The Photography Project

I stared at my phone’s screen, my finger hovering over the delete button. The photo I’d spent hours setting up looked nothing like the polished images filling my social media feed. At thirteen, I’d recently discovered photography, but comparing my work to others’ made me want to quit before I’d really begun.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad said, peering over my shoulder. “That’s a beautiful shot of the sunset.”

I sighed. “No, it’s not. Look at Mia’s photos.” I scrolled through my classmate’s perfectly edited pictures. “She has thousands of followers. My photos look amateur compared to hers.”

Dad sat down beside me on our back porch swing. “You know, this reminds me of something Pastor Mike said last Sabbath about comparing ourselves to others. Remember the parable of the talents?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, still staring at my phone. “But what does that have to do with photography?”

“Well,” Dad began, gently taking my phone and setting it aside, “God gives each of us different gifts, and He expects us to use them in our own unique way. The servant with two talents wasn’t asked to produce five; he just had to be faithful with what he was given.”

I’d heard this before, but something about Dad’s words struck differently this time. Maybe because I’d been struggling with this exact issue for weeks.

“But how do I know if photography is even my talent?” I asked. “Maybe I should just stick to something else.”

Dad smiled. “Remember last month when you took pictures at your little brother’s birthday party?”

I nodded. Tommy had turned seven, and I’d photographed the whole celebration.

“Well, yesterday, your mom found Tommy looking through those photos in the family album. He said they helped him remember exactly how special that day felt. That’s a gift, sweetheart – capturing moments that matter.”

My chest felt a little lighter. I hadn’t known Tommy looked at those pictures.

“I have an idea,” Dad said. “Why don’t you pray about it, and then try using your photography to serve others for a while? No social media, no comparisons – just using your talent to bless people.”

The suggestion caught me off guard. “How would I do that?”

“Well, the church is having its volunteer appreciation day next weekend. They need someone to document it.”

I hesitated. “But what if the photos aren’t good enough?”

“Philippians 4:13 tells us ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’ Why don’t we pray about it right now?”

After we prayed, I felt more peaceful about the idea. That week, instead of scrolling through social media, I practiced taking different kinds of photos and learned more about my camera’s settings.

When Saturday came, I arrived at church early, camera in hand and butterflies in my stomach. But as I started capturing moments – elderly Mrs. Johnson’s smile as she received a thank-you card, the children’s choir singing their hearts out, the fellowship meal where everyone shared stories and laughter – something changed. I stopped worrying about getting the “perfect” shot and focused instead on capturing the joy and love in each moment.

A week later, I helped create a slideshow of the photos for church. Watching people’s reactions as they saw themselves serving and worshiping together was amazing. Mrs. Johnson wiped away tears when she saw the photo of her with the children she’d taught in Sabbath School for thirty years. The choir kids giggled and pointed at their pictures, and several people asked for copies to keep.

“These photos tell our church’s story,” Pastor Mike said afterward. “They show God’s love in action. Would you consider being our regular church photographer?”

I was surprised by how quickly I said yes. In the months that followed, I discovered something important: when I stopped comparing myself to others and instead focused on using my gift to serve God and people, photography became more meaningful than I’d ever imagined.

One day, while photographing our church’s food bank ministry, I ran into Mia – the girl whose social media photos I’d envied. She was volunteering there with her family.

“These are really good,” she said, glancing at my camera screen. “They capture how it feels to be here, you know? My Instagram photos never seem to do that.”

I smiled, remembering my own journey. “Would you like to help photograph the next community service event? We could work together.”

Her face lit up. “Really? I’d love that!”

That evening, as I looked through the day’s photos, I realized God had taught me something valuable. Success isn’t measured by likes or followers, but by how we use our gifts to share His love with others. Sometimes the most imperfect photos capture the most perfect moments – moments that remind us we’re all part of God’s bigger picture.

I still take sunset photos on our back porch, but now I see them differently. They’re not just images to be compared or judged; they’re reminders of God’s creativity and grace. And when doubt creeps in, I remember that verse Dad often quotes: “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (Ephesians 2:10).