Monday, January 30, 2017

On regret

Not altogether unrelated to yesterday’s post, I have been reading through The Broken Way by Ann Voskamp (author of One Thousand Gifts), and I appreciated what she had to say about regrets (if there was a rewind button for life, I'd have worn it right out):
... That may be the saddest string of words that’s ever bee strung together “If only ...”

I can taste the words in my mouth. Who doesn’t know “if only ...”?

But there’s no way back. Maybe life always tastes a bit like regret. Whatever you do or don’t do, there is no way to never taste it. And though you may have to taste regret, you don’t have to believe in it, you don’t have to live in it, like rowing a boat that only goes backward, trying to find something that’s been washed out to sea. It’s God’s sea. And that means all is grace.
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? ... No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us ... Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Because this is the thing: the prosecutor of your soul can’t ever nail you. Time can’t wreck your life. You can’t wreck your life. Nothing in all this world can separate you from the love of Christ, and His love is your life. You life is unwreckable. Because Christ’s love is unstoppable.


Rebecca said...

Oh, my yes!

I *want* to read Ann Voskamp, but I can't. Her perspectives leave me in a puddle of tears. I feel as though she gives words to the tide of emotions that the dyke of resolve holding back, and I am that little Dutch boy, determined to keep the water out. Someday, when I don't have to keep it together, I might take a week and read one of her books in solitude at the lake where my tears can run down to the water's edge.

Ali said...

Oh Rebecca, it sounds like you need to take that week by the lake and let it rain!

There is another section I've underlined, which I don't think actually applies to you (in the sense of numbness and hardness), but I'll quote it anyway, for the poetry:

"There is no fear in letting tears come. Sadness is a gift to avoid the nothingness of numbness, and all hard places need water. Grief is a gift, and after a rain of tears, there is always more of you than before. Rain always brings growth."