You ever notice how life has this way of whispering to you, tugging at your soul, daring you to leap? It’s like there’s this quiet voice, this nudge, that says, Go for it. Step out. Try. But then, just as quick, another voice chimes in—louder, safer, more practical: What if you fail? What if it’s a mess? What if you look like a fool? And so, we stay put. We don’t move. We don’t risk. And years later, we’re left wondering: What if I had? This is about the risks we never take and the regret that lingers like a shadow when we refuse to step out in faith. Because here’s the thing: life isn’t meant to be a museum exhibit, preserved behind glass, untouched and unchanging. Life is messy, wild, and alive—it’s meant to be lived, not just survived. And sometimes, living means risking.
The Weight of What Could Have Been
Let’s start with a story. In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells this parable about a man who gives his servants talents—bags of gold, essentially (Matthew 25:14-30). Two of them take the money, invest it, risk it, and double what they were given. But the third? He’s scared. He buries his talent in the ground, keeps it safe, and hands it back unchanged. No loss, but no gain either. And the master? He’s not impressed. He calls this servant “wicked” and “lazy.” Harsh, right? But here’s the kicker: the servant’s biggest failure wasn’t losing the money; it was refusing to risk it at all. That’s us sometimes. We’re handed gifts—talents, dreams, opportunities—and we bury them. Why? Because we’re afraid. Afraid of failure, afraid of rejection, afraid of the unknown. But what if the real failure is never trying? What if the regret we carry isn’t about the things we did and messed up, but the things we never dared to do? C.S. Lewis once wrote, “You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.”
But dreams require risk.
Goals require movement.
And movement requires faith—faith that the God who made you didn’t make you to play it safe, but to step out into the wild, beautiful unknown.
The Pull of the Safe and the Siren of Regret
Think about it: what’s the risk you’re avoiding right now? That conversation you need to have but keep putting off? That career change you dream about but won’t pursue? That idea, that passion, that calling that keeps you up at night but feels too big, too scary, too out there? We tell ourselves we’re being wise, cautious, responsible. But sometimes, caution is just fear dressed up in a suit. The Bible doesn’t exactly endorse a life of playing it safe. In Hebrews 11, we get this roll call of faith—people like Abraham, who left everything to go to a land he didn’t know (Hebrews 11:8). Or Moses, who stood up to Pharaoh, risking everything for a people who didn’t even appreciate him (Hebrews 11:24-27). These weren’t people who buried their talents. They stepped out, trusting that God was in the risk, that God was in the leap.
And here’s the thing: they didn’t have guarantees. Abraham didn’t have a map. Moses didn’t have a five-year plan.
They had faith.
Faith that the God who called them would show up. As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke said, “The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens.” The future is calling you, but you’ve got to step toward it.
The Regret That Haunts
Now, let’s talk about regret. Regret is the ghost of risks not taken. It’s the ache of what could have been. Studies show that people don’t regret their failures as much as they regret their inactions. Bronnie Ware, a palliative care nurse, wrote in her book The Top Five Regrets of the Dying that one of the most common regrets she heard was this: “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.” Yikes! That hits doesn’t it?
Regret is what happens when we let fear win. When we choose safety over faith. When we bury our talents instead of risking them. And the tragedy? We don’t just rob ourselves; we rob the world. Your gifts, your voice, your story—they’re not just for you. They’re for others. For the people who need what only you can give. As Jesus said, “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden” (Matthew 5:14). But a light that’s buried? It doesn’t shine.
Stepping Out in Faith
So, what do we do? How do we take the risk? How do we step out when our knees are shaking and our palms are sweaty? First, we remember that faith isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the courage to move through it. As Mark Twain put it, “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—not absence of fear.” Faith is saying, I’m scared, but I’m going anyway.
Second, we trust that God is in the risk. The Psalms tell us, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters” (Psalm 23:1-2). But here’s the part we forget: the shepherd also leads us through the valley of the shadow of death. Faith doesn’t mean we avoid the valley; it means we trust the shepherd to guide us through it.Finally, we start small. You don’t have to quit your job and move to Timbuktu tomorrow. Take a step. Write the first page of that book. Have that hard conversation. Sign up for that class. Risk something. Because the alternative—staying stuck, staying safe—leads to a life half-lived. And you were made for more than that.
The Invitation
So here’s the invitation: don’t let regret write your story.
Don’t let fear bury your talents. Step out. Risk. Trust.
The God who made you is the God who calls you, and He’s not calling you to a life of safety but to a life of faith.
As the great theologian Frederick Buechner said, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” But you’ll never find that place if you don’t take the risk.
What’s the risk you need to take today? What’s the leap your soul is begging you to make? Don’t wait for the perfect moment, because perfect moments don’t come. Step out in faith, and let the future unfold. Because the only thing worse than failing is never trying at all.
So, what’s it gonna be? Will you bury your talent, or will you risk it? The choice is yours, but the world is waiting for your light.
Grace & Peace,
Pastor Scott.
Pastor's Ponderings 
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