I wish that there were some wonderful place called The Land Of Beginning Again; where all our mistakes and all our heartaches and all of our poor selfish grief, could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door, and never put on again.

I wish we could come on it all unaware, like the hunter who finds a lost trail. And I wish that the one whom our blindness had done the greatest injustice of all, could be at the gates like an old friend that waits, for the comrade he’s gladdest to hail.

We would find all the things we intended to do, but forgot, and remembered too late. Little praises unspoken, little promises broken, and all of the thousand and one little duties neglected, that might have perfected, the day for one less fortunate.

It wouldn’t be possible not to be kind In The Land Of Beginning Again. And the ones we misjudged and the ones whom we grudged the moments of victory here, would find in the grasp of our loving handclasp more than penitent lips could explain.

For what had been hardest we’d know had been best, and what had seemed loss would be gain. For there isn’t a sting that will not take wing when we’ve faced it and laughed it away. And I think that the laughter is most what we’re after in The Land Of Beginning Again.

So I wish that there were some wonderful place called The Land Of Beginning Again. Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches and all of our poor selfish grief, could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door, and never be put on again. (Note 1)

But wait. There is a land of beginning again. It’s found at the foot of the cross. When we surrender to Jesus Christ, our old self dies and we begin a process of sanctification. Where each day is a grace-filled fresh start. The Land Of Beginning Again.

Note 1: Adapted from the poem The Land Of Beginning Again by Louisa Fletcher (1878 – 1957). With apologies to Ms. Fletcher for changing the meter and punctuation to make it more readable on electronic media.