Joni (10 page)

W
hen I returned from California, I stoically and glibly thanked God for whatever purpose He had in the fact that I wouldn’t get the use of my hands back, that I couldn’t ever marry Dick. But I was becoming cynical again and doubting the reality of Romans 8:28.

Mom and dad were glad to have me at home, and I was happy to be there. But inwardly I was bitter and resentful that God had not answered my prayers, had not given me my hands back.

Diana spent a lot of time at our house, taking care of my needs and trying to keep me encouraged.

“I know they told you at Rancho Los Amigos that you’d never be able to walk or use your hands again, but you can’t give up,” she urged.

“Why not?” I replied dully.

“You’ve got to work with what you have left.”

“I have nothing left.”

“Don’t give me that,” scolded Diana. “I saw people at Greenoaks and Rancho who were really bad off—blind,
mute, deaf. Some even lost their minds—they were almost vegetables.
They
have nothing left, Joni. But you have your mind, your voice, your eyes, and your ears. You have everything you need. And you’re going to make them work for you if I have anything to say!” she said.

“We’ll see—we’ll see,” I told her.

Dick came to visit, and our conversations seemed awkward and strained. He had never really replied to my letter directly—he never said, “Yeah, Joni, you’re right. We can never get married because I can’t handle the problems and emotions involved with your handicap.”

Finally, one night, he broached the subject. “Joni, I don’t care if you get healed or not. If you aren’t healed and I’m fortunate enough to marry you, I’ll be the only person in the world to whom God gave the gift of a woman in a chair for a wife.”

“How can you say such a thing? The gift?”

“Sure. I look at you and your handicap as a special blessing.”

“A blessing?!” I interrupted.

“Yes, blessing—because God gives only good gifts,” Dick replied simply.

“No, Dickie. It’d never work. My paralysis—that’s a lot to handle. It’s almost too much for me, let alone you.”

“But sharing the burden would make it lighter for each of us.”

“That’s romantic, but unrealistic,” I told him.

Dick was silent. He did not want to accept what I was saying. He was envisioning what he
wanted
the outcome to be, not what it
would
be. Finally, his eyes ready to spill tears, he smiled and nodded. “You’re right, I guess. Maybe—I can’t deal with it. Maybe—I’m not up to it—” His voice trailed off.

Eventually Dick did start dating again. But often he’d bring his new girlfriends over to the house to meet me. In fact, some of his dates consisted of nothing more than trips to visit me.
I withdrew into myself and the solitude of home. After being away so long, I appreciated the old house with all its pleasant memories. Yet for some reason, I couldn’t really feel at home there any more; I felt awkward in my own home.

This left me with eerie, anxious feelings—like the depression I felt trying to adjust during those nightmarish months after my accident.

“What’s the matter, honey?” dad finally asked.

“I—I don’t know, daddy. I’m just sad—depressed.”

Dad nodded.

“I don’t know if I can ever really adjust to being paralyzed,” I told him. “Just when I think I’ve got things under control, I go into a tailspin.”

“Well, you just take your time, Joni. We’ll do anything—anything at all—to help, you know that.” His sparkling blue eyes and smiling face radiated love and encouragement.

I sighed deeply, then said, “I guess the thing that affects me most is that I’m so helpless. I look around the house here, and everywhere I look I see the things you’ve built and created. It’s really sad to think that I can’t leave a legacy like you. When you’re gone, you will have left us with beautiful buildings, paintings, sculpture, art. Even the furniture you’ve made. I can never do any of that. I can never leave a legacy—”

Dad wrinkled his forehead for a moment, then grinned again. “You’ve got it all wrong. These things I’ve done with my hands don’t mean anything. It’s more important that you build character. Leave something of yourself behind. Y’see? You don’t build character with your hands.”

“Maybe you’re right, daddy.”

“Of course I am.”

“But why does God allow all this? Look at our family. We’ve had more than our share of heartbreak—first my accident, then Jay’s divorce, now—now little Kelly (my niece was dying of brain cancer). It’s so unfair,” I cried.

Daddy put his hands on my shoulders and looked straight into my eyes. “Maybe we’ll never know the ‘why’ of our troubles, Joni. Look—I’m not a minister or a writer—I don’t know exactly how to describe what’s happening to us. But, Joni, I have to believe God knows what He’s doing.”

“I don’t know,” I offered.

“Look, how many times have you heard somebody—we’ve done it ourselves many times—pray piously: ‘Lord, I’m such a sinner. I deserve hell and Your worst condemnation. Thank You for saving me.’ We tell God in one breath that we aren’t worthy of His goodness. Then, if we happen to run into some trouble or suffering, we get bitter and cry out against God: ‘Lord, what are You doing to me?!’ Y’see? I think that if we admit we deserve the worst—hell—and then only get a taste of it by having to suffer, we ought to try somehow and live with it, don’t you?”

