Again. You can—again, again, again. The cliché’s true: you can begin again. New leaves, blank slates, fresh starts, and all the rest— They are not rationed with a miser’s hand Or saved for certain times like New Year’s day. There’s no more grace on January the first Than March the twenty-third or June the tenth Or yesterday, this morning, or right now. The everlasting arms, they never tire Of picking up, of kindly dusting down. Of setting children on their feet once more. And so you can—yes can—begin…
This seemed a fitting poem for today, the day I deleted the blog I started almost nine years ago and haven’t written in for five years and started this instead. It’s one small beginning again of all my many re-starts. It feels terribly discouraging to be a chronic begin-againer, but someone reminded me recently that the Christian life is one of endless beginning again. It’s a comforting thought and was the spark for this poem. I’m reminded of C. S. Lewis’ closing words in his essay “A Slip of the Tongue”: “Our morning prayer should be that in the Imitation: Da hodie perfecte incipere—grant me to make an unflawed beginning today, for I have done nothing yet.”
I just found your blog via Blind Mule and read it straight through. Beautiful and succinct! But if you are also a lover of Guite's poetry, as I am, no wonder. :) Keep writing!