Category: Health Care

Come and See: Lifted His Heel Against Me

October 18, 2026 barnstormingblogLeave a comment

When he had washed their feet and put on his outer garments and resumed his place, he said to them, “Do you understand what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.

For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.

I am not speaking of all of you; I know whom I have chosen. But the Scripture will be fulfilled, ‘He who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me.’ (Psalm 41:9)

I am telling you this now, before it takes place, that when it does take place you may believe that I am he.

Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever receives the one I send receives me, and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me.”
John 13: 12-20

I, too, stood on the sacred image … on the face of the man who has been ever in my thoughts, … on the best and most beautiful face that any man can ever know, on the face of him whom I have always longed to love.

I understand your pain and your suffering. It is for that reason that I am here.

Lord, I resented your silence.

I was not silent. I suffered beside you.
~Shisaku Endo from Silence – an interchange at the end of the book between Father Sebastian Rodrigues and the voice of the Lord Jesus

Then Judas in his hot desire
Said, “Give me what you will.”
Christ spoke to him with words of fire,
“Then, Judas, you must kill,
One whom you love, One who loves you
As only God’s son can:
This is the work for you to do
To save the creature man.“

“And men to come will curse your name,
And hold you up to scorn;
In all the world will be no shame
Like yours; this is love’s thorn.
It takes strong will of heart and soul,
But man is under ban.
Think, Judas, can you play this role
In heaven’s mystic plan?”

So Judas took the sorry part,
Went out and spoke the word,
And gave the kiss that broke his heart,
But no one knew or heard.
And no one knew what poison ate
Into his palm that day,
Where, bright and damned, the monstrous weight
Of thirty white coins lay.

It was not death that Judas found
Upon a kindly tree;
The man was dead long ere he bound
His throat as final fee.
And who can say if on that day
When gates of pearl swung wide,
Christ did not go His honored way
With Judas by His side?

~Countee Cullen “Judas Iscariot”

And then there is the love for the enemy–
love for the one who does not love you
but mocks, threatens, and inflicts pain.
The tortured’s love for the torturer.
This is God’s love.
It conquers the world.
~Frederick Buechner from The Magnificent Defeat

Even my close friend in whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has lifted his heel against me. Psalm 41:9

…he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel. Genesis 3:15

Jesus knew Judas would “lift his heel against him” – Jesus chose him for that very reason, a close friend who had been a cherished part of the twelve.

The kick is hard, but not unexpected.

A heel crushes the image of Jesus and all that is good and beautiful.

Yet, this Lord is able to understand the pain of the betrayer and know suffering so much, He brings it onto Himself.

It was for this reason He came. It was for this reason He invites us to eat the bread of life alongside Him. We are filled and forgiven because He loves us enough to take our kicks and crushes.

What a gift to be known so well by God Himself.

I am reading slowly through the words in the Book of John over the next year alongside my church family. Once a week, I will invite you to “come and see” what those words might mean as we explore His promises together.

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Come and See: Not My Feet Only

October 11, 2026 barnstormingblogLeave a comment

Ford Maddox Brown — Washing Peter’s Feet

Now before the Feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.

During supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon’s son, to betray him, Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around his waist. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him.

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, do you wash my feet?”

Jesus answered him, “What I am doing you do not understand now, but afterward you will understand.”

Peter said to him, “You shall never wash my feet.”

Jesus answered him, “If I do not wash you, you have no share with me.”

Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!”

Jesus said to him, “The one who has bathed does not need to wash, except for his feet, but is completely clean. And you are clean, but not every one of you.”

For he knew who was to betray him; that was why he said, “Not all of you are clean.”
John 13: 1-11

What e’er the soul has felt or suffered long,
Oh, heart! this one thing should not be forgot:
Christ washed the feet of Judas.
~George Marion McClellan from “The Feet of Judas” in
The Book of American Negro Poetry 1922

Being thorough, I remove a holey sock
to view a diabetic man’s filthy feet.
I use the time to complete our talk
of what drove him to live on the street
as I wonder how any of this can help.

While he tells me more of his medical past,
I run warm water into a stainless bowl.
I immerse both his feet and begin to ask
myself what good it does for this poor soul
to allow himself to undergo this ablution.

