The word is still regret. Regret that I've killed something that's alive. Like cutting off a bud before it could bear flower and fruit. Like boiling an egg so that the chick could never be born.
So, the hungry man who could have had spring chicken now has only a hard bolied egg to show for it.
God opens up opportunities, and when he decides to open doors he'll open them anyway.
Just that now, because I sought early gratification, these opportunities, now hollowed by my act of folly, stare back at me in mockery.
But if I so fervently commit to prayer, would he not give me something new, something better? He will, whether I believe it or not. Just that if I keep on refusing to wait in faith, I'd destroy everything.
So I'll whine, but I'll wait.
