A word about older

The psalmist in Psalm 44, verse 1, wrote, We have heard with our own ears, O God. Our fathers have told us what deeds you did in their days, in the days of old. That’s Psalm 44, 1. That phrase in their days, in the days of old, caught my eye when I paused to read it the other day and reflect on my life. When were my days of old, I wonder? And what were they like? How would I describe my own days of old? Some days I don’t wonder about my own days of old, of course. I don’t have to wonder. In fact, today’s a good example of my not needing to wonder. Today is a day of old for me. My hip is inflamed and exceedingly painful when I walk. My doctor says it’s muscular degeneration that happens sometimes with age. That’s a kind of kind way of saying that the days of old have arrived. And I’m not as strong as I used to be either, regardless of how my mind might like to make me believe that. If I forget to put my hearing aids in first thing in the morning, then I walk out the door without them. I spend more than a little bit of time that day asking people around me what they’ve actually said to me. Days of old snuck up on my hearing. My hands cramp too, sometimes just thinking about holding a pen or a pencil will cause my hand to decide it wants to cramp up and cause me a lot of pain. If I’m not living in the days of old, I wouldn’t know how to describe them. But then my kind of days of old aren’t the same as what the psalmist was talking about when he mentioned the days of old. He mentioned listening. He’s heard something he wants to draw attention to. He hasn’t been listening to elderly fathers talking about their aches and pains in the midst of their days of old. Instead, the stories that he’s heard with his own ears are about the deeds God did in the lives of his children in the days of old and the history of God’s provision for his people. If I could for a moment get my mind off of my aching body, the muscular degeneration that happens with age, if I could stop thinking even for a moment, about the complaints that so easily fall out of my mouth when my fingers start cramping. If I refuse to let myself talk about the pain I tolerate when I walk, and instead let my focus change from the days of old I’m experiencing to the days of old I’ve already been through. Well, then I’d have time to share with anyone who cares to listen about how faithful my God has been, the journey he has led me through, the battles he has won for me by his good and gracious hand in my own days of old. I think that’s another way of saying that the days of old are a part of the story God had in mind when he thought of me. I just want to be careful when I tell that story that I’m talking about the right days of old.