Over the past few years, I’ve been on the search for delight. I keep gratitude lists on the back of my prayer lists. I use the hashtag #chasingtinydelights on Instagram. I’ve turned into the woman who points out sunsets and birds and fascinating bark on trees, not just to my children, but to other adults as well. I no longer apologize for loving the things I love or reveling in some experience or appreciating some part of myself that I’ve learned to enjoy.

There are many reasons for this. The world can be a difficult place. This has always been true and it’s more true for some people than for others. Right now, we are starting the second year of a pandemic. It feels like the world as we know it is splintering apart. Some of it needs to be splintered and I can rejoice; some of it doesn’t and I can mourn. Any kind of splintering is terrifying in the moment though.

Not only is that how the world is but, by personality, I lean toward the serious. I see stacks of problems far beyond my reach all around me and my own personal responsibilities tower above my capabilities some days. That, combined with the splintering world, is enough to be crushing.

Delight and wonder and gratitude are the supports that resist the crushing. Of course, it’s God that sustains us and carries us, but I believe they are part of His method. They infuse strength that helps us carry the weight. I do not pretend that this is true for everyone. That would be ludicrous. I’m acknowledging my limits. Like all writers, I write from my context and my experience. It isn’t universal. It won’t apply to everyone. That’s why we are all here. All of our stories combined make up the human experience, not just my own. But delight is not an extra; it’s fundamental to living well.

I’m still debating what role social media is going to play in my life; I cannot find a good answer yet. I considered just jumping on Instagram and sharing some of this, but ultimately decided not to. I like that this is living here, in my own space, probably seen by fewer people but also not competing with an algorithm or leaving me waiting for likes.

The past two days have been the most gorgeous weather. While the rest of the country has been battling extremes in weather from hurricanes and wildfires, Virginia has felt those first crisp mornings that leave me longing for a lengthy hike. I’ve prayed for people who, on top of dealing with a pandemic, are displaced from their homes, specifically my summer professor who evacuated while waiting to see if a fire would consume her community. Alongside that, I have felt the cooler air rushing over my arms while biking to pick up my kids from school and my heart has exhaled many “thank you’s” as I pedal over the hills. I’m going to have amazing thigh muscles.

Blogging is supposed to be dead, you know. People don’t read blogs. It’s a waste of time to write blog posts when people want tweets. We read on phone, not computers, and therefore don’t want long-form reflection.

We all know that’s not true, don’t we? What circulated endlessly just last week, provoking laughter, cringing, some (gross) support, and Gospel responses? A blog post about what men prefer in women.

People still read blogs. Of course, the best way to get people to read your blog is to be controversial, to be relevant, to be already famous when you start one. But more than we need people who still read blogs, we need people who still write blogs.

It’s spring! Ok, here in Kentucky we had snow last week but technically, it’s spring. So let’s celebrate with some favorite things!

My Current Worship Playlist: 

I made a new worship playlist and it’s on pretty much all day. It’s a mix of TobyMac, Christy Nockels, Mandisa, and even a few songs that I listened to in high school.

I’m picky about the fiction I read. I open myself and let the stories march straight in. The characters move into my heart and I feel pain when they make bad decision. I feel anguish when life crushes them. I live those stories through them and obviously, that’s the point.

The problem is that I carry those emotions into my life. I still feel unsettled when I’m cooking dinner because Catherine and Heathcliff are tearing each other’s worlds apart. Or- my word- how will Harry live feeling responsible for Cedric Diggory’s death? Really, there are enough situations in my life and the lives of people I love that I don’t have a ton of emotions to throw away on “fake people.”

I’ve always been intrigued at the idea of writing fiction. I just finished reading Stephen King’s On Writing and it had a writing exercise in it. I was reading after the boys went to bed one night and got drawn into the prompt so I closed the book, opened my computer, and started typing. Over 1,000 words later, I felt satisfied with my ending to the story. Of course, it ended with blood pooling under the refrigerator but it was a Stephen King writing exercise.