The other day I read Tolkien’s preface to the second edition of Lord of the Rings, published in 1965. In it Tolkien insists that his book has no allegorical significance (apparently a lot of readers and reviewers were speculating that the ring symbolized Nazi Germany since he wrote it during WWII), and that his only aim was to write a really good story which would delight and captivate readers. As I read I experienced such a deep sense of delight that I can only describe it by saying that not only did I feel as though I was reading a good book, but I felt as though I was reading a book that was made for me, a book which helps explain who I am. I felt a similar feeling while reading about Lincoln and the founding fathers a few weeks back – not only is this interesting, but I feel loyalty to it, I feel that it is mine. My pleasure left the realm of happiness and entered into the realm of identity.

To delight in something – to be captivated, enchanted, enthralled, amazed – I taste the goodness of God in this. If nothing else, I want to be known as a person who delights. There is so much in this world to delight in.

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