Day 24: The Pony That Never Came

For six years, I prayed for a pony. Every birthday, every Christmas, every night before bed. I was absolutely certain that God, the universe, someone was listening and would eventually come through. On my twelfth birthday, my parents put a blindfold on me and led me downstairs. I listened for hoofbeats. There was only silence. They took off the blindfold, and there it was: not a pony, but a used bicycle. In that moment, I decided that God did not exist, or if God existed, God did not love me. That decision hardened into a belief that I carried for decades. When I started lying down with my eyes open and watching my thoughts like waves, I eventually saw that wave — the “God does not love me” wave. I watched it rise. I watched it fall. And I realized: God is not a vending machine where you put in prayers and get out ponies. That wave was never true. It was just disappointment taking a shape. I watched it until it dissolved.