Spring green is sprouting everywhere around my mom’s house, where we spent yesterday afternoon snacking and playing after Easter brunch. I couldn’t help taking my camera out for a spring scavenger hunt, looking for little treasures that were budding, bursting or blooming. And as I did, it struck me how much photography feels like a form of prayer to me.

Through the lens of my camera, every thing matters. I see God in the details: the perfectly spaced veins of a leaf, the aging but still-protective bark of an old tree, the calming blanket of a clear blue sky.

So often, I am kneeling or bending or stretching to get a shot, keenly aware of my limbs and muscles, and laser-focused on how I can reach my subject. When the wind blows, I wait for the leaf or flower or branch I’m wrapped up in to stop swaying, leaning or fluttering. And as I do, I am forced to be still, too.

I revel in joy and surprise, using my camera to show gratitude for the blessings in my midst.

And sometimes I just sit in awe, witness to an obvious miracle. Grateful for the chance to see it. Grateful.