Can I get a re-do?

I play pick-up volleyball at my gym twice a week, and while sometimes I get lucky and it approaches almost competitive, most of the time it's approximately the level of my 8th grade South East Junior High A-Team. Recently, those of us with some degree of skill have adapted our strategy to, rather than pass-set-spike, just keep the ball away from Chuck, a darling but 80-year-old grandpa with thick goggle-glasses who moves at a pace slightly faster than a giant sea turtle.

Last night there was a new girl. I'll give her 9th grade, freshman team skills - you know, where some people start getting cut. So my team was down 5 - 7 when the serve comes over, hits the tape on the net, and my teammate dives in front of the ten-foot line to pop it up. I get under it and set to the middle hitter, who swings and has a kill right in front of Newbie. My team celebrates the well-deserved side-out, but Newbie across the net breaks up our party with her whiney shriek of, "But I didn't know the ball could hit the net on the serve!"

Ummm, gosh, I'm so terribly sorry, Newbie. Here's an idea - how 'bout you learn the rules before you step on my court.

Her whining continued, so in order to shut her mouth, the majority decided to allow Newbie's team a redo, which, to me was absolutely ridiculous. Instead of throwing a fit and demanding justice, I chose to roll my eyes to myself and I thought of all the times I wish I could have a re-do.

Like the time I thought I had a month long grace period to renew my expired driver's license, but didn’t, and I ended up getting pulled over during that month, fined for both speeding and driving without a license and being mandated to call a tow truck AND appear in court, which happened to be the day after a break-up, to-boot.

Or like the time I spent .2 seconds too long gazing at the pretty dresses in the boutique window and crashed into the Honda in front of me.

Or like the time I was on a date with the cutest, most Irish, most athletic, most intelligently Catholic man I'd ever been on a date with and I said the dumbest things a chick could ever say.

Truth is, we all do a whole lot of stupid stuff, and people don't always give us re-dos. But we have very Good News that God is much more gracious than all of us, especially me in the midst of any competitive activity, and when we offend him, he gives us a re-do whenever we approach him with contrite heart.

So go to the Ultimate Referee, tell him you're sorry for screwing up (insert plug for the awesome Sacrament of Reconciliation here), let our gracious God impart more grace to you than any opponent/date/policeman/Honda driver ever could and be refreshed, renewed, and re-done.