“Do you think I deserved to be paralyzed—that God is punishing me?”

“Of course not, honey. That was taken care of on the cross. I can’t say why He allowed this to happen. But I have to believe He knows what He’s doing. Trust Him, Joni. Trust Him.”

“I’ll try,” I said halfheartedly.

As spring turned into summer, my emotions got no better. I’d expected a miracle from God at Rancho Los Amigos. I was convinced He’d give me back the use of my hands. When I didn’t regain my hands, I felt betrayed. God had let me down.

So I was angry at God. In order to get back at Him, I discovered a way to shut Him out along with the rest of the world. I went into moody, depressive, fantasy “trips.” I’d sleep late in order to dream, or I’d take naps most of the day to daydream and fantasize. By concentrating hard, I was able to completely shut out the present and reality.

I tried to recall each vivid detail of every pleasant experience stored in my memory. I focused all my mental energy on living these experiences again and again.

In these fantasies, I recalled every physical pleasure I had had—what it felt like to wear a soft pair of worn Levis, the warm splash of a shower, the caress of wind on my face, the feel of summer sun on skin. Swimming. Riding. The squeaky feel of saddle leather between my thighs. None of these simple pleasures was wrong in itself. But I used them to shut God from my mind.

One day, I was sitting in my wheelchair outside at the ranch, our family’s farm, in Sykesville. The friends who had come to visit me had saddled horses and gone on a trail ride. I was feeling sorry for myself, comparing my lot to theirs. Warm summer sunlight glimmered through the branches of big oak trees and danced in bright patterns on the lush grass underneath. I closed my eyes and visualized a similar day a couple years earlier. In my daydream, I was again with Jason, riding horseback together toward the forest, across the fragrant meadows, stopping in a deserted place. I relished memories of unrestrained pleasure, excitement, and sensual satisfaction—feelings I knew I had no right to enjoy then or relive now.

When the Holy Spirit convicted me, I rebelled even more. “What right have You to tell me I can’t think of these things? You’re the One who put me here! I have a right to think about them. I’ll never enjoy sensual feelings and pleasure again. You can’t take away my memories!”

But the more I thought of these and other experiences, the more withdrawn I became. I was frustrated and bitter and blamed God that these feelings meant so much to me.

I tried to savor and experience other pleasures and memories. When at a friend’s house beside their swimming pool, I treasured the experiences I used to have in the water. The liquid pleasure of wetness all around me, of slicing through the clear waters. Of bobbing up from the bottom and feeling the rush of fresh air pouring into my lungs and on my face. Of wet, stringy hair under my head as I lay sunbathing on the warm concrete apron. Of the warm tiny beads of water making small tickly lines while dripping down my drying arms and legs.

I was angry at God. I’d retrieve every tiny physical pleasure from my mind and throw it up to Him in bitterness. I couldn’t accept the fact—God’s will, they said—that I’d never do or feel these things again. Outwardly, I maintained a façade of cheerfulness. Inwardly I rebelled.

My fantasy trips became longer and more frequent. And when I ran out of memories that I felt would anger God, I created new ones. I developed wild, lustful, sexual fantasies that I believed would displease Him.

Diana came to live with us that summer. At first, she wasn’t aware of my “trips.” Then she sensed that my fits of depression were getting out of control, as if I were in a trance.

“Joni! Stop it! Wake up!” Diana screamed one day. She shook my shoulders violently. Slowly, I regained my sense of reality.

“W-what?”

“Joni! What’s wrong? I was talking to you, and you were just staring past me into space! Are you sick?”

“No. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone!”

“It’s not going to help you to avoid reality,” Diana said. “You’ve got to face up to the truth. Don’t shut it out. The past is dead, Joni. You’re alive.”

“Am I?” I replied cynically. “This isn’t living.”

Periodically she scolded me back from my fantasy trips, but, just as often, I’d leave again. I learned that taking a nap in a darkened room with a window air conditioner was my best “transportation.” The hum of the air conditioner was a hypnotic sound that shut out the world; soon I’d be in my trance, capturing past feelings and pleasures.

Finally I realized I wasn’t getting anywhere with my rebellious temper tantrums against God. I began to see that it was my way of sinning. Before my accident, sin consisted of the things I did. But now, there was no opportunity for me to give action to
sinful thoughts. I began to see that sin was an attitude as much as an act. Before the action, the mind frames the thoughts and attitudes that become the basis for our rebellion against God. I saw that anger, lust, and rebellion—although “merely” attitudes—were sinful. Sin wasn’t just all the bad things I did, but an integral part of my makeup. Although there was no opportunity for me to physically rebel against God, I sinned nonetheless. It was a part of my nature.

