I'm looking for delight with a little help from Mary Oliver
an essay, a practice, and a whole lot of footnotes.
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A dear friend I grew up with here in Texas, has lived in Geneva, Switzerland for the last 14 years. He text me last week asking “WTF is happening in America??” and then followed the question with a photo he’d taken of his wife and two boys, all with big smiles, at an Imagine Dragons1 concert.
I text him back “I have no idea” my mind flooding with the ICE raids in LA (and elsewhere), the military parade and the protests in response, the murders in Minnesota, and so much more.2
I was honest in my response, even as his question grew the pit in my stomach. I really have no idea what is happening. It’s more than I can comprehend or keep up with, and most of the time I feel like there is nothing I can do. As I felt the deep despair of his question, I noticed that simultaneously I felt deep delight as I looked at the picture of his family.
Mary Oliver writes: everyday I see or I hear something that more or less kills me with delight.3 And lately, amidst all the devastation and the heartache and the stress, I’ve been looking for delight. I’ve been looking for goodness, and love, and life. I’ve had to. I told a directee4 as we closed our time that I hope she sees the goodness of God this week — I hope she finds love or delight in a sunrise or in the laughter of the teenage girls she feels called to.
As for me, the only way I can sustain the work that I feel called to, especially during weeks like this one — is when I let things kill me with delight. This is what I meant when I told her that I hope she sees the goodness of God this week. Oliver writes that she isn’t talking about the exceptional … but of the ordinary, the common, the very drab … and that’s what I’m looking for too. To keep from completely falling apart I keep my eyes peeled for delight. To keep pressing forward when I just want to curl up in a ball, I look for the good.
In just the last few days I’ve been delighted by a tiny sign in a neighbor’s yard,5 a shared moment with a cashier at HEB6 over how delicious the BBQ beans are, and a mom at the pool with her teenage girls, jumping in as they cheered her on. As I walked toward the diving board with my daughter, I mentioned she should try it next. She grinned at me as she gathered her girls and walked hand-in-hand with them in our direction in uncontrollable laughter. Really, a million other little moments at the city pool near our home seem to delight me. Parents gently slathering their kids with sunscreen, big bowls of watermelon and colorful pool toys, coaches cheering on the kids they’re teaching to swim, and people coming together with a shared purpose of cooling off from the Texas heat.
I have sometimes been asked what continues to draw me to Jesus? With all the devastation that Christianity has caused, with all the harm that is done in its name? Why do I stay? Why am I devoting my life’s work to it? I don’t always know for sure, but I know it has to do with hope. I have to have hope that enough people choosing love over hate, and life over death, will one day allow some future generation to experience God’s dream for creation, or as Jesus calls it — the Kingdom of God.
I can’t stop seeing the Kingdom of God all around me,7 and while the mom enjoying her girls at the pool can’t change election results8 or protect someone from political violence, she can remind me that we are not separate from one another. Knowing my friend was at a concert with his family, listening to music he doesn’t even like, and having a blast can absolutely kill me with delight if I’ll let it. A tiny yard sign can sustain me just enough as I look for courage to write these words, to resist Christian Nationalism, to speak out against injustice. Chatting with the woman at the grocery store about beans can delight me in a way that might lead me to smile at the next person I see, or show a little extra kindness in the parking lot or hold on to my hope of a better way just a bit longer.
These small delights can’t and won’t change the world on their own, but they can change me. Like Mary Oliver I believe It was what I was born for — to look, to listen, to lose myself inside this soft world — to instruct myself over and over again in joy.
May it be so!
A Practice in Delight
Last week I led mini-retreat, reflecting on Ordinary Time.9 When I lead these retreats, I do my best to make time for those in attendance to practice holding two realities at once. While we are taking time away to be with God and ourselves the world doesn’t stop — there is still devastating loss all around us and in our own lives.
During the retreat, we used the poem Sorrow is not my name10 by Ross Gay to do a small exercise that I’ll guide you through here. In his poem Gay begins this way: No matter the pull toward brink. No matter the florid, deep sleep awaits. There is time for everything. Look … and then he goes on to name some of the beauty and goodness around him. He names fruits and vegetables with intriguing names, a neighbor with a beautiful voice, and a basketball court in his neighborhood.
I invite you to pull out a pen and paper, or to close your eyes for just a minute. Begin by taking a few deep breaths and then use the prompt “No matter…” and list whatever comes to mind. Every devastating thing in the news, each heartache or disappointment — the grief, the loss, the anger, the sadness.
When you come to a stop take a few deep breaths then move to a new prompt: “Look…” Now name the small delights you have experienced today, or in the last week, or last year. Does your neighbor have a child learning to ride her bike? Is a new leaf about to unfurl on your monstera? Does your grandpa end a text message with his name (love, grandpa)? Did you catch a stranger and smile warmly? Name these delights — not to erase reality, but to bring hope.
News, Updates, & Links
I was recently featured on The Church Lab’s blog this week talking about spiritual direction — you can read the interview here!
A few friends of mine are coming together to offer 3 different (but connected!) mini-retreats this summer: Moving With the Mystics. Each mini-retreat will include movement, contemplation, and conversation — you don’t want to miss these! (Maybe I’ll even see you through our screens!)
There is zero chance he’s a fan, which made me love the photo even more.
There is so much more going on here in America. Not to mention what is happening in the rest of the world — the devastating Air India plane crash, an escalation of conflict between Israel and Iran, continued genocide in Palestine, war in Ukraine, Sudan, and Ethiopia and on and on.
Mindful, by Mary Oliver - read the full poem here.
Spiritual direction language for clients.
This delighted me more than I can seem to articulate.
A large Texas grocer store that invests in the communities it serves and also has excellent BBQ beans!
Luke 17:10-21 ends this way “the Kingdom of God is among you”
Or the fact that our president made $1.3 million in royalties from bible sales last year. I wish I was joking.
Read the full poem here.
A new hibiscus bloom every other day; new plants getting into the ground; daily invitations to play Mario kart and Kirby star allies with my boys; requests for hugs and snuggles from my preteen boys; a text thread about postpartum care planning with a soon to be first time mom friend. So much to delight in. Thanks for the pause to remember and name a few.