The Good Old Days

NOTE: I will be bringing regular updates on Benjamin's continued progress along with specific things to pray for as needs change and as we get more news.  For now, he continues to work hard and make improvements each and every day.  Praise God!  We are ever so thankful to our merciful Lord.  

 In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.  1 Thessalonians 5:18

I'm a hopeless nostalgic.  I was born in 1966 and grew up in the 70's and 80's.  Those felt like the best days of my life.  To me, it seemed like the best of times, although the 50's look great, too.  I guess it's all perspective.  I almost feel guilty for having the childhood I had.  My mind is littered with memories of good experiences, simplicity and happiness.  That's not to say that things were perfect.  They weren't - we live in a fallen world.  But the memories I have of the past evoke a sense of longing for better times in the present.  

I read a quote last week that in the Greek, the word nostalgia literally means "the pain from an old wound."  What an odd, but perfect way to put it!  Memories of the past bring back times we call the 'good old days' that create an aching in your soul, an intense longing to go back to a certain place and time in your past that no longer exists.  It is a weird, indescribable emotion.  It is sadness and happiness mashed up all together in a rich gumbo of emotion.  Does that make any sense at all?

I sometimes view a website that has an on-going thread called "Pictures from Days Gone By" in which people post old photos.  For a nostalgic, looking at those photos is akin to someone suffering with diabetes eating an entire box of Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies.  Here is one I saw the other day:

Note the attire, the work ethic, the joy on the kids' faces, the family togetherness.  I don't know the people and the time of the photo is a little before my time according to the farm equipment, but the subject matter of the photo hooked me like a channel cat.  The harvest meal.  Harvest time was a busy time.  It was hot.  Equipment would break down.  Rain would cause delays.  There was a skinny window of time you had to get the crop out of the field and so you worked and you worked hard.  The entire family was involved.  But you still had to eat.

Most of the time, we brought our lunches packed in igloo coolers that we would eat on the tractor, while we worked and listened to Ronnie Milsap on the radio.  The main course would be Olive Loaf lunchmeat sandwiches on Evangeline Maid white bread with mustard.  I haven't eaten an olive loaf sandwich in years, but thinking about it just now gave me a hankering.  There would also be a Dr. Pepper or a Shasta flavored soda in the cooler, a Little Debbie cake of some sort, a small bag of chips, a dill pickle, and some sunflower seeds.  Mom would make sure there was a banana or some grapes in the lunch box, of course.

Those lunches were great, but there were special farm lunches - the harvest lunch I anticipated.  At about noon, we would see a car turn down the dirt field road accompanied by billowing clouds of dust following behind it.  As the car got closer, we knew this was gonna be good.  My mom with my little sister in tow, or my grandpa or grandma would emerge with bags of food.  The combines kept harvesting, but those on the carts or the rice truck shut it all down!  

There was a burger joint in Oberlin called the Frostee.  They made great cheeseburgers, french fries and coke floats.  It was a red letter day when that was in the bag.  We always had homemade oatmeal cookies with raisins, too.  There were a couple fried chicken places in town that made great fried chicken with a thick seasoned batter.  We were happy with anything, though.  There was a little country grocery store called "Buddy's" right off Cottongin Road from which we purchased a multitude of honey buns and Dr. Peppers.  Dad had a charge account there and would settle up at the end of each month. 

We would eat our meal in the shade underneath an old tree or beneath the bed of the rice truck.  After eating we'd lie back in the grass all fat and happy and talk while my grandpa sharpened his pocketknife.  The soft scraping of the Case pocketknife against the brick lubricated with spit created a rhythmic sound that would lull you to sleep.  On cooler days, we'd drop the tailgate and eat right there with our legs swinging underneath.  Life seemed slower, unhurried, simple and innocent.  I'm sure there were worries, but I was unaware of them.  Here is another photo from that thread.  I don't know the people, but the scene is oh so familiar!

What in the world happened?  I don't know.  Why am I waxing nostalgic about something as foolish as an olive loaf sandwich forty-something odd years later?  Why do photos of people I don't even know pull a metaphorical scab off and create a "pain from an old wound?"  Those are questions better answered by deeper thinkers than someone such as I.  You probably don't have the same affinity for things or times that I described, but something tells me that you have similar memories and longings, no?

We certainly can't go back to those times.  They are gone.  We don't want to conform to a world whose values have seemingly left us behind.  I certainly don't want to adopt the values of a world that seems so at odds with mine or a world that's moving way too fast for this guy.  Finally, we feel powerless to change things around us that have made the world so complex, fast, impersonal and unforgiving.  In a small way, however, we can affect change in small ways on a local setting with those in your sphere of influence- making conversation with that soul you come into contact with.  Sharing a smile and a laugh with someone who is having a bad day.  You might even share an olive loaf sandwich with someone! 

So, this hopeless nostalgic will sign off tonight.  But one more thing.  I learned a new word last week.  It's called "postalgia."  Postalgia refers to a longing for a heavenly future, a feeling that when tomorrow comes, we want it to be like the good old days in the past that we spend our quiet moments pining for.  I think the Apostle Paul puts it best - this old world is fallen and should not be where our hopes lie.  No, our citizenship is in heaven.

Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.  Philippians 3:13-14