Delight Easily

Last summer, five girlfriends escaped for a weekend away to celebrate Lindsay’s 40th birthday at her cabin in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest (Washington state). We each planned an exhortation to share with her. That night around the campfire, Caitlyn offered her simple two-word mantra. It would be weeks, perhaps months, before I realized how profoundly her two words imprinted on my soul.

And when I shared the two words with Jake, it imprinted on his too.  

I frequently share them with my kids in hopes that they imprint on their souls as well.

Delight easily.

An invitation to find effortless enjoyment.
To be commonly amazed.
To savor the simple.
To linger longer and soak up goodness.

These two words invited me into a new way of moving through moments. Here’s what happened.

I noticed.

I noticed the shockingly rich purple hues of my lavender bushes. I noticed her eyes sparkle at bedtime when she pauses for a moment of wordless connection with me before turning out the light. I noticed the constant hum of fat little bumble bees in my hydrangea bushes collecting their pollen. I noticed how he softened his words in a tense conversation – a brief and beautiful demonstration of the inner work he’s done in the last few years. I noticed how the morning sun casts shadows through my pained windows, blanketing the furniture with unique patterns. I noticed the focus in her eyes and the way her body shifted its weight as she confidently and aggressively maneuvered the soccer ball past her opponents. I noticed that the magic I feel hearing bird songs every morning in Kigali, Rwanda actually happens every morning on my porch too.

When I noticed, life was more vibrant.  

I slowed down.

I slowed down to notice. I lingered my gaze at my garden after I noticed the Amazon truck drive by. I shifted my attention away from the movie to recognize the warmth of her hand in mine. I looked up from my endless weeding to take in the sight of rolling mountains on the horizon. I paused Zack-Morris-style in the middle of a church service, glancing around at my faith-family to observe their sincerity and warmth. I stopped scrolling through my phone to watch hot air balloons in the valley searching for wind at different elevations.  I eased off the gas pedal while driving past a blooming Dogwood tree alongside the road. I walked unhurried through the small local shop, admiring their thoughtful curation and display of books, pottery, and candles.

When I slowed down, I noticed. And when I noticed, life was more vibrant.

Then delight awakened.

I savored the perfectly proportioned ratio of coffee, milk and sugar while sitting in my morning chair. I was amused by the hummingbirds playing chase in our front yard. I smiled watching our teenager rake the front yard without being asked. I relaxed into the paddle board, hands behind my head and eyes shut, enjoying the sounds of the girls and their friends splashing around. I cried grateful tears while my daughter and I sat on the couch reading the kind words that her teacher wrote on her report card. I was bewildered how the setting sun created such a vast gradient of colors in the sky; from florescent orange at the horizon, melting into warm yellow, turning to baby blue, disappearing into dark blue, fading to black, revealing speckled stars above my head. I chuckled watching Jake bellow out umpire calls in an impromptu kickball game between adults and kids after our outdoor church service. I reveled in my oversized bathtub watching trash TV from my ipad (while eating a bag of Sour Patch Kids that I hid from my kids).

Over the last year, I’ve been practicing this new way of moving through moments.

Sure, not everything is delightful. There is no joy in walking my quarterly taxes to the mailbox (but oh how the daisies along the walk are in full bloom!). There is no joy in waiting in line at the grocery store (but how wonderful to watch the clerk engage in patient conversation with the elderly customer). There is no joy in traffic (but is that a hawk sitting on the fence post looking through the field grass?). There is no joy in marital conflict (but we’ve endured so much and have never given up). There is no joy in visiting his gravesite (but the memories of childhood road trips and water balloon fights evoke a warm smile).

And yet, the gentle invitation dares me to try (I think it’s working).

Who knew that two words shared around the campfire last summer would work their way into my thinking and feeling and being. It was like my soul learned to exhaled more deeply than before - not realizing it was holding its breath.

Life can be more vibrant when we slow down to notice, so delight can be awakened.

The invitation is simple, intriguing, daring, and profound.

Delight easily.