A few years ago at the church I attend and play the piano for morning services, I noticed a new face in the congregation toward the back and sitting by himself. There was nothing remarkable about him. He was a man hitting the low side of his older years; grey hair a little long for a man of his age (at least compared to other men his age I knew), a Colombo-esqe overcoat, and he seemed to be doing his best not to be noticed.

Being a good Baptist (and, in my defence, sitting up at the front playing the piano) I ignored him for a couple of weeks until it looked like he was going to stick around… okay, that’s an exaggeration – I tried to get to where he was and introduce myself after the service a couple of times, but he had already slipped out the door and was gone by the time I could get off the piano bench and get to him.

So a month or so later, having failed again to catch the new guy before he slipped away, I asked the Pastor who he was and he said, “You should really read his story,” then pointed to the bulletin board in the foyer where an article from the Salvation Army magazine War Cry had been posted. The article was the story of this man; a man I later got to know and it talked about the change in his life when he became a Christian.

The next Sunday I actually managed to get to him before he made his exit and we had quite a talk. His name was Bob, and I noticed a few things while we were talking. Though he wore long sleeves, I still saw some home made tattoos that told me right away he had done time in prison. In one of his ears I saw a place where an ear ring had hung for a long time. His voice was gravelly and he had that “thousand mile stare” that people that have seen the harder side of life develop. But you could see a whole lot more…

That afternoon I went home and started thinking about Bob and his life, and how much he had changed since accepting Christ, and I started writing. Before I knew it I had the framework of a song in my head and on paper, and by the late evening had finished writing the lyrics, figured out the melody and the chord progressions, and gotten it down on paper.

The next Sunday I brought a copy of the song to Bob and asked him if he would mind if I sang it in public some time. He read the lyrics and said, “A man shouldn’t be ashamed of his testimony. Go ahead.”

So the next week in church I sang the song I had written. I titled it “Second Chance,” the same title of the article that started me off thinking about how people can change, and how our God is a God of second chances. When I left the piano after I sang and walked by Bob to take my seat in the congregation, he stood up and shook my hand. There were tears in his eyes. When I looked around, there were tears in a lot of eyes. Mine included.