Our old 1904 house has a big porch with four pillars, and it rests on a knoll on our street. It’s a great place to sit and think. Mac, a character in Who Killed Brigitt Holcomb? (the book coming out in one day, March 17, 2017) loves the sun “comin’ or goin’, doesn’t matter which”. He gets that from me. I love the sunrise and the excitement of a new day coming, or the sunset and the peace that comes with the night and a job well done. But we don’t always have that sense of peace, do we? We don’t always enjoy that sense of a job well done. I don’t. I’m the kind of person who is driven to accomplish short-term goals; that way, I have a better chance of getting them done. Night time reminds me that this day is gone, but morning is on the way.

At night, when I’m sitting on my porch drinking my hot tea (either Rooibos or Dandelion Root; I know, I know–they sound disgusting, but both are absolutely delicious without a thing in them) and listening to night settle in, I think of what’s coming, not what happened during the day. I look forward to the next day, to the next morning.

I don’t dwell on regrets.

Regrets are little reminders of our failures. Sometimes, they grow into monsters that chase us and nip at our heels. Sometimes, they stay small but are just as powerful as they nip at our hearts. And sometimes, they motivate us to forgive ourselves and move on. I’ve been in all three positions. I prefer the forgiving scenario. It’s the one I strive to live in most of the time.

It would be so easy, in the quiet of the night, with no one around but that small voice in my head, to start checking off the you-didn’t-do-this-and-you-didn’t-do-that list. But most of the time, something in my brain shuts down those thoughts; maybe it’s a defense mechanism. Maybe it’s a gift from God to keep me keepin’ on.

Night time brings quiet. It brings peace. Reflection. Forgiveness. A cloak of comfort and calm. I accept these gifts and enjoy them. And regret? It isn’t allowed on my porch any more.