If only . . .

“If only . . .” Two words I wish I’d never learned to put together. Alone, they’re fine. But when combined, they create regret, sorrow, and perpetual discontent. If only I had done this, if only I hadn’t done that. If only I had made the most of this opportunity, this friendship, this experience. There’s never been a situation where the two words can’t twist and pollute whatever was. They’ve been my constant companion all my life, and I can only try to purge them from my life.

I recently returned to my high school for a reunion. It was where I spent four dramatic years of my life, and, as I walked the campus, the familiar refrain wanted to sing for all to hear. Visiting a 10th grade English class, I wished I had made more of my classes. Wandering the expansive facilities, I wished I had appreciated the campus. Playing in the alumni soccer game, I wished I had pushed myself physically when I was a student. “If only” was spoiling my weekend.

Fortunately, I was with some of the people I’d known longest. Despite the miles we’d traveled since graduating, they were still incredible gifts I’d been given. Standing in the senior dorm and looking out at the lacrosse field, I was thankful for the campus and experiences I’d had. Handing the school librarian a copy of my novel, and the chaplain a copy of my meditations, I realized I’d learned more than I thought when sitting in those classrooms.

“Acceptance is the key . . . ” says a wise book I know, and slowly I used it to unlock a new perspective: Instead of regret, I found gratitude . . . instead of embarrassment, I found compassion . . . instead of sorrow, I found joy.

Perhaps I can use that in the rest of my life.

Once and for All

The stone’s rolled away,

Sunlight lies beyond,

But there’s comfort inside the tomb.

Dark and small,

I’ve made it my home.

Mistakes I’ve made lie like a body wrapped in clothes of shame.

I retell stories that keep it dark,

Stories that keep me small.

Better to stay in the tomb, I cry, and point to the light.

Easier to dream of a resurrected life than live it,

And sing of grace I’ve only heard about.

And yet life beyond the tomb beckons.

It’s the life that belongs to God, not me,

Of God’s creating, not mine.

Its light blinds, and horizon overwhelms,

But, somehow, I must follow.

The risen life waits for me (and you) as it always has.

Like a gift, I must rise and walk out to receive it,

Out of the darkness and into the light,

Out from the known into the unknown,

Out from death into life,

Out from false into true,

Once and for all.

Stone Walls

I recently returned to New England, my soul’s home, for a conference and was reminded of the power of “place.” Whether it’s where you grew up, or where something important happened, returning to a place can stir one in deep, unpredictable ways.

Getting off the highway onto old roads, my mind twisted and turned through memories like the road itself, but it was the stone walls that let me know I had returned. New England is famous for its stone walls. They were the result of farmers trying to clear their land. The stones were used to line their properties - clear illustrations of taking something bad and turning it into something useful.

It was a long drive, so I started thinking about my stones. Four years in boarding school provided many. Moving here after my father died added more. To those early stones, many others from a variety of chapters of my life were added. Yes, I wish there weren’t so many stones, but the trick has been learning how to make something out of my pile.

There are people who have no interest in such back-breaking (soul-breaking) work. They prefer to throw their stones into the woods, hire someone to carry them away, or leave them buried, but there’s much to be gained by picking up a stone, looking at it, and placing it where it might do some good. In the end, the stones give your life shape, much like the stone walls around a property.

I needed the help of an expert builder to get started, and it took me a long time to learn how to work with the stones, but now I wish I’d begun the work sooner. At least I’ve begun . . . and I’ve got lots of stones left to keep me busy.