Silently I sluice the water between his toes
and soap the crusty callous at his heel.
I marvel at his arch and notice how closely
it fits my palm. I know he can feel
this proximity too. He shuts his eyes.

Months of useless layers peel away,
revealing layers useless weeks ago.
Removing the tough brown hide of yesterday
yields clean pink skin, but we both know
this ritual will be useless days from now.

Still, this moment may withstand time’s test,
teaching us each lessons unknown before.
I learn the medicine of selflessness.
He learns what medicine is really for–
the hope that basin, soap and touch can bear.
~Robert Fawcett “Washing Feet”

Jesus washing the feet of his disciples by Finnish artist Albert Gustaf Edelfelt

I’ve washed feet as part of my job, learning the medicine of selflessness:

…as an aide in a rest home caring for the crippled feet of the elderly,
as a medical student in an inner city hospital seeing the homeless whose socks had to be peeled off carefully to avoid pulling off gangrenous toes, as a doctor working with the down and out detox patients from the streets who had no access to soap and water for weeks.

People always protest, knowing the futility of washing
when feet will only become grimy again.
Like Peter, we never believe our feet,
those homely gnarled bunioned claw-toed calloused parts of us,
deserve that attention, and certainly not love.

We are ashamed to have someone care about them, care for them, when we don’t care enough on our own.

I have never washed the feet of someone about to betray me,
leading me to my death.

I have never had my feet washed by someone
who understood my heart needed cleansing
even more than my feet, who loved me that much.

So, I must not forget:

He kneels before us, the humility and towels of a servant as His only raiments.

He gently cups our heels in His palms, washes and dries our soles and arches and toes,

but what is truly cleansed is our beating heart,
held with such care in His loving hands.

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They Don’t Amount to a Hill of Beans

September 29, 2026 barnstormingblogLeave a comment

Fifteen years ago today, family and friends lost Jenny Rausch to eternity. She is someone we will never forget and I want to share a bit about what she taught me, but also direct you to a page of her wit and wisdom — some wonderful horse stories she had written over the years.

I spent this morning adjusting to this change in season by occupying myself with the familiar task of moving manure. Cleaning barn is a comforting chore, allowing me to transform tangible benefit from something objectionable and just plain stinky to the nurturing fertilizer of the future. It feels like I’ve actually accomplished something.

As I scooped and pushed the wheelbarrow, I remembered another barn cleaning over two decades ago, when I was one of three or four friends left cleaning over ninety stalls after a Haflinger horse event that I had organized at our local fairgrounds. Some people had brought their horses from over 1000 miles away to participate for several days. Whenever horse people gather, there were inevitable personality clashes and harsh words among some participants along with criticism directed at me that I had taken very personally.

As I struggled with the umpteenth wheelbarrow load of manure, tears stung my eyes and my heart. I was miserable with regrets over people not getting along. My work did not feel worth the pain I was feeling.

My friend Jenny Rausch had stayed behind with her family to help clean up the large facility and she could see I was struggling to keep my composure. Jenny put herself right in front of my wheelbarrow and looked me in the eye, insisting I stop for a moment and listen.

“You know, none of these troubles and conflicts will amount to a hill of beans years from now. People will remember a fun event in a beautiful part of the country, a wonderful time with their horses, their friends and family, and they’ll be all nostalgic about it, not giving a thought to the infighting or the sour attitudes or who said what to whom.

So don’t make this about you and whether you did or didn’t make everyone happy. You loved us all enough to make it possible to meet here and the rest was up to us. So quit being upset about what you can’t change. There’s too much you can still do for us.”

And then she gave me a hug that I will always cherish.

During tough times which have come often in my professional life, including the difficult and controversial decisions I had to make during the COVID pandemic, Jenny’s advice replays in my mind, reminding me to stop seeking appreciation from others, or feeling hurt when harsh words come my way.

None of these things amount to a hill of beans now…

She was right about the balm found in the tincture of time. She was right about giving up being upset in order to die to myself and my self-absorption, to keep focusing outward rather than inward.

Jenny, I have remembered what you said even though at times I relapse and forget.

