No Regrets

Tell me, what will your final thoughts about your life be?

At the end of the run—when we finally arrive at that expiration date that remains a mystery to us now—what will matter?

Will we leave behind regrets over the things we never said, the people we never forgave, or perhaps most painfully, the ways we never forgave ourselves?

Will we look back and realize how much of our precious time was consumed by things that never really mattered? The arguments we replayed. The fears that kept us awake. The opinions of others. The endless anticipation of what might go wrong—or the waiting for something better to finally arrive.

How much of our life will we discover we spent everywhere except where we actually were?

My grand-sponsor once warned me about this in terms of sobriety. He said, “Quit stacking up years and start stacking up days.”

That stays with me.

Because even if we are fortunate enough to live a hundred years, life is still incredibly short. And maybe the measure of a life isn't simply how long we were here, but how much of it we were actually present for.

How many ordinary mornings did we recognize as gifts? How many conversations did we truly listen to? How often did we tell someone we loved them while they were still here to hear it? How much time did we lose waiting for something good to happen—or worrying that something bad would?

Perhaps one of life's great tragedies is spending today preparing emotionally for a tomorrow that may never come.

And somewhere along the way, we seem to lose what God gave us in the beginning: innocence, dependence, wonder, and trust.

As children, we arrived with nothing. We depended completely upon the care of others. We didn't need accomplishments, possessions, titles, or recognition to justify our existence.

We simply were.

Maybe that's why our departure from this life looks so much like our arrival.

We leave with nothing.

No résumé. No bank account. No possessions worth clinging to. No grudges worth carrying. No reputation left to defend. No argument left to win.

Just the soul and its Creator.

And perhaps, when everything else falls away, we will finally understand what was there all along: love, grace, and a God who carried us from our first breath to our last.

So maybe the invitation isn't to wait until the end to understand this.

It's to understand it now.

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
— Psalm 90:12

Forgive now.
Say it now.
Love them now.
Be grateful now.
Be present now.

Quit stacking up years.

Stack up days.