Thrifting is what Nancy and I do for fun. Seldom antiques, mostly just stuff.
The other day, in a store we frequent, I asked if the vinyl records were gone.
“No,” the staff member said. “They’ve been moved. But would you like to see the new ones someone just brought in? Like 100 or so?”
I agreed. After she found the key and unlocked the room, and moved carts, I looked at the records. And grabbed the one at the front of the box. And must have made some exclamation.
“Is it worth $300 or something?” she asked.
“No, I said, “but it’s valuable to me.”
It, in this case, is a boxed set of vinyl recordings of Beethoven’s 9 symphonies, released in 1977. When I was in college, I listened to a recording of the 6th symphony over and over as I typed papers. I’ve listened to Hope sing in the chorus for the 9th symphony twice.
I’m very grateful for this ten-dollar purchase.
It’s old music to accompany my current life.
Recently, when I’ve been trying to fall asleep after awakening in the middle of the night, I’ve been repeating “Jesus Christ, the Lord of all.” Not really a prayer. Mostly an old phrase to accompany my current life.
I’m reading Psalm 105 as I prepare to write a prayer for Sunday. It’s 500 years of Jewish history in a song, spanning Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, and Aaron. A way to teach the story of God’s promises to a thousand generations in a format that could be remembered and repeated for a thousand generations.
Old words to accompany my current life, and generations before and after.
I worry all the time about finding the right words to write, about being able to say things that will matter. And sometimes, in my best moments, I remember to look to old words, which are still true.