Over the years there have been many photos I’ve not made. Sometimes there was no good to be had from taking a photo. I’ve volunteered at a homeless shelter, where under the trees nearby are tents set up by some of those without a place to stay. (The shelter opens when days are too cold or too scorching for human safety.) I’ve seen the sun setting behind the rows of tents tucked back among the trees and thought what a striking photo that would be. But to what good? Would my striking photo change the hearts of people in the community to find solutions? This past year, I’ve been regularly making a long drive back and forth to East Texas to take someone I know, facing a court date for some criminal charges, to check in with authorities there. My friend’s story is a compelling one, with drama and pathos and, to boot, good visuals; but, in this case, my friendship means more than any magazine piece for me. Recently, while I waited for my friend to do the obligatory check-in, to calm my nerves I wandered about the hallways of the 108-year-old courthouse and came across a worn metal stand that must have in a previous existence held gospel tracts, when such was more tolerated. This was a photo I was willing to make. Truth, believe it.