Throughout this entire Family Month in May, my heart has felt uneasy. Whenever I hear the old song “An Unfilial Son Cries,” tears come to my eyes. Yet I still must preach about honoring parents. I talk about loving our children even though I do not feel I was the father I should have been. And preaching about marital love while getting scolded by my wife every other day feels almost embarrassing.
People say, “Life has no rehearsal,” and it is true. Once certain moments pass, they cannot be taken back. There are so many things we realize too late. A pencil at least comes with an eraser, but life does not. The marks we leave behind are not easily erased. As the years pass, I find myself standing ashamed before many of my past words, actions, and choices.
Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh once said, “People are not afraid of death; they are afraid of not having truly lived.” Perhaps what frightens us more than death itself is the question: “Did I really live a life of love?”
The Talmud says there are two kinds of tears in this world: tears for what we have lost, and tears for the time we have let slip away.
What comforts me is that the Bible tells us there is still a path of grace even in the middle of regret. Sometimes I wonder why God made us so immature when we are young. Just when we finally begin to understand people’s hearts, our hair has already turned gray. If I could do it again, I think I would do much better.
As I grow older, I see my own mistakes more clearly than the faults of others. When I was young, I thought I understood the world completely. I spoke too much. But now I am beginning to realize that sometimes silence is a deeper form of love than words.
Life may have no rehearsal, but grace remains.
So even with our clumsy and imperfect lives, we smile again, love again, and begin again.