Why me, why this way, why now?

The human heart is born with hope. I don’t think you can meet a baby or a toddler who is “hopeless”. What would that look like?

I doubted nothing and none when I was a child. I would welcome the Wicked Witch of the West as my best friend. I believed I could be or do whatever I wished – a ballerina, no problem. A writer? Why, yes! I believed in the goodness in the world and knew, as showed to me in all Disney stories, things would work out happily ever after in the end.

When I was nine I faced the first bump in the tale of my life. I decided I wanted a pony. I had to have one. I spent hours day dreaming, picturing myself at horse shows. I drew ponies, read books about ponies and decorated my room with ponies. On my 11th birthday my parents took me outside to “check on the horses” and yes, you guessed it – a new pony had joined our small herd. And, it was my own pony! I was overjoyed. I called him Joey and he won my heart in an instant. Three weeks later Joey was stolen, taken over the mountains, and never found again. My childhood home was close to the border of Lesotho in an area notorious for theft. I cried for weeks.

This was my first experience of disappointment. Eleven-year-old Fran hadn’t experienced a death or considerable opposition. Joey was gone and my dreams were smashed. My outlook on life gained its first jaded edge. I learned life doesn’t always end how you picture it ending.

The natural human inclination in the face of something painful, hard and, unfair is to ask why. Why me, why this way, why now? Disappointment makes us question the goodness of life. Often, with every disappointment we pick up, we let hope leak like water in a bath tub – glug glug glug – until nothing is left but a dirty grey ring.

I’ve had my fair share of disappointments since my first pony. Probably not more than your average kid (in fact, possibly less), but each one has shaken my core. Each disappointment has forced me to  choose: do I want to let this taint the rest of my life? Will I be carrying it around for years to come, or can I let it go? Can I rise above this?

The choice is never easy, but it became easier when I gave my life to Jesus. That sense that someone cared about my pain and frustration helped things. It helped that the Bible said God was good – I felt like I had a promise to cling to. It helped that I had people around me who had walked through similar things and were there to support me. It helped when my pastor told me my life on earth is a passage, not a destination.

It’s never easy to say hurt doesn’t matter, because it does. It especially matters to God. I think instead of saying it doesn’t matter, we should say we trust God no matter what – he is good and it will be alright in the end. Pain doesn’t always go away quickly. Sometimes it takes years, but I have found that if you give it to God it will eventually get better. If you don’t, the pain gets worse and worse.

It makes me sad to think we are born with hope and lose it along the way. I don’t think that’s the way it was meant to be. I know it’s easy for children to hope because they haven’t had much to discourage them and it’s much harder as you get older. I think God knows this and so he taps us on the shoulder and shows us things which say “hey you, there’s still hope.” Things like yellow flowers in a green field, music, stories, giggles, and triple chocolate chocolate cake. Things like fleshy hugs and toothy grins.

I got another pony – it became a part of the family and I kept for years. I don’t know what’s around the corner for you, but I think it could be good.