A few years after that day in the barn, Jenny herself spent six years vigorously living her life every day while treating a relentless cancer. The tumor spread was initially slowed in the face of her faith and intense drive to live. Over time though, she became a rusting leaf, fading imperceptibly, crumbling at the edges until she finally let go.

Her dying on this day twelve years ago did not flash brilliance, nor draw attention at the end. Her intense focus during the years of her illness had always been outward to others, to her family and friends, to the numerous healers she spent so much time with in medical offices, to her belief in the plan God had written for her and others.

Despite her intense love for her husband and young children, she let go her hold on life here. And we all had to let her go.

Brilliance cloaks you as your focus is now on things eternal.

You were so right, Jenny. Conflicts from twenty-five years ago surely haven’t amounted to a hill of beans; all is remembered fondly by those who were part of the gathering. I especially treasure the words you wisely spoke to me as they have helped me through other tough times when I tend to focus on nurturing my own hurt feelings.

Bathing in the hurt never helps…

And I’m no longer upset that I can’t change the fact that you have left us. There is still so much you continue to do for us by staying alive in our memories. We won’t forget what you have said and written.

And so it goes…
I know we’ll catch up later.

Jenny R –photo by Ginger Kathleen Coombs

…to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
— Ellen Bass “The Thing Is…” from Mules of Love

Having to Return on Foot

September 28, 2026 barnstormingblog1 Comment

They work with herbs
and penicillin.
They work with gentleness
and the scalpel.
They dig out the cancer,
close an incision
and say a prayer
to the poverty of the skin.
They are not Gods
though they would like to be;
they are only human
trying to fix up a human.
Many humans die.
They die like the tender,
palpitating berries
in November.
But all along the doctors remember:
First do no harm.
They would kiss if it would heal.
It would not heal.

If the doctors cure
then the sun sees it.
If the doctors kill
then the earth hides it.
The doctors should fear arrogance
more than cardiac arrest.
If they are too proud,
and some are,
then they leave home on horseback
but God returns them on foot.
~Anne Sexton “Doctors” from The Awful Rowing Toward God.

The only wisdom we can hope to acquire is the wisdom of humility; humility is endless.
~T.S. Eliot from East Coker

Let me never forget how humbling it was
to provide care for hurting people
and not be 100% certain what I do
would actually work, though I was trusted
to recommend the best option…

which could include
a tincture of time,
just wait and see,
try this or that.

Or witnessing a vaccine-preventable illness
gallop through a university population,
taking weeks to safely harness and control.

Not unlike other physicians who tumbled off
while racing a pathogen, losing their balance
between overconfidence and humility,
I sometimes found myself unseated and stranded,
having to return on foot to retrace my steps,
reframe my words and hopes and do no harm –
to try once again to make a difference.

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Balancing on a Broken World

September 23, 2026September 23, 2026 barnstormingblog1 Comment

Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks rise
Around; up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behaviour
Of silk-sack clouds! has wilder, wilful-wavier
Meal-drift moulded ever and melted across skies?

I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes,
Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Saviour;
And eyes, heart, what looks, what lips yet give you a
Rapturous love’s greeting of realer, of rounder replies?

And the azurous hung hills are his world-wielding shoulder
Majestic – as a stallion stalwart, very-violet-sweet! –
These things, these things were here and but the beholder
Wanting; which two when they once meet,
The heart rears wings bold and bolder
And hurls for him, O half hurls earth for him off under his feet.
~Gerard Manley Hopkins “Hurrahing in Harvest”

This poem is (in Hopkin’s own words) “the outcome of half an hour of extreme enthusiasm as I walked home alone one day from fishing in the [River] Elwy.”

This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.

Some day there will be no war,
Then I shall take out this afternoon
And turn it in my fingers,
And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only gather it
And put it into my lunch-box,
For I have time for nothing
But the endeavour to balance myself
Upon a broken world.
~Amy Lowell from “September 1918”

There is no point in seeing without responding; there is no way to respond without seeing.

Christian life and practice require both faith (the sight of the heart) and works (the lurch of the heart toward him in obedience).
~Kathleen Mulhern from “A Christ Sighting” from Dry Bones

Am I the only one who awoke this morning praying
today might be a day of healing between peoples,
when the barbarous becomes beautiful
and we seek to become balanced rather than broken?

