As we gather for Thanksgiving this year, my family and I are carrying both gratitude and grief. On Monday, we held a celebration service for my mother, who went home to be with the Lord on September 7. It was a beautiful time of remembering, storytelling, and acknowledging what she poured into all of us. In today’s newsletter, I’m sharing a group photo of our family—four generations shoulder to shoulder, holding one another through this season.

This week has reminded me of something Katherine Wolfe shared during a recent event I photographed and wrote about: that God often hides treasure in the dark places. Not treasure that denies pain or loss, but treasure that emerges because we walk through them. Katherine talked about how hope isn’t the absence of suffering—it’s the courage to look for God’s presence within it. That truth has anchored me these past few days.

Navigating Change When You’re Wired Differently

Many of you know that I’m on the autism spectrum. One of the hallmark traits of autism is difficulty with transitions—especially when they’re sudden, emotional, or open-ended. Changes in routine, environment, or expectations can feel overwhelming because our brains often rely on structure and predictability to stay grounded.

So this season—sorting through my parents’ home, making decisions with siblings and nieces and nephews, facing the reality that life will not look the same going forward—has been particularly heavy. For someone who thrives on clarity and consistency, it’s a lot to process. And sometimes, the hard truth is this: even when you need more time, the moment doesn’t always give it to you. Some things have to be handled now.

When the Story Is My Own

Much of my life is spent helping others tell their stories. I listen. I frame. I guide. I translate real experiences into images and words that help communities understand and connect.

But when the story is my story?
That’s a very different journey.

Naming the grief, embracing the change, admitting the discomfort—those things don’t come naturally. Yet they are part of the same honest storytelling I practice with others. And here’s the good news: being open to learning from my own story gives me greater compassion, insight, and patience when I help clients tell theirs. Every struggle I sort through quietly becomes a tool I can use to serve others.

Treasure in the Darkness

So today, as I look at this family photo, I see more than just a moment. I see:

• The hope Katherine Wolfe talked about—a hope that exists even in shadows.
• The faithfulness of a God who walks us through change, not around it.
• The reminder that love binds a family even as roles and routines shift.
• The quiet truth is that grief and gratitude can occupy the same room.

My prayer is that as you look at the stories in your own life—especially the hard chapters—you’ll find glimpses of God’s treasure too.

Thank you for being part of my journey and for letting me be part of yours.

Wishing you a meaningful and hope-filled Thanksgiving.

—Stanley