Thank God for Another Chance

Published on by geriatric pilgrim

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Thank God for another chance to fold a fitted sheet,

another chance to butcher a banjo tune,

another chance to win at Wordle.

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Thank God for another chance to make a perfect cup of hot chocolate,

another chance to discover the perfect hot sauce,

another chance to pick the perfect pen.

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Thank God for another chance to stroll in springtime through a carpet of pink lady slippers,

another chance to walk in autumn through golden bracken and red maple trees,

another chance to snowshoe in winter across a snow-covered pond.

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Thank God for another chance to slow dance with my wife in front of the fire on a winter night 

to Patsy Cline singing “Sweet Dreams,”

another chance to admire my granddaughter casting a blood worm

into the Androscoggin River on a summer afternoon,

another chance to decorate our Christmas tree with five generations’ worth of 

ornaments. 

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Thank God for another chance to shed the ten pounds I’ve never been able to lose,

another chance to read “Lord of the Rings” for the umpteenth time,

another chance to write a poem that just might actually be one.

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Thank God for another chance to keep my mouth shut when I don’t have anything to say,

another chance to learn how to take a compliment without trying to convince you 

I don’t deserve it,

another chance to stop trying to figure out who I think you think I ought to be.

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Thank God for another chance to say, “I was wrong,”

another chance to say, “I love you,”

another chance to say, “Thank you.”

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15 thoughts on “Thank God for Another Chance”

  5. Sometimes the simplest lines hold the most gravity. Your list of “another chance” moments—the fitted sheet, the banjo tune, the hot chocolate, the snowfall—does more than capture gratitude. It maps the fragile architecture of life’s coherence: every ordinary moment becomes an invitation to align again.

    Thank you for reminding us that redemption isn’t found in grand resets, but in small acts of presence—when we notice, breathe, turn toward what matters, and say, “Here’s another chance.” After all, resilience isn’t built in leaps, but in these quiet relinks with ourselves and our world.

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