The Land of Beginning Again

Scattered throughout the notes and writings of my dad was found this poem by Louise Fletcher.  He quoted pieces of it during phones conversations.  He inserted lines of it in correspondence.  He used it in sermons and lectures.

And, of course, I know why….

He longed – as many of us do – to be able to retrace the years and redo the things he did wrong and enjoy more the precious things taken for granted.  It seems a bit unfair that we are not able to realize the intrinsic value of the truly important things until it is too late.

Well, that’s not entirely true, for today my dad is in that land of beginning again.  No heartaches, no tears.  No broken relationships to be lamented.  No regrets and failures.  He’s there and I’m going for I, too, have my regrets.

One day, like all of us, we will come upon that Land all unawares – I wonder if we will be prepared…….

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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 selfish grief

Could be dropped like a shabby old coat by the door And never be 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 has 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 Their moments of victory then

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 a 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 wondered place Called the Land of Beginning Again

Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches And all of our selfish grief

Could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door And never be put on again.

 –Louise Fletcher

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In one spot in his writings, on a small piece of paper used for funeral addresses, Dad add the following to the end of this poem:

“For me to live is Christ — to DIE IS GAIN!  Our Father, may we, like Paul, determine to live for Christ and experience the eternal gain.”

Amen to that………………