THE JOY OF SECOND CHANCES By Shari Smyth

Whitney and I had been separated for eight months. Now we were on a first date, tentatively, fearfully moving toward reconciliation. We were at the Billy Graham Crusade in Nashville's Adelphia Stadium, waiting for the program to start. Side by side, we sat in silence on a hard bench, feeling the pain of our fractured marriage. Daylight thinned to dusk.The lights popped on over the football field, shining on the distant platform under the gigantic scoreboard. Empty folding chairs waited for the legendary evangelist and his team.

A memory bright as the lights flooded my mind. I was sixteen, my whole life stretching out ahead of me, sitting in a stadium in Philadelphia listening to Billy Graham. His message has stirred my devout teenage heart: I would serve God always and never stray, I vowed. And, at the end, when hundreds streamed forward to the strains of "Just As I Am," I was filled with happiness for them and for me.

Now as a silver-haired, slightly stooped Billy Graham rose to speak, my marriage lay broken.Though I'd served God, I'd also strayed at times. Instead of the years stretching lightly ahead of me, I felt weighted by the passage of time.

The sermon ended. The crowd of thousands shifted in their seats to pray. The choir began singing "Just As I Am," and tears ran down my cheeks. How I wished I could go back and do it over! Whitney reached for my hand, his grip strong and reassuring.

As I watched the hundreds streaming forward, something stronger than happiness lifted my burden: It was the joy of second chances, the joy of a sinner saved by grace -- again and again and again.