A day of
no drone missiles being launched,
no threats of annihilation and winner takes all,
no one gunned down in the street,
no vehicles used as weapons,
no harsh and angry words spoken,
no child misused,
no one sold into slavery,
no one overdosing, abandoned,
homeless and starving.

Am I the only one who awakes and only seeks
to watch the clouds
to praise the heavens
to see the leaves turn color
to take out this one day and taste it
and find that it is good,
then put it away for self-keeping
to share when and if I find someone else
as hungry for grace and mercy as I am,

so as to balance myself somehow
in the beauty of this world while
teetering on its brokenness?

I am not the only one.
I know I am not…

Sheaves of Wheat in a Field –Vincent Van Gogh

Wheat Field with Sheaves -Vincent Van Gogh

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The Managed Flamingo

August 26, 2026August 26, 2026 barnstormingblog2 Comments

The chief difficulty Alice found at first
was in managing her flamingo:
she succeeded in getting its body tucked away,
comfortably enough,
under her arm,
with its legs hanging down, but generally,
just as she had got its neck nicely straightened out,
and was going to give the hedgehog a blow with its head,
it would twist itself round
and look up in her face,
with such a puzzled expression
that she could not help bursting out laughing:
and when she had got its head down,
and was going to begin again,
it was very provoking to find that
the hedgehog had unrolled itself,
and was in the act of crawling away….

Alice soon came to the conclusion
that it was a very difficult game indeed.
~Lewis Carroll from Alice in Wonderland

Navigating the U.S. health care system over the last decade or so reminds me of Alice’s dreamscape game of Wonderland croquet.

A physician is given a flamingo mallet and a hedgehog ball and ordered — by the Queen at the risk of having one’s head lopped off — to go play, but the mallet won’t cooperate and the ball keeps unrolling itself and crawling away.

Just like any day in a medical clinic, a doctor’s time is spent trying to manage their flamingo. The patient, tired of waiting for weeks for an appointment, then stuck in an urgent care center or emergency waiting room– gets up and leaves.

At least Alice gets a good giggle out of it, but the reality in health care causes more tears than laughter. We are playing a very difficult game of changing rules and technology.

The flamingo in the doctor’s hands could represent the increasingly time-consuming requirement to search over 70,000 ICD-10 diagnosis codes rather than the previous 14,000 ICD-9 codes.

Or the requirement to search for a 10 digit NDC number for any prescription medicine sent electronically to a pharmacy.

Or the “meaningful use” criteria that regulate mandatory data collection and reportage on patients to the Federal Government in order to receive full payment for Medicare or Medicaid billings.

Or updated HIPAA and HITECH electronic security requirements to ensure privacy and the requirement for patient access to their chart.

Or the obligations to the new Accountable Care Organization that your employer has joined.

Or the Maintenance of Certification hoops to jump through in order to continue to practice medicine.

The exasperated and uncooperative “managed” flamingo keeps curling itself around and looking at us with a puzzled expression:

just what is it you were supposed to be trained to do?

is there actually a patient to pay attention to in all this morass of mandates?

And the poor hapless hedgehog patient is just rolled up in a ball awaiting a contact that never comes – for something, anything that might look like health care is about to happen.

Instead, for the patient, there are many electronic forms to sign:
Notice of Patient Privacy,
Notice of Patient Rights and Responsibilities,
releases to share medical information,
agreements to pay today’s co-pay and tomorrow’s deductible and whatever is left unpaid by insurance,
agreement to have an AI app record and then transcribe the healthcare interaction,
passwords to choose for each electronic patient portal: the chart, insurance, health savings account, lab and X-ray results and healthcare.gov.

It might be easier and less painful to just crawl away and hide from that bumbling health care provider who can’t seem to get their act together.

I wish I were laughing, but I’m not. As a once-practicing physician and now a patient, it’s getting harder and harder to play the game that is no game at all.

There is always a threat to the physician of a professional beheading:
losing credentialing in an insurance plan,
getting poor ratings on anonymous online physician grading sites, being inexplicably dropped from a provider list,
keeping up with 50 hours of approved continuing education annually,
being too unproductive to remain in an employer medical group,
losing/forgoing board certification.

