It’s futile to think about, but we do it anyway, not because we like to torture ourselves, but in a sick, twisted way, it’s fun. People love fiction, and the best fiction has themselves as the protagonist. So we indulge ourselves in these “what could have beens”, build a million castles in the sky, dream up different scenarios, until at the very end, or even the middle, or (God forbid!) the beginning, we know, it’s too late. There’s no undo button in real life. No space for regrets. The best we can do is move forward.
Actually that’s not true. The very best thing we can do is look up. Jesus, after all, makes all things new.
You have to say it over and over and over again. Because it’s so hard to believe. (So prideful to think that. Forgiven, forgiven, forgivenforgivenforgive. I, I mean, I.)