“Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies.”
–Andy Dufresne, The Shawshank Redemption.
We live in an age of cynicism, negativity and sarcasm. In recent years, a research project sought to determine the frequency of negative words versus positive words in two different languages—Spanish and English. Overwhelmingly, when asked to respond to a variety of controlled experiences, the subjects chose far more negative words to describe their perceptions than positive ones. We are drawn to the negative. And the affect of this negativity is profound. Psychologists tell us as well that a person needs numerous positive words to overcome the scars of just one negative word in his development.
Finding hope in the seemingly hopeless valleys of life, however, is not only pleasant and healthy, but is the key to a joyful and thriving life. In the movie, The Shawshank Redemption, a lifer named Red has spent his entire adult life in prison. Parole review after parole review passes Red by, and he has resigned himself to a life of incarceration. But his good friend, Andy, scores big by engineering a clever escape. Andy leaves a note for Red instructing him what to do if he gains his own freedom. Red finally gets paroled, and is directed by Andy’s note to a secluded, hidden treasure, containing the following note:
“Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies.”
–Andy Dufresne
So, Red realizes he has a choice to make–he can either get busy living or get busy dying. He can wallow in the sorrow of a life wasted in prison. He can nurse a bitter root of resentment against the prison, the guards, the system. He can broil in hatred and resentment toward God for the cruel blow he has suffered. Or, he can decide in his heart to live in the gratitude of his newly-found freedom.
Author Joni Erickson Tada made a similar choice. It was 1967, Joni was a young active, beautiful teenager. Her whole vibrant life in front of her, Joni’s life forever changed one summer afternoon when she dove into a body of water and broke her neck. A quadriplegic. Since then, she has gone to author over thirty inspirational books and become a talented artist, painting with a brush in her mouth. But Joni Erickson Tada’s positive attitude did not just “happen.”
After her diving accident, while in the hospital, she had to endure in the ensuing weeks long and grueling surgeries to try and correct her problem. For three weeks, she had to lie face down in what was called a stryker frame– three hours face up, followed by three hours face down– three weeks of this. Staring at either the ceiling or the floor for hours on end, you can imagine, her thoughts went to hopelessness, anger, and despair. “God, I’m never going to trust you again,” she thought. She wanted no visitors, lashed out at the nurses, and said she justified it all because few people have ever been asked to endure this. In her book, Hope, The Best of Things, she writes that she knew her attitude stunk and that it was not pleasing to God, but she justified it, domesticated it, made her attitude her right and pet privilege.
But just when things couldn’t get any worse, she thought, God intervened for Joni.
Here is what she writes…
“So God gave me some help. About one week into that three-week stint of lying facedown, staring at the floor, waiting for my back to heal, I got hit with a bad case of the flu. And suddenly, not being able to move was peanuts compared to not being able to breathe. I was claustrophobic. I was suffering. I was gasping for breath. I could not move. All was hopeless. All was gone. I was falling backward, head over heels, down for the count, decimated…. That week a friend came to see me in the hospital while I was still face-down counting the tiles. She put a bible on the little stool in front of me, and stuck my mouth stick in my mouth so I could flip its pages, and she asked me to turn to Psalm 18. There, I read, “In my distress I called upon the Lord; to my God I cried for help. From His temple He heard my voice, and my cry to Him reached His ears. …He took me and rescued me, BECAUSE HE DELIGHTED IN ME…. Now don’t be fooled—that was no isolated incident. I didn’t just leave my desperation back there in the hospital. No, desperation is part of a quadriplegic’s life each and every day. For me, suffering is still that jackhammer breaking apart my rocks of resistance every day. …And it happens almost every morning. Please know I am no expert at this wheelchair thing. I’m no professional at being a quadriplegic.”
Joni Erickson Tada goes on to say that, for her, the truly handicapped people in our world are not those in wheelchairs and dialysis, but those who live normal, yet thankless lives. The truly handicapped are those who operate on an ungrateful and demanding autopilot, living as though each breath and blessing is an expected right. Let’s make the choice with Joni to get busy living…