We keep trying to juggle the flamingo motivated by those threats,
all the while ineptly managing the managed care system,
knowing the patient might get up and walk away out of sheer frustration.

Thankfully, I didn’t ever see patients in a fee-for-service clinic setting,
so I have sympathy for those who have no other option.

I think, at least I hope, I focused on taking care of people, trying to heal their illnesses and help them cope with life if they can’t be healed.

I wanted to provide compassionate care without all the fol-de-rol.
These are absurd times for humans and hedgehogs.

It is enough to make a doctor cry. At least we meet our patients over the Kleenex box and compare notes, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll find enough common ground to even share a giggle or two.

Feeling the Twinges of this World

August 19, 2026 barnstormingblog2 Comments

Under a canopy of leaves,
the irises, bountiful,
the calico butterfly flashing

and this one golden head
of a dazzling sunflower grasping
its cowled neck,

outweighing its stalk

in order to turn,
full bonneted,
to the absolute light.

What wonders these are:
things struggling
filament by filament,

birds twittering in a laughter
that could be weeping,
barely feeling the twinges of this world,

where the weak get stronger
or snailish with cracks

a day at a time.
~Judith Harris “Recovery”

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue.

Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything.

Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.

Be patient and without bitterness, and realize that the least we can do is to make coming into existence no more difficult for Him than the earth does for spring when it wants to come.
~Rainier Marie Rilke from Letters to a Young Poet

We feel the twinges of struggling to live broken in difficult times; indeed, all our days are difficult times.

We won’t get out of this predicament alive, yet we are loved.

Whether we care or not about what happens
after our last breath does not alter the fact
Christ dwells alongside us;
our heavy heads bow as we turn to face
the compelling Light.

Like Mary, we must say: “Let it be,” – not “no, not me, not now.”

We are transformed by accepting He has come on our behalf:
an oh-so-difficult faith connecting us like a slender filament to heaven:
like the bird greeting the morning with songs that weep,
like the butterfly emerging from its cracked chrysalis to try its wings,
like the cracked snail shell abandoned
because we no longer fit inside its broken confinement.

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Ducks in a Muddy Pond

August 12, 2026 barnstormingblogLeave a comment

Now Naaman was commander of the army of the king of Aram. He was a great man in the sight of his master and highly regarded, because through him the Lord had given victory to Aram. He was a valiant soldier, but he had leprosy.

Naaman went with his horses and chariots and stopped at the door of Elisha’s house. Elisha sent a messenger to say to him, “Go, wash yourself seven times in the Jordan, and your flesh will be restored and you will be cleansed.”

But Naaman went away angry and said, “I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy.Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Couldn’t I wash in them and be cleansed?” So he turned and went off in a rage.

Naaman’s servants went to him and said, “My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much more, then, when he tells you, ‘Wash and be cleansed’!” So he went down and dipped himself in the Jordan seven times, as the man of God had told him, and his flesh was restored and became clean like that of a young boy.
2Kings 5: 1, 9-14

He that is down needs fear no fall,
He that is low, no pride;
He that is humble ever shall
Have God to be his guide.
~John Bunyan from The Pilgrim’s Progress

Source: Pilgrim’s Progress,

Perhaps it was his plain talk about the Word of God.
Perhaps it was his folksy stories tying that Word to our lives.
Perhaps it was because he was, like the rest of us,
so fully a flawed and forgiven human being.

Pastor Bruce Hemple ministered to thousands over his lifetime of service, yet the simple act of climbing the steps up to the pulpit at Wiser Lake Chapel was nearly impossible for him.

Bruce had one leg. The other was lost to an above the knee amputation due to severe diabetes. He wore an ill-fitting prosthetic leg that never allowed a normal stride and certainly proved a challenge when ascending stairs. He would come early to the sanctuary to climb the several steps to the chair behind the pulpit so he would not have to struggle in front of the congregation at the start of the service. As we would enter to find our pew seats, he would be deep in thought and prayer, already seated by the pulpit.

He often said he knew he was a difficult person to live with because of his constant pain and health problems. His family confirmed that was indeed true, but what crankiness he exhibited through much of the week evaporated once he was at the pulpit. Standing there balanced on his good leg with his prosthesis acting as a brace, he was transformed and blessed with clarity of thought and expression.