I knew that I was being what Paul the apostle described as carnal as opposed to spiritual. I was in an impossible condition—unhappy and unable to please myself or God. “For the carnal attitude is inevitably opposed to the purpose of God, and neither can nor will follow his laws for living. Men who hold this attitude cannot possibly please God” (Rom. 8:7, 8).

Or themselves,
I reminded myself. I saw that my fits of depression and flights into fantasy were doing nothing except confusing and frustrating me.

I did not understand what God was trying to show me, so I prayed: “Lord, I know now that You have something planned for my life. But I need help understanding Your will. I need help in knowing Your Word. Please, God, do something in my life to help me serve You and know Your Word.”

I
t was summer, 1969, two years after my diving accident. I thought of the many things that had happened to me during those two incredible years. In taking inventory of my spiritual life, I found it consisted mainly of fantastic highs and lows—but mostly lows. In fact, I’d recently climbed out of the worst depression I’d experienced since the accident. If I didn’t receive some help, some mature guidance, I knew I’d sink again. It was only a matter of time.

I made as much progress in rehabilitation as was physically possible. It was evident now I’d never walk again; I’d never get the use of my hands again; I’d forever be paralyzed from the neck down, unable to even care for my own personal needs. It was certain now that I’d be forever dependent on others for every physical comfort or function.

This dependency was enough, in itself, to trigger another bout with depression and self-pity, and I talked about my concerns with Diana.

“I have this tremendous feeling of hopelessness and worth-lessness, Di,” I told her. “I’m praying that the Lord will do something in my life to show me that it has meaning.”

“I’ve been praying too, Joni,” she replied, adding, “you know, I’m going to bring a friend over to meet you.”

“Who? Why?”

“Steve Estes. You don’t know him, but he’s at just the opposite side of things spiritually. He has a love for the Lord and knowledge of the Scriptures that really ought to help.”

“Sure,” I volunteered without much enthusiasm.

“He’s a young guy. In fact, he’s still in high school.”

“High school?! Diana! He’s a kid?”

“No—don’t judge. Wait ‘til you meet him.”

Steve Estes came over to the house that evening, and the minute he walked through the door, he shattered all my preconceived notions about him.

Steve loomed tall above my wheelchair, and his piercing green eyes immediately communicated an attitude of warmth and openness. In the introductory conversation that followed, he made me completely at ease. He evidenced maturity and comfortable self-assurance, and one of the first things I noticed was his attitude toward me.

Many people who meet me for the first time seem awkward and uncomfortable with the chair. It intimidates them or causes them to pity me. It usually takes several visits and conversations for us to move past the chair and deal on an ordinary level. Unfortunately, some people never get to that point, and consequently I usually feel self-conscious.

Yet Steve was completely at ease, making me comfortable too. He talked fast, expressing himself with animated gestures, and seemed enthusiastic about everything. As we conversed, he began to share biblical concepts—ideas that were exciting to him and stimulating to me.

“Joni,” he said earnestly, “isn’t it great what God is doing in different people’s lives today?”

What? Who? Where?
I was too embarrassed to ask the questions as they popped in my mind. It didn’t matter. Steve answered them for me.

“Kids are experiencing fantastic things in
Young Life
at Woodlawn. And in our church, we’ve seen God’s Spirit make a lot of people really come alive. One couple was on the verge of divorce—God brought ‘em back together. One guy was heavy into dope, and Christ saved him. A girl I know was really messed up inside, and the Lord straightened her out. Man, you should see her today!” The stories came rapid-fire, and I began to see a new reality to God’s power. The Lord had worked in people’s lives, and the truth and meaning of it spilled over into Steve’s experience and then into mine through Steve’s recounting.

Steve himself had seen God demonstrate His love and power. Steve’s faith, energy, and spiritual maturity were evidently the qualities that made him so different from me. He radiated trust, a love for Christ, and self-assured success. It was amazing to me that a sixteen-year-old could offer so much spiritual insight and wisdom. As a young adult of twenty, I had not come as far. There was something about him, a quality in his life, that I wanted. He radiated confidence, poise, and authority. He spoke convincingly of the Lord and the simple, quiet strength that faith in Christ brings to a life.

“Steve, what you say is like fresh new truth,” I said to him excitedly. “Please come back and tell me more.”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

“Can you help me get what you have? I’m a Christian. But there’s so much I don’t know about the Lord. You have so much more spiritual knowledge than I do.”

“Joni, what would you say if I came over every Wednesday and had a Bible study with you?” he suggested.

“Great,” I answered.

Diana was smiling and nodding. “I’m going to be there too, and maybe Jay and others would like to come. Is that all right?”

