Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda

Life rolls by at lightning speed and opportunities fly by like objects blown in a hurricane. That good deed I meant to do, the expression of thanks all end up as good intentions rather than acts completed. I often feel that twinge of regret that reminds me that I allowed an opportune moment to slip by me. This time it was more than a twinge, it was an onslaught of full-fledged grief.

We moved into our new house 18 months ago. We met some of the neighbors but some kept to themselves. I met the pets of the little girl from the house down the street before I met her. Her two Siamese mix cats resembled our own felines. Her cats loved to hang out by our bird feeder and take a drink from our little pond and waterfall.

I never met her dad.. We spoke twice. Once when his dog got into my back yard and once, when my husband was ill and I was trying to shovel myself out of over a foot of new Christmas snow. He saw me struggling and arrived at my driveway with his snow blower. It had been a rough holiday, my husbands health was only one of the traumas we suffered this past December. I was at the end of my rope and this man with his snow blower was the best Christmas present I received. I thanked him tearfully and told him how much his act of kindness meant to me. I vowed to myself that I would take some cookies or other Christmas goodies to the house as a thank you. I meant well, I thought about doing something to show my thanks but life intervened, my husband still struggled with his health and my good intentions remained only intentions.

Fast forward to February and I learn that this man and his daughter are going to lose their home. One week I wave to the little girl as she waits for the school bus and rescue her cat from our tree and the next day their house is closed up and there is a foreclosure notice on the door.

My heart was pierced and I was desolate. I can't imagine what that man must have been going through in December. He must have already been behind with his mortgage and worrying about his home. In the middle of his problems, he took a moment to help a neighbor, to show a kindness. I thanked him for his kindness but went no further than that. I spent several days a week in ministry but I did not follow through on an opportunity to show the love of Christ to my neighbor.

Every day the house down the street stands in silent rebuke. The notice on the door reminds me that lives once lived there; dreams once dreamed there are gone. It stands empty of life and hope and it is a daily reminder that those moments the Lord gives us are too precious to waste. It is the silent witness to my lack of obedience and love. It stands on my street and reminds me that "woulda, shoulda, coulda are never words that should be used in God's economy.