The Woeful World of ‘Woulda,’ ‘Coulda,’ and ‘Shoulda’

Do you have any regrets? If you don’t, you’re a member of a very exclusive minority. Because whether they’re large or small, regrets are something most of us possess.

 

Even Frank Sinatra, the iconic crooner, had them. In his classic ballad, “My Way,” he sang, “…Regrets, I've had a few. But then again, too few to mention.” Frankly (see what I did there?), I think he might have been untruthful about the “too few” part, but we’ll never know for sure.

 

Regrets come in all shapes and sizes. It might be passing a highway exit and then quickly regretting it, realizing the call of nature might not wait for the next exit. Or it might be missing a long-awaited TV show and realizing you didn’t set the VCR to record for future viewing. Or surrendering to that second piece of cake that looked too enticing to pass up.

 

Then there are more consequential regrets, such as choosing one college over another; taking one job rather than waiting for another, more desirable opportunity; not making an investment that years later would have paid off handsomely.

 

Often regrets involve relationships, like leaving the love of one’s life behind and later realizing with great sadness that he or she was ‘the one.’ If you’ve ever watched Hallmark movies (I think my wife and I have viewed too many), you’ll recognize that as a recurring theme.

 

Harry Chapin’s folk-rock song of the early ‘70s, “Cat’s in the Cradle,” is all about regrets. It tells of a father who was never available as his son grew up, ignoring key moments to make a connection. The little boy repeatedly asks, “When you coming home, dad?” To which the father responds, “I don’t know when – but we’ll get together then. You know we’ll have a good time then.”

 

At the end of the tune, when the indifferent dad finally finds time for his now-grown son, the son has become the too-busy one. “When you coming home, son?” “I don’t know when. But we’ll have a good time then.” The song’s moral? “…it occurred to me, he’d grown up just like me. My boy was just like me.”

 

When expressing regrets, we use words like “woulda,” “coulda,” and “shoulda”: ‘If I had known that was going to happen, I woulda….’ ‘Thinking about it now, I guess I coulda….’ ‘Gosh darn it, I shoulda….’

 

I think of it as the Woeful World of Woulda, Shoulda, and Coulda. The problem is, wishing we had done something – or had not done something – does little good after the fact. That’s where regrets and even remorse come in, dwelling on such failings. 

 

What can we do with nagging regrets? While we can’t undo what we’ve done – or do things we now know we should have done (there’s that shoulda word) – we can learn from them for now and for the future. We can stop piling regret upon regret upon regret.

 

If anyone could or should have been overwhelmed by regrets, it was the apostle Paul. As Saul, a very proud and prominent Pharisee, he had made it his personal mission to seek out, persecute and even kill followers of Jesus. At the time, he believed he was doing God – and Judaism – a great favor.

 

He was present when Stephen, a devoted Christ follower described as “a man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit” (Acts 6:5), was killed for proclaiming the Gospel. As Stephen was dragged out of Jerusalem and stoned, “the witnesses laid their clothes at the feet of a young man named Saul…. And Saul was there, giving approval to his death” (Acts 7:58-60).

 

Can you imagine the regret Paul must have felt upon being converted and turning into one of Christ’s most zealous evangelists?

 

And that’s not all. Barnabas had been one of Paul’s greatest advocates after his conversion, and they had traveled together on several important mission trips. But the two clashed over John Mark, a relative of Barnabas who had bailed on one of their early journeys. When John Mark wanted to rejoin them, “Paul did not think it wise to take him, because he had deserted them in Pamphylia and had not continued with them in the work. They had such a sharp disagreement that they parted company” (Acts 15:37-40). 

 

Turns out, all John Mark did was to be God’s instrument for writing the Gospel of Mark. In one of his later letters, Paul indirectly acknowledged Barnabas’ better judgment. He wrote, “Get Mark and bring him with you, because he is helpful to me in my ministry” (2 Timothy 4:11).

 

Did Paul indulge himself in a pity party, wallowing in a boatload of wouldas, couldas and shouldas? Not at all. In a different letter the apostle declared, “…Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:13-14).

Like Paul, we’re to leave our yesterdays in the loving arms of God the Father, forgiving ourselves as He has forgiven us. We can also learn from our failures and take responsibility for the present moment; and trust that through Christ’s power we’ll do better in the future. A future unburdened by regrets.