| 2 Corinthians 7:10 – “Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death.” |
The question asked people as they grow older is, “do you have any regrets?”
Some politely answer, “no.”
But aren’t there things you wish you could go back to and change, things that might have made a difference in your life or the lives of others.
As I read the Bible, I come across many, who like us, have their regrets. The only difference is they have become their mistakes preserved in holy writ.
Moses, I imagine on Mt. Nebo saying, “If I had not struck that rock.” But he did.
David might have said, “If I had not walked on that roof when I did.”
Peter would silently confess; I wish I had more courage when that girl confronted me in the high priest’s courtyard after Jesus’ arrest.
But perhaps, the one with the most regret is Esau.
He had the birthright in his hand as oldest son.
Fortune would be his.
He would step in Isaac’s sandals as the family patriarch.
And then there was that day, he was famished from the hunt, and Jacob’s bean stew beckoned him like a beautiful woman. With each whiff, it drew him closer. And then, it seemed cheap at the time. A full belly now and no one will remember later. But eternity did.
The Hebrew writer says of Esau “that no one is sexually immoral or unholy like Esau, who sold his birthright for a single meal. For you know that afterward, when he desired to inherit the blessing, he was rejected, for he found no chance to repent, though he sought it with tears.” (Hebrews 12:16–17, ESV)
You can feel the warmth of regret staining his cheek.
The refrain of his life was “what might have been.”
Robert Frost wrote a melancholy poem about regret. Man comes to many intersections and we choose one. Listen:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
As you come to your intersections of life, no matter what they be, stop and ask, “should I take the road not taken?”
Robert G. Taylor
robertgtaylor.com
