The first time that I actually sat down to write was on a cold evening in late Fall of 2002.  It was a Tuesday.  I don’t know why I remember that…I just do.  I remember the darkness rolling over our city so early in the day by that time of year.  And I remember rain.  So much rain.

I had come out of work tired and deflated that day.  I had been working through a few things that seemed relentless and unending.  I walked through the beautiful downtown streets of my city on the way to an appointment when a car drove through a puddle…leaving me standing on the side of the road soaking wet.  It felt like an attack on my spirit more than it did on my physical self.  I was burnt out…unsure of what step to take next…and dripping in rain water with four hours left of my day before I could go home.  It felt like the perfect time to cry!

And that was when I decided that I just couldn’t take one more step in any direction without unloading some of this burden.  Somewhere.  Anywhere.  So I grabbed some scrap pieces of paper, a pen, and took a seat overlooking the sidewalk at Starbucks.  I scribbled everything I could think of on those pieces of paper.  My fears…my anxieties…my goals…my aspirations.  I covered every square inch of that paper with thoughts and feelings that had out grown the space in my mind.

And I felt better.  I felt lighter.  I felt like, somehow…I had healed.

This is when I decided that I would become a writer.  This is when I decided – if nothing else – I would write myself into wholeness.  And I’ve been doing it ever since.  I’ve been writing…I’ve been healing…I’ve been finding my way – one word at a time – to wholeness.  But writing, like any creation, hasn’t always been easy.  It comes with criticism…rejection…and putting yourself “out there” in a very vulnerable way.  Often in a way that leaves all of your broken pieces strewn about for everyone to see.

So there did come a time when I questioned whether or not I would continue to write.  Whether or not I would continue to put myself out there.  And in many ways, that process was similar to grieving.  It was like letting go of a great love that just wasn’t working anymore.  Or saying goodbye to that place in your heart that has held you together for so long.  It was hard.  It was sad.  It was breaking me to pieces all over again.

And that’s when Brittney came into my life.  A stranger who thought to send an email one day – countless months ago.  An email about my words…her journey…and how we became distantly interlinked with one another.  From there, a friendship started…a dialogue started…a blessing started.  But more so – in that moment…thanks to her own words – I committed wholeheartedly to my writing.  For life.  Thanks to her, I knew that the written word would always have a place in my world.  Prominent.  Enduring.  Because even if my writing didn’t touch everybody…it touched somebody.  And somebody was reason enough to keep going.

Below is the story of Brittney and Stuart.  A beautiful couple.  A beautiful love.  A beautiful chemistry.

But it’s also the story of Brittney and I.  Two strangers brought together by words…by time…by God.  Two strangers who became friends.

Photography has brought me to people and places that I never imagined possible.  It has introduced me to some of the gentlest souls I’ve ever met and opened up my world to beauty so far beyond what the eyes are capable of seeing.

Brittney is one of those people…one of those souls…one of those beauties.

And soon enough, Brittney will marry Stuart and a whole new story will begin.

But in the meantime, I will forever be grateful for her.

I will forever be grateful for her friendship…forever grateful for her love…and forever grateful for her email.

An email that changed everything…an email that brought us here…