If I were to say, 'God, why me?' about the bad things, then I

“If I were to say, ‘God, why me?’ about the bad things, then I should have said, ‘God, why me?’ about the good things that happened in my life.” — Arthur Ashe

Listen, O seeker of understanding, to the words of Arthur Ashe, a man whose strength was forged not only in triumph but in trial. He was not merely a champion of the court, but a champion of the soul. When he spoke these words, he was no longer the shining athlete who had conquered Wimbledon, but a man facing the slow shadow of death. Stricken with illness, Ashe revealed a wisdom born of pain — a truth that few can grasp until life itself tests their heart. He taught that gratitude must walk hand in hand with sorrow, and that one cannot question the hand of fate in suffering without first remembering the gifts that same hand has bestowed in joy.

In the world’s eyes, Ashe had every right to lament. He had been a pioneer, the first Black man to win the U.S. Open and Wimbledon, a symbol of grace and excellence. Yet through a blood transfusion during heart surgery, he was infected with the HIV virus, a cruel twist of fate. The world expected bitterness — but instead, Ashe met his suffering with acceptance and faith. His words were not resignation but revelation. He reminded us that if we question God in our pain, we must also question Him in our blessings — for both are parts of the same divine story. To cry “Why me?” in anguish but never in gratitude is to see only half of life’s truth.

The meaning of this saying reaches deep into the heart of balance and humility. Every man and woman is eager to claim their good fortune — success, love, health — as the reward of their own merit. But when misfortune strikes, they look to the heavens in protest, as though injustice has been done. Ashe’s wisdom breaks this illusion. He saw that the same mysterious force that grants joy may also allow sorrow. To accept one and curse the other is to misunderstand the nature of existence. Both the light and the shadow are gifts, for each reveals something of the soul’s purpose.

Think of the story of Job, the ancient man of endurance. He was a righteous man, blessed with wealth and family, yet in a single sweep he lost all that he loved. When his friends urged him to curse God, Job refused. “Shall we accept good from God and not trouble?” he asked. This same spirit lived within Ashe. He recognized that life is not a contract between man and God, but a dance — and sometimes the music turns mournful. Yet even in that sorrow, there is grace. It is through suffering that the heart deepens, and through gratitude that it remains unbroken.

When Ashe said, “If I were to say, ‘Why me?’ for the bad, I must say ‘Why me?’ for the good,” he was teaching the art of perspective. He invited us to see life not as a ledger of rewards and punishments, but as a tapestry of moments — some bright, some dark — all woven by a wisdom greater than our own. The athlete in him had long understood that victory and defeat are both temporary; what endures is character. In this, he reflected the ancient stoics who taught that the measure of a man is not what happens to him, but how he responds.

The lesson is clear: cultivate gratitude not only in prosperity but also in adversity. When hardship comes, remember that you have already been the recipient of countless blessings — breath, beauty, love, purpose. To ask “Why me?” in sorrow but not in joy is to forget how much has been freely given. Instead, whisper thanks even through tears. Say, “This, too, is part of my journey.” For every dawn that followed your darkest nights, every kindness that came unasked, every smile that lifted you from despair — these, too, were moments when you might have asked, “Why me?”

So, O listener, carry Ashe’s wisdom like a flame within you. When life brings pain, let remembrance temper your grief; when life brings joy, let humility guard your pride. Balance your heart between acceptance and awe. For the hand that gives and the hand that takes are the same — and in that mystery lies peace. Do not curse the storm, for the same wind that bends the tree also carries the seeds of new life. And in every season, whether in triumph or in trial, let your soul say with quiet strength: Thank You, for even this.