Regrets? I've had a few . . . ((a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr))

There is so much I don't remember. 

 I don't remember asking her out. I don't remember where we went on our date. I don't remember driving to or from. I don't remember what we did. I don't even remember when ... Weekend? School night? Fall? Winter? Spring? 

There is so much I don't remember. 

 Here is what I do remember: walking her back to the her dorm. We are strolling along one of the campus walkways. It is fairly dark, but there are enough lights from nearby windows and from the mostly decorative pole lamps along the side of the distant library that we can see our way along the path. [Were we holding hands? There is SO much I don't remember.] 

 As we near her dormitory, I see there are two steps up and then more walkway. This little step-up is still a few yards from the lighted front porch of her dorm. When we get to these steps, she steps ahead of me and onto the first step. She turns. We are almost eye to eye. She smiles that wonderful smile, the one that made me want to ask her out in the first place. Her hair is long and wavy, framing her face perfectly, and so in tune with the times. I realize, perhaps for the very first time, that she is truly beautiful. We look at each other ... for what now seems like a very long time. I tell her I had a wonderful time; the truth. She tells me the same. We continue to look at each other. And ... 

 I don't kiss her. 

There is so much I don't remember. Why, I often wondered, is THIS what I do remember? ... this opportunity lost; this "Why didn't I?"; this little agony; this regret. Do you have one of these? A wish-it-was-different? The person you almost kissed, the job you wanted but never pursued, that place you always wanted to visit but didn't, the words you wished you had said. On and on. 

For some time after that date, I experienced an escalating disappointment; a growing obsession with the kiss-that-wasn't. I kept seeing that moment as a lost opportunity, an experience I wished I could go back and correct . . . no, not correct . . . complete. Do the follow-through. Kiss her. 

Now, though, looking back through the lens of several decades, I know I made the right choice that night. My choice was the road not taken, and absolutely the right one. Each of us moved off into diffent trajectories from that point. Each to another person, the right person; then children; then grandchildren. 

Months after that night, God gifted me one day with a sudden clarity about that moment. It was not "an almost kiss." It was a sweet and cherishable moment between two people, a couple who needed to not be a couple, at least not with each other. I have often thanked God for transforming that seeming regret into a wonderful memory for me. 

Do I have regrets? Yes. But, like the song says, too few to mention. And this is not one of them. My regrets are for things I did or said that hurt people; things we all should regret. We must not allow ourselves to be enslaved by these memories. The only power they have over us is the power we invest in them. If we can find a way to regard them differently, we can defuse them of their power over us. 

And that is exactly what God did for his people when they were long-time captives of King Nebuchadnezzar. In one of this week's lectionary scriptures (Jeremiah 29:1-7), we find they were spending way too much time longing for the way things used to be, for moments now lost to them. In fact, they spent so much time obsessing about the past, God stepped in and refocused them. "Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare." 

In other words, memories are fine, but not if they are the fodder for "woulda, shoulda, coulda." God wants us to "be here now". We really are expected to "bloom where we're planted." God has plans for us. An "almost kiss" (in fact, an almost anything) is not a reality, and thus not a real memory. It's just a longing for something that never was. 

 The readings this week: Proper 23 (28) (October 10, 2010) First reading and Psalm - Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7; Psalm 66:1-12 Alternate First reading and Psalm - 2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c; Psalm 111 Second reading - 2 Timothy 2:8-15 Gospel - Luke 17:11-19  

If you're in Waco on Friday morning, join the group at Cafe Cappuccino (on 6th, between Austin and Washington) at 8:00 for good food and thought-provoking discussions of this week's readings. Enjoy! Steve