tree of delight

Desire is the fruit that grows on the tree of our delight. — Alisa Keeton, Revelation Wellness

I heard this on a Reving the Word podcast probably 4 or 5 years ago. Alisa was talking about when we want to change what we want.

In the fitness world, that often means diet and exercise. How much easier would it be if I genuinely loved eating kale salads? In the world of spiritual formation, this might look like spiritual practices—solitude, meditation, or community. How much easier would it be if I truly wanted to meditate on God’s Word?

A common evangelical response to this dilemma is: do it even if your emotions are against it. Sometimes even: do it especially when your emotions are against it, as though that’s somehow more righteous.

I agree with that — to a point. I believe that when you make a decision with your mind and follow it with action, your heart can often catch up. But I also believe that God deeply cares about our emotions and wants to make our hearts like His. He wants our desires to be for His kingdom.

So while our desires shouldn’t rule us, it’s okay to want them to be different. But is that even possible?

I believe what Alisa said is true: one of the primary ways we change our desires is through delight. What I’d add to that image is this: the roots of that tree are practice.

What are we even talking about?

DELIGHT (noun) something that gives great pleasure

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DELIGHT (verb) to take pleasure

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When we say delight grows the fruit of desire, we’re using both senses of the word. Sometimes, delight is something we stumble on—for me, it may be a glimpse of a rose garden as I drive by in my car. But turning that moment into something more takes intentionality. To truly take delight, we must slow down and notice. It’s the difference between enjoying and savoring.

Shauna Niequist has helped guide me in this:

*One of my goals is to be a person who is easily delighted, who can find great cause for celebration in a fig or a familiar face. I want to live with an extremely low bar for delight. It takes almost nothing at all — a good song, a ripe piece of fruit, a perfectly packed tote.

You are allowed to love tiny, daily, ordinary moments in your life.*

Delight sometimes requires a bit of effort, especially in hard seasons (see my notes on micro-delights).

What I’m learning is that in the same way we put ourselves in the path of inspiration, we also put ourselves in the path of joy, and sometimes, frankly, it takes a little muscle…

— Shauna Niequist

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I started my delight list last summer, during a hard season when my default coping mechanisms leaned toward dissociation and numbing. But God brought the idea to me—through two different books—as a gentle invitation. What began as a tool to push back the darkness of depression became a practice of noticing, of digging my toes into the sand of my real, everyday life. I no longer want to skim the surface of my days. I want to find God in my minutes.

What I call delight moments, my dear friend Joy calls moments of kavod—glimpses of God’s glory. These are the sacred pauses where we catch sight of His goodness woven into the ordinary. God invites us to take delight in His world—and ultimately, in Him. As we do, delight naturally leads us to gratitude, and gratitude leads us to worship. Our minds travel up the sunbeam to the sun.

“You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

— Psalm 16:11

Our delight tree is rooted in practice. One long-standing goal of mine is to take delight in each of my children, individually, at least once a day. This might be a tickle fight, admiring a piece of art they’ve made, enjoying how my son’s eyebrows come together just like Ben’s, or belly-laughing at a ridiculous joke. I rarely hit this goal every day—but it’s a practice.

And the fruit of that practice? A deeper desire to be with them. To enjoy them even more.