I was waiting for the light to change and I glanced into the rearview mirror. In the car behind me, a woman held up her cellphone, turned it around, smiled quickly and obviously snapped a picture of herself. She looked at the screen, apparently was not happy with the results, and went through the process again: hold up phone, smile, click, check the photo. The stoplight turned green and I made a left onto 360, beginning to pick up speed. I looked in the mirror again and she was still behind me … and she was taking another self-portrait … while driving 55 miles an hour. Hold up phone, smile, click, look.
It made me want to know her story. Who would receive the picture of her smile if she ever got it to come out perfectly? Whose workday would begin with a shot of her looking happy? Would she ever admit how many rejected poses she took or would she play it like “Oh, I just snapped this in the car real fast”?
The snapshot that will remain in my memory is of someone attempting to send out a smile, someone actually transmitting happiness to another person.
Movies — “moving pictures” — don’t really move at all; they’re just a series of still photos taken in rapid succession, tiny moments frozen in time. If God decides to snap a picture of you at 8:05 tomorrow morning, what sort of image would be captured? You pounding on the steering wheel? Putting on makeup? Trying to start your heart with a Starbucks transfusion? Cussing out another driver? The pictures God would want for His scrapbook would probably be more like the smiling woman … or the kiss goodbye … or giving money to the homeless person.
He’s focused on you right now, you know.
Smile.
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