As a kid, I sat in church, counting ceiling tiles and wads of gum beneath the pew while our preacher discussed ecclesiology and predestination. But when he began to tell a story, he had me by the ears.
I asked a friend where he would go if he had a time machine. I was unprepared for his answer. He said, “I’d travel back about eight years and say sorry to my wife.” Maybe you can relate. So many of us carry regrets.