poems (so lame! so fun! coming soon!), and community. Slowly, steadily.Maybe you noticed I left out the financial piece of this risk. I think I need more time before I write fully about that particular component of this risky business. I will say that choosing the part-time, work-from home photo/mom job is a financial risk for our family, for my individual identity, and for my sense of security. But, I think God likes risk takers. He likes when we shove our hearts and our livelihoods and our fears out in front of us, our arms spread wide -- here, take them.Before the Israelites crossed the Jordan River-- which was flooding and dangerous at that time of year-- so they could finally reach the promised land, the land God promised to their ancestors, Joshua, the leader of the Israelites told the people, "Consecrate yourselves, for tomorrow the Lord will do amazing things among you." They knew they would be crossing the river the next morning, and perhaps they felt the sponge of the earth sag under their feet as they listened to their leader. Perhaps they could hear the growling of rushing of water as they packed up their campsite. In the rainy, floodweather season, they may have struggled to light a fire or stay dry as the humidity soaked their clothes and dripped from their eyelashes and soiled their food. The morning would bring about the crossing of a flooding river, into a land filled with enemy armies -- the morning would demand they risk their lives-- and the lives of their families, as a mentor reminded me this week.The next day the Israelites watched the priests who carried the ark of the covenant walk toward the edge of the river. No one, not even their leader, had foresight of what would happen next. "Amazing things" is pretty vague, Joshua. But, when the tips of the priests' feet touched the water, God stopped the surge of the river. The entire nation walked over the slippery riverbed stones of the Jordan and onto dry land-- the promised land, the land of milk and honey. God did not leave them. God did not forsake them. They were strong. They were courageous.That morning, the Israelites risked their livelihoods, their relationship with God, their sense of home. They risked their husbands' lives. Their wives'  lives. Their babies' lives. Their own lives. All for the promise of "amazing things."___________________________________________Oh my goodness. I thought I was done. I  pressed "save draft" and hummed to myself, "I cannot wait to see what amazing things God will do through my risky choice." But God gracefully (ha) punched me in the face as I walked into Sophie's nursery to check on her. These past nine months of mama work have already given me a lifetime of amazing things.