Tell me the old, old story, tell me the old, old story, Tell me the old, old story, of Jesus and His love.

Psalm 143
Tell me the old, old story was another of my Grandma's hymns.
I often feel embarrassed recounting for a third and fourth time events when Jesus seemed extra close to me or the Holy Spirit more powerful. But God does not mind. He is real and old stories, even the childhood memories of a not quite old, though I thought my grandmother was old when she was my age, may be a nudge towards an almost forgotten memory of Christ.
And if you would like a retrospective connection to mushrooms and my grandmother and old stories I remember my mother telling me about picking mushrooms in the field behind her childhood home. She told me this as we were picking mushrooms on our way back from visiting my grandmother.