Regrets

By Jeff Long

"Regrets, I've had a few ..."

The late Frank Sinatra sang about regrets in the otherwise lamentable "My Way," a tune celebrating self-satisfied arrogance that even the legendary crooner himself disliked, according to his former intimates.

Regret is feeling sad, repentant or disappointed over things that have happened that still cause us pain.

In the church office this week, I had a long discussion with a person who regrets something he did in the past. I responded with a deep sorrow of my own.

If we had a time machine, each of us, I imagine, would gladly leap into the past and attempt a do-over to set something right and release ourselves from that psychic discomfort.

Nearly three years ago, my father died of oral cancer.

My parents live in Pennsylvania. I've been in Missouri 27 years.

The states are not next door to one another. The drive takes a while. I was able to return and visit Dad a few times after his illness was diagnosed.

On one occasion during my father's cancer battle, our youngest daughter and I made a surprise visit that delighted both Mom and Dad. But it is the trip not made that haunts me even now.

It was early January 2014, about two weeks after the holidays.

I teach two days a week at Southeast Missouri State University, had a five-day-a-week secular job and was pastoring a church on Sundays.

I could leave on a Friday but had to be back home by Saturday night to be ready for worship early the next morning.

With that short a time frame, flying was the only option. Plane tickets were purchased, and I drove to Lambert Airport on Friday morning only to discover bad weather in the eastern U.S. had resulted in hundreds of cancellations and delays.

My St. Louis to Chicago flight was delayed six hours.

By the time I arrived at Midway Airport, chaos reigned. Stranded fliers were everywhere.

Looking at the departure board, my Pittsburgh-bound flight also was delayed with no new takeoff time listed.

In checking with the ticket counter, I was told I could fly back to St. Louis within the hour. There was no estimate on when a flight back east would be able to leave.

Even if there had been no delays, my visit home would have been brief anyway -- a matter of perhaps 12 hours.

My parents were understanding and encouraged me to fly back to Missouri that night. I did.

I have regretted the decision since. The next time I saw my dad, he was comatose and deep into agonal breathing.

I never spoke to him again. He was dead not long after my arrival.

Time travel is still impossible. This author can't go back and make that trip.

But now that our eldest daughter has cancer, I can resolve not to miss a thing. And so far, I haven't.

When I become aware that a church member is in the hospital now, I go and see them at the earliest possible moment.

Why? Because regret is a dish served cold. Consuming it is unpleasant.

Regret is a teachable moment. I've learned from it. We also have a story to share about our actions (or inactions) -- a cautionary tale to warn others.

Jesus' words intrude here: "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls" (Matthew 11:29).

I'm counting on that rest. Regret wears me out.