By Matthew Wilburn Ashby

I don’t know what it’s like when you get up in the morning, but as for me, I rarely know how my day is going to go. Some mornings I jump out of bed and immediately realize a joint isn’t quite working yet and needs a little “warming up” before I take too many steps. Other days, I feel like I could do a hundred jumping jacks without thinking twice. How I slept and how I feel in those first moments begins to shape the direction of my day.

And that’s how direction works. It isn’t something we decide all at once; direction is formed over time. Imagine wanting to go kayaking. Your direction begins before you ever reach the water—with the kind of kayak you choose. Is it built for quick turns in fast-moving streams, or for steady tracking on a calm lake? Even once you’re on the water, you still make choices. Do you let the current carry you, or—when you see an obstacle ahead—do you fight against it to intentionally take a safer or better path? Each decision adds up, quietly forming both direction and destination.

Life rarely changes in a moment; it usually changes by accumulation.

So where is our focus? Because focus directs action. When I was learning to ride a motorcycle, my friend Mike gave me one piece of advice that stuck: when you notice an object in the road, don’t look at it. He was right. Riding a bike or motorcycle becomes intuitive over time, and we naturally steer toward whatever holds our focus. Stare at the roadkill, and you’re likely to hit it. If you want to avoid it, you focus on where you want to go—not on where you don’t.

That raises an important question: where do we focus in our day-to-day lives? We tend to listen to voices we trust, settle into patterns that feel “normal,” and adopt habits that seem harmless. Before long, life can feel like our daily drive to work—mostly on autopilot.

Our sermon this morning will focus on Psalm 1, where a key word appears: delight. In what do we delight? That matters, because delight is a decision. We choose what we enjoy, what we return to, and what receives our attention and affection.

Notice how different this is from the world’s idea of joy and freedom. Have you ever watched a teenager argue for a certain outfit or style in the name of “individuality,” only to discover that the entire friend group is dressed exactly the same—same shirts, shoes, pants, even hairstyles? Real freedom and real joy aren’t found by copying others. In fact, true joy isn’t even grounded in ourselves; it is found when we intentionally align our delights with those of Jehovah God.

So perhaps each morning—while we’re waiting for our knees to cooperate—we should ask a few honest questions: What is shaping me right now? Where will yesterday’s path lead if I keep walking it today? Do I own the right delights? Is this direction an easy drift, or is it the intentional path of walking with God?