Many years ago, Louise Fletcher Tarkington (1878-1923) wrote a poem "The Land of Beginning Again" (see below). Her poem is filled with hope for such a place but she doesn't seem to know whether or not that land really exists.
In truth, this land where we can begin again is a place filled with the blessings of the Savior. Through His atonement and resurrection, we can receive the chance to abide with Him and feel His comforting spirit -- in mortality as well as eternity.
The Savior is patient and long-suffering as we learn to recognize His voice and follow His loving example. He makes everything possible and so I am willing to try once more by adding my thoughts and testimony to this personal blog.
Unfortunately, it's been far too long since I posted anything on "Life is a Homeward Journey". There never seemed to be enough hours in the days to do everything I wanted to do. I am sure that others share this situation as well. Ultimately, I found that my desire to post was overwhelmed by other responsibilities, activities, and concerns (personal, familial, and community).
And so, it is time to begin again -- to reflect on the homeward journey which we all face as part of our mortal existence. Ideally I want to do more than relate the whys and hows of genealogical research but include other aspects as well.
The land of beginning again really does exist but it requires us to welcome the Savior as our traveling companion. Through His atonement and mercy, we are able to begin each day anew through our personal repentance and acceptance of His gift to all mankind.
The Land of Beginning Again
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 had done
The greatest injustice of all
Could be there 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 for 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 here,
Would find in the grasp of our loving hand-clasp
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 put on again.
~ Louise Fletcher Tarkington
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 there 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 for 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 here,
Would find in the grasp of our loving hand-clasp
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 put on again.
~ Louise Fletcher Tarkington
