Sabbath Devotional :: The Choice Between Outside or Clean

A few weeks ago I started feeling some familiar feelings of regret. It is probably because we are approaching the anniversary of a global pandemic and since this time was so remarkable, I feel that I should have done something remarkable with it. Those feelings are familiar to me. Regret is a powerful, universal emotion that burns its way into our thoughts. We sometimes talk about regret in the context of sin, because regret can propel us positively to repent and change. The emotion can also protect us from making and repeating mistakes, so it certainly isn’t all bad.

But the kind of regret that makes me feel ashamed that I didn’t keep a detailed pandemic journal or do a better job ministering over Zoom is not productive. Most of the women I know don’t feel regret because they were bad, but simply because they weren’t perfect. The most damaging feelings of sorrow sneak up on us when we really did “all we could do.”

We live in a cultural environment that seems perfectly calibrated to leave us feeling regretful. Our economic and social systems are combative and competitive, and our social media networks are unforgiving. We expect ourselves and others to meet high standards in harsh communities. It is extraordinarily challenging to be “in the world and not of it,” and too often we let the punishing perspectives of a fallen world seep into our interpretation of gospel principles. The results of this seep can be particularly toxic, corrupting those principles and leading us to misunderstand our relationship with God. It can inhibit our access to healing grace and leave us feeling unwelcome in spaces that were created for refuge.

There is no question that for me, punishing feelings of regret have sometimes been compounded by a misunderstanding of gospel principles and ideals. These include interpreting the commandment to “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect” (Matt. 5:48) as a demand for an immediate outcome rather than an invitation to enter a purifying process. Or shifting the deep sense of responsibility that accompanies parenting and family relationships from one based in love (I can control my motivations) to one based in fear (because I cannot control others). Or allowing the knowledge that “this life is the time. . . to prepare to meet God” to seed doubt in my own ability to ever prepare enough (Alma 34:32-33).

But perhaps the most important way we nourish regret is when we misunderstand why we are here on earth. Being children of God in a corrupted world means we will experience uncertainty and messiness. That messiness and the mistakes and failings that come with it aren’t a bug. They are the feature — the very reason we exist. The Lord not only knew we would make mistakes and misjudgments, he actually wants us to. If we don’t push and try and change, we will never reach our full potential. Toxic regret corrupts that important dynamic and can limit our experience.

When my kids were very little, a significant portion of our backyard was overshadowed by an enormous pine tree belonging to our neighbor. I couldn’t control or remove the tree, but its presence meant that at least a third of my yard was a wasteland — too shady and acidic for anything to grow. Anytime we had rain or snow (and we get a lot of both) that portion of the yard became a muddy mess.

Because of this, there were lots of days when I had to choose whether my kids would get time outside or if they would be clean. The two were mutually exclusive. Cleaning up four muddy little boys was not fun, so I am ashamed to say that too often their mom opted for clean.

But one wet day it was clear my boys needed to be out, and so I risked it. I lectured and set up a barrier, and then I opened the door. Before long my toddler twins were up to their knees in mud and their boots stuck. One guy fell face first trying to extract himself. There was lots of joy and laughter until all of a sudden there were tears.

I have thought a lot about that day since. My children were doing exactly what they should have. They were exploring their world and figuring out the laws that govern it. They were learning consequences and feeling new things. They were alive and making memories together. Beyond making more work for their mom, they didn’t do anything objectively wrong. And absent my grumpiness, I am sure they would never have felt regret about anything they did in the yard that day (and I hope that any sorrow I forced on them has been washed away).

So much of our lives consists of us anxiously weighing whether we should be outside or whether we should be clean. When dirtiness comes from willful sin and misdeeds, we should seek to avoid it. But when mud is the price we pay to be outside learning and growing, we should open the door and walk boldly out with no regrets. We are deeply fortunate that we have someone waiting to clean us when we fall flat on our faces. Our imperfect backyard came with a loving and willing Savior who is eager to wipe away our tears and stains. He voluntarily felt pain, sickness, and infirmity, all that he might know how to succor and clean us (Alma 7). Eager to encourage our exploration and to heal in its aftermath, he wants us to become our best selves, and he knows that to do that we will have to fail.

He also asks us to go out and get dirty on his behalf. If we hope to engage with the world in meaningful and sometimes challenging ways that will bless our brothers and sisters, we will encounter pain and suffering. There will be missteps and errors, and moments in which we did not measure up to our own or others’ expectations. We may do things clumsily or not say things just the right way. We will represent him imperfectly. He is there for us then, too. He will heal us, and he will heal those with whom we walk.

Regret can steal into spaces where God would have us feel satisfaction and peace. To banish it, we can turn to the Savior and ask for his help to see ourselves clearly. He alone can offer us a true vision of who we are becoming and a blessed lens that allows our past acts to coalesce into purposeful patterns. We can use his insight to find spiritual gifts and glorious potential. And with his help we can shed the sorrow and worry that come inevitably with trial and error. Then from that position of strength we can once again confidently open the door and step out into the messy world, where people need us in all our imperfections. And we can do it joyfully — with no regrets.