There once was a little girl. And she was a beautiful child- a funny, wise, intuitive, kind and loving child. Her mama and daddy loved her to the moon and back again.  They loved her so much.

The little girl loved to play and laugh. She loved life and she was full of joy. Everything about that little girl proclaimed exuberance, enchantment, enthusiasm and excitement. She was a beacon of light to all who knew her well.

One day, that little girl was playing- having fun with her friends. Being a kid. But as she was caught up in what was happening around her, she forgot herself for a moment. A decision that would serve to unravel her composure. Would serve to undo her reputation somewhat.

And so while she was playing- in a moment of little-girl impulsivity, she opened her mouth and words came flying out.

Words.

The words weren’t really like her. They were a bit ugly and mean. A bit hurtful and sharp. And as soon as she said them, the little girl realized that a line had been crossed. That a heart had been hurt. That the words from her mouth, which were now floating out there in the big, wide space that she and others occupied, could not be gathered back in or be reversed. Couldn’t be hauled back and erased. For the words had been spoken- they were now out there in the atmosphere- out there in the air, somewhere. They were now audible and had been heard- hanging suspended in time and place as if they were a pendulum ready to swing.

As soon as she said them, the little girl regretted her decision. She knew better. She was a kind little girl, and saying mean and hurtful things was not her usual style. But she had spoken, and the consequences of speaking are always to deal with what comes next.

The aftermath.

That little girl- she cried. She cried and she cried and she cried when she realized the power of her words. She cried and she cried when she understood the significance of it all. And even though she had been given time in which to process the earlier decision to speak, time in which to take stock and move on- that little girl, she couldn’t shake the deep-seated feelings of shame she was experiencing for having failed. Feelings internalized for having fallen short from the mark- the expected standards she usually exceeded.

After some time had passed, the little girl and her mama were together in the kitchen talking. And the mama decided it was the right moment to talk about what had happened. And so they did- they talked. And as they talked, the little girl told her mama she was afraid to face the people involved in her story because she knew she’d disappointed them. She knew that she had failed.

She was very anxious about it all.

And as her mama watched her little girl’s face- a sweet little face etched with worry and concern, eyes welling up with tears: her mama made a decision that she hoped would give the little girl some hope. Because she loved her so. So that mama- she told that little girl about grace.  Told her that tomorrow was another day. That the mistakes of today were now forgiven and that tomorrow would be a fresh beginning. That there was always another chance. That there was always another opportunity to get it right. There was always tomorrow.

There was hope through the wonder of grace.

And what the mama really meant to say, in not so many words, was that there are second chances- possibilities. All found in hope through redemption, found through belief in Love’s amazing grace. What the mama meant to say was that there is deliverance in aspiration.  Aspiring to believe. That’s what starting over is for, that’s what it’s all about. Because if we live our lives in constant shame for what we’ve done, failing to embrace the hope we’ve been given, we never come to realize the power in redemptive love. Never come to realize that this is where it’s at: renewal begins with pain. Growth comes through anguish. Possibility is the offspring born of disappointment. Grace. When we make mistakes and fail, there is always the chance to begin again. Always the opportunity to start over.

There is always tomorrow.

Redemptive love and healing grace makes this possible. And what better example of the power of redemption can we find than of the story of the prodigal son.

The little girl- she clung to her mama’s few words like a lifeline. She wanted to believe. And so she did- she chose to believe that even she was worthy of redemption. Even she was worthy of a fresh beginning- today, tomorrow- and every day after that.

And so she was- worthy of grace.
How very much she was.

The Story of the Prodigal Son
“There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.
13 “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. 14 After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. 16 He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
17 “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18 I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ 20 So he got up and went to his father.
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
21 “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’
22 “But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. 24 For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.
25 “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27 ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’
28 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’
31 “‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”

Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.