I have a crush on vintage. You might not think it’s possible to have a crush on an adjective, but hear me out. First, to be fair, let’s define the terms: I (JMT) have (currently hold) a crush (an emotional connection, which produces joy, longing, sudden giddy outbursts, a full heart, hope for a long term relationship, restlessness, and some times heartache) on (towards) vintage (all textiles, patterns, accessories, colors, glassware, cookware, plates, sweaters, jewelry, and furniture which were designed circa 1955-1980 or anything, which may have been designed post 1981, but hearkens the funky feel of old stories and nostalgia, which are associated with things designed in the aforementioned 25 year span).
After lunch at my parents’ house today, my dad pulled out a dusty old bucket he found while cleaning the garage this week, and said, “Is there anything in here you want?” At first glance, it seemed like a bucket full of dirty rags, but as I pulled fabric after fabric out of its dusty tomb, we discovered two of my Nana’s aprons, funky cloth napkins, A crocheted table cloth, house shoes from the 60’s, and a pile of starched handkerchiefs. Gold mine! Freed of dirt and the smell of attic, the aprons will soon hang in my kitchen, living a second life as crucial ingredients in many messy baking adventures. Funky cloth napkins will be sitting on the counter amidst Pier One cousins ready to greet dinner guests as soon as the dryer finishes in ten minutes. And unstarched kerchiefs in funky floras are fated to sit on the couch forever as patchwork pillows.
Doesn’t your heart beat faster when you have the chance to be a part of a story longer and wider and farther and greater than you are alone? One of my favorite parts of the gospel is the power that greatest story has to pull us into a vast history and eternal future. Alone, we are empty and broken, but together there is power and purpose. My collection of vintage things may look like silly, worthless trinkets (and in the end of course they will wither like the flowers of the fields just like we too will wither and fall), but to me they are a shining, pink glass symbol of a past, present, and future filled with passion, story telling, and purpose. And they fill my heart with joy until I must spin around praising a God who is creative beyond all measure or burst from the weight of it.