Regrets, I've Had (Quite) A Few

by Adam Harbinson

If my son cries on my shoulder as he disentangles himself from a sexually

active relationship, and then he tells me it's his fifth, O God, help me to err on the side on grace.

If you could do or say something to make it all right, it wouldn't be a real regret, would it? For example, a regret may be an unspoken apology to someone dear who's now gone forever. But what do you do when sorry isn't enough to right a wrong? Do you brood and spend the rest of your life in sackcloth and ashes? Do you beat yourself up or do you put it behind you and move on?

I tend to be practical; I say sorry if I can - I'm pretty good at it, lots of practice - and if I can't, I'll see if I can learn from it and determine it will never happen again, knowing full well it probably will. Thankfully my kids seem to be very forgiving people, they've had more apologies from me than they've had school dinners, but there's still a few incidents that stick in my throat - they've forgiven me, I've forgiven me, but I just hate the remembrance of them.

I was in South Sudan a while ago, a fact finding mission to see how the folk there are coping after 50 years of war, and it was horrible. Part of my brief was that when people ask for money you must never give any. Sounds mean I know, but the thinking is, the best way to help is to direct resources in ways that will re-build communities rather than aid individuals. Perhaps what was really to be avoided though was word getting out and a queue of people appearing at your doorstep next morning as the cock crowed. I was there with CMS Ireland, an organisation that had helped fund the construction of a school and was establishing a Vocational Training Centre where skills would be taught that would enable the locals to re-build their nation's infrastructure.

Anyway, reluctantly, if uncharacteristically I stuck to the letter of the law. Then there was this man, Elijah I think was his name, who gently accosted me as I made my way one balmy evening, along the red earth path, through the Mango groves to the office of the Tearfund representative deep in the African bush.

'Please help me educate my child,' he pleaded. 'It will cost little but make such a difference.' I explained - pathetic now that I remember - that I was part of a team who were committed to helping his entire village so all the children could be educated, blah, blah, blah.'

'But it will take years,' he cried. 'You can help my child now.' Again I mumbled something about a holistic approach, but I shall never forget the man's face as I tried to extricate myself, knowing I must do the right thing as determined by the leaders of our expedition. And I walked away with his words ringing in my ears, 'But you could be a Good Samaritan to one family today' . and then he was gone.

That's three years ago. His daughter is now 13 and probably still isn't at school - how I wish I had erred on the side of grace. And that's how I want that unforgettable incident, which I wish had never happened, to change me forever. I want to learn to err on the side of grace.

When a friend cuts deep into my heart with a cruel or thoughtless word, such that I could feel justified in lashing out . help me to err on the side of grace.

If I discover my teenage child experimenting with drugs or excessing on alcohol . Oh God, help me to err on the side of grace.

And if my son cries on my shoulder as he disentangles himself from a sexually active relationship, and then he tells me it's his fifth, that's when I need to err on the side on grace.

That's the in-your-face challenge of the Christian walk, isn't it? It's another aspect of taking up our cross daily. It's tough, but it's do-able, and it's far more productive that laying down the law.