I've been reading The Duty of Delight: The Diaries of Dorothy Day. At 693 pages of small print, this compilation gathers her journal entries from 1934, at the age of 36 years, through 1980, the year of her death at age 83. Based on her work with the poor in New York City for most of her adult life, Dorothy Day is currently being considered for sainthood by the Vatican. In addition to her work with the poor through her community, the Catholic Worker, Day also wrote about 6 books, including The Long Loneliness.

I'm only halfway through this volume of her diaries, but what hits me every time I open the book is how human Day is. Many of her entries are filled with statements of honest complaint, such as how sore her legs and feet are, how tired she is, how frustrating is a person in her life, how upset she is with someone else, how discouraged she is, how little time she has for herself. Yet she kept getting up every day (well nearly every day) and being about her very difficult work. The title of the book comes from her mention, multiple times of a phrase from John Ruskin, "The duty of delight." A footnote in the book said, "this phrase came to serve for Dorothy as a call to mindfulness in the face of drudgery and sorrow."

Here's an entry of Day's from July 9, 1951:

"This diary could start with the chronicling of aches and pains—rheumatism, lumbago, etc., every day. It also could go on to list work done and that would give satisfaction. So many hours at the ms., letter-writing, talking to visitors, odds and ends of housework, wash, caring for the children, so much that does not show, that does not give one a sense of thinks accomplished....

The duty of delight—as Ruskin says.

Today we have a picnic in the woods. The air is sweet with milkweed in bloom. The honeysuckle is past, the sweet clover goes on all summer. ..."

The duty of delight. I like this reminder very much.

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