Tuesday, November 22, 2011
On Michael's recommendation a few months ago, I am reading Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. The book is a series of letters from an aged and increasingly infirm minister to his young son about his family's past (the boy's "begats") and many other nuggets of advice, personal observation, and internal meditiation. The writing is powerful and moving. With the arrival of Thanksgiving, I thought to share a short passage that I found affecting and to the purpose:
I am also inclined to overuse the world "old," which actually has less to do with age, as it seems to me, than it does with familiarity. It sets a thing apart as something regarded with a modest, habitual affection. Sometimes it suggests haplessness or vulnerability. I say "old Boughton," I say "this shabby old town," and I mean that they are very near my heart.
I do not give thanks for the blessings of my life often enough. Among the dearest of these are the "old." Thank God for them.