His pain was left behind.

He came to our church after many years of military chaplaincy, having served in Korea and Vietnam and a number of stateside assignments. He liked to say he “learned to meet people where they were” rather than where he thought they needed to be. His work brought him face to face with thousands of soldiers from diverse faiths and backgrounds, or in many cases, no faith at all, yet he ministered to each one in the way that was needed at that moment. He helped some as they lay dying and others who suffered so profoundly they wished they would die. He was there for them all and he was there for us.

One of his memorable sermons came from 2Kings 5:1-19 about the healing of the great and proud warrior Naaman who was afflicted with leprosy. Pastor Bruce clearly identified with Naaman and emphasized the message humility with obedience to God as the key to Naaman’s healing. Like Naaman, no one would desire “Seven Ducks in a Muddy Pond” but once Naaman was obedient despite his pride and doubts, he was cured of the incurable by bathing in the muddy Jordan River.

Even upon his retirement, Bruce continued to preach when churches needed a fill in pastor, and he took a part time job managing a community food and clothing bank, connecting with people who needed his words of encouragement. He was called regularly to officiate at weddings and funerals, especially for those without a church. He would oblige as his time and health allowed.

His last sermon was delivered on a freezing windy December day at a graveside service for a young suicide victim he had never known personally. Pastor Bruce was standing at the head of the casket and having concluded his message, he bowed his head to pray, continued to bend forward, appeared to embrace the casket and breathed his last.

He was gone, just like that.

He was not standing up high at the pulpit the day he died. He was obediently getting muddy in the muck and mess of life, and waiting, hoping, as we all are, for the moment he’d be washed clean.

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A Change in Altitude

August 11, 2026 barnstormingblogLeave a comment

‘Regret has to be useless or it’s not really regret.’
~Simone de Beauvoir

Rescuers did not find my uncle’s body.
But they found his axe at an icy altitude
impossible to navigate without one.

A little higher up, they found my uncle
’s sleeping bag at an altitude
unsurvivable without one.

You likely have a pen in purse or pocket.
Take it out and write a list of all
you need at your present altitude.

Next, change altitudes. Now, make another list:
the two biggest regrets of your life.
Take your time. Get it right. Because

here is all you need to know about need:
That list of regrets—cross one off.
You are going to need that space later.
~Jessica Goodfellow, “Unreachable” from Whiteout

I’ve known people who lost their lives while hiking/climbing in the mountains or due to some other tragedy – the cascade of decisions leading to their death are sources of regret for all who mourn them, even decades later. Somehow regret is a difficult feeling to let go;
we cling to it as if it is somehow an essential part of us.

It is easy for me to come up with a long list of regrets in my life. They seem to grow like weeds – useless, unplanned, unwanted and prolific, threatening to take over any good fruit being produced.

Few of us volunteer to share openly about our current guilt or shame unless we are sitting in a therapy group, a confessional booth, or AA. Instead it gives us permission to beat ourselves up, going over and over in our minds how we could have done things differently.

As a physician, I heard about such heart-ache in my clinical encounters – a patient will regret an impulsive sexual encounter that turned out badly, or drinking and drugging too much, or regret an ongoing conflict with a family member, or wish they had decided to get that vaccine before becoming ill with a potentially preventable infection.

Our list of regrets can be endless and life-destroying.

I understand the pain of regret as I too am a flawed and fractured person with an eight-decade history of things done and left undone, words said and unsaid. Even if I think I can somehow manage to cross a regret off my own list – perhaps I apologized and was granted forgiveness, or I tried to make right what I’d messed up — I still know a new regret will occupy its place before long.

I can’t simply fix my own regret list.

No matter what altitude we’re at — down in the pits in the lowest of the low, or up in the highest imaginable, I have come to realize that forgiveness is only possible through a knowledge of God Himself.
He came to walk beside us in our low spots and our high spots, no matter where we find ourselves. His work on earth has crossed off our regrets and mistakes and wiped us clean of them.

He did this because He understood our desperate need;
thanks to His sacrifice and love, our heart-aches are left at the Cross.

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