Solomon would have loved the Internet. If he could have asked a computer's search engine to find everything in print beginning with the words, "What I have learned," he would have discovered millions of references in English alone. He didn't have the Internet. But based on his own experience, he wrote about what he was learning from life.

Here is one observation he made: "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun" (Ecclesiastes 1:9). The question I've asked myself is: What have I discovered from my walk of faith that I would like included in the legacy I leave for my children?

I have discovered that some of the people I cared about most in life were taken from me much too soon.

My dad died when he was 70. As his career was ending, mine was accelerating. We were just becoming good friends when he died. He had worked so hard as a self-employed electrician when I was young that we didn't spend a lot of time together.

He didn't have much learning in terms of a formal education, but he was wiser than most men his age. In the years since his death, I have longed to be able to sit with him over lunch and ask how he would handle this crisis, or that problem. Those conversations will never happen.

Our careers moved us apart geographically. If I had it to do over, I would work harder to stay connected with the people I care about most.

I have discovered that it is more important to listen than to speak.

My career was in the classroom and office. I spoke. Others listened. I've learned that the process should have been reversed. Others should have talked. I should have listened.

When our two children were teenagers, I had to lecture them on how to get along better with each other. Once when they were both in the car with me, I began, "When I was your age . . ." My son, the older of the two, interrupted me. "Dad," he said, "you were never our age."

He was right. I was a product of the 50s. He was a product of the 70s. Generations think differently, but we can learn from each other. Hopefully I will talk less, and will live long enough to listen more to the people in my life that I love the most.

I have discovered that we learn as much—if not more—from our failures as our successes.

Inventor Thomas Edison refused to be intimidated by failure. He reportedly said, "I am not discouraged, because every wrong attempt discarded is another step forward." Commenting further, he said, "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work."

This principle applies to the Christian life as well. The enemy can use our failures to distract and discourage us. God uses our failures to show us how much more we have to learn. Our failures can be stepping-stones to success.

I have discovered that achieving Christian perfection does not mean we have reached a level of excellence where we will have no more sins to confess.

John 3:16 was written to the world. First John 1:9 was written to the church. John understood human frailty, and he understood how difficult it was to live above sin. So, he prepared us by saying that when we have sins to confess—and we will—we should get to the task of confessing, and not delay.

Denial is a step backward. Confession is a step forward. If we confess, God forgives and cleanses away any leftover unrighteousness.

I have discovered that it takes months--sometimes years--to develop trust in a relationship, and it takes only seconds to destroy it.

Trust does not automatically follow from vows publicly said or covenants signed. Just as learning to trust God is a lifelong process, learning to trust another human being is also a process that requires time, honesty, acceptance, love, tolerance, and tenacity—and not in that exact order.

These are not "take-your-pick" options. People in a relationship need to work at developing all of these factors in trust building. When did I discover this lesson for myself? Let's see—was it last month? Close.

Solomon was probably correct in his observation about the way life's opportunities are repeated. "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again" (Ecclesiastes 1:9). But Solomon did not have a computer. If he had, he would have been amazed at the things one can learn simply by touching a key.

And he might have concluded that there really is something new under the sun.

Tom Barnard is a retired college professor and administrator. Holiness Today September/October 2006