“Sure,” Steve smiled. It was strange. Here was a boy, just sixteen, planning to teach a group of young adults about the Christian faith. Yet no one questioned his authority or ability to do so. Even then, he had the eloquence and charisma of a spiritual teacher, a minister. Everyone respected him and responded to his qualities of leadership.

Steve enjoyed the challenge. He said, “Joni, your house really makes me feel comfortable. It’s like a retreat—the atmosphere makes me feel like we’re at L’Abri with Francis Schaeffer.”

He sensed that I—and some of the others—had not really mastered some of the basic Christian doctrines—the character of God, the deity of Christ, sin, repentance, and salvation—and these became the focus of our weekly Bible studies.

“In Ephesians,” he explained, “Paul tells us that we have a fantastic heritage: Christ
chose us
even before He made the world. He created us, in His image, for a particular purpose. God wants us to grow and excel, to be successful. A lot of people are confused about what true spirituality is. If a guy knows a lot of Bible verses, he’s often thought of as spiritual. But having head knowledge of Bible truth isn’t spirituality. True spirituality is putting God’s Word into practice—making His truth valid by actually doing what He says and not just pointing to it as a nice standard.”

As Steve shared basic Bible doctrine with us, I began to see the shallowness of my own faith and spirituality. My spiritual ups and downs could be charted as easily and accurately as my physical progress. This became something I wanted to overcome, something I wanted to deal with in a positive way. I began to look to the spiritual principles and revolve my life around them for a change.

Alone with God, I recalled how I’d withdrawn from reality and turned my back on Him so often. I confessed, “Lord, I’ve been wrong—wrong to try and shut You out. Forgive me, God. Thank You for this new understanding of Your Word that Steve has shared. Please forgive me and bring me back to You—back into fellowship with You once more.” The Holy Spirit began to
convict, then teach me. With each succeeding week, spiritual truth became more real, and I began to see life from God’s perspective.

I learned that God’s Word is a handbook for sensible living; He doesn’t give us instructions without reason.

I saw, in fact, that God tries to warn us in Scripture; for example, sex before marriage is wrong.

There seem to be so many more warnings in the Bible about illicit sex as compared to warnings about other sinful conduct or behavior, such as gossip, envy, lying, and anger. The Bible says of these, “Resist the devil” (James 4:7)—stand and fight and overcome these faults. But as for sexual sin and sensuality, the Bible says, “flee” (1 Cor. 6:18). If I had been obedient and not given in to temptations, I would not have been tormented by longings and desires that now could never be satisfied. They were like an unquenched thirst. No matter how much I shut out reality and lived the experiences in fantasy, it could never be the same. The feelings were shadow substance and unsatisfying.

I had learned some painful lessons from my relationship with Jason. Now I reaped the consequences. I was tortured, but not because I had done something ugly and repulsive. On the contrary, physical love is beautiful and exciting. Yet God knows how it frustrates and torments without the context of marriage. I was lusting after memories. I know other girls who have cried bitter tears over the same thing. They have found that guilt and remorse over sex outside of marriage can cloud and ruin otherwise happy lives and handicap otherwise successful marriages.

But now, with God’s help and forgiveness, I repented and put all that behind me. I prayed for His direction and the mental willpower to think His thoughts and not wallow in self-pity and lustful memories and fantasies.

I concentrated on the fact that, once and for all, I had to forget the past and concentrate on the present, trusting God, claiming the promise of Scripture that God separates our sins from us forever (Ps. 103:12).

I decided to rid myself of as many reminders of the past as I could. I gave away my cherished hockey and lacrosse sticks, sold my horse, Tumbleweed, and got rid of all the other
things
that tied me to the old memories.

Now I was forced to trust God. I had no alternative but to thank Him for what He was going to do with my future.

As I began to pray and depend on Him, He did not disappoint me. Before, I’d say, “Lord, I want to do Your will—and Your will is for me to get back on my feet or, at least, get my hands back.” I was deciding His will for me and rebelling when things didn’t turn out as I planned.

Now I wept for all those lost months filled with bitterness and sinful attitudes. I prayed for an understanding of His will for my life. What was God’s will for my life? To find out, I had to believe that all that had happened to me was an important part of that plan. I read, “In everything, give thanks, for this is the will of God concerning you.” God’s will was for me to be thankful in everything? Okay. I blindly trusted that this was truth. I thanked God for what He did and what He was going to do.

As I concentrated on His positive instruction from the Bible, it was no longer necessary to retreat from reality. Feelings no longer seemed important. Fantasies of having physical feeling and touch were no longer necessary because I learned that I was only temporarily deprived of these sensations. The Bible indicates that our bodies are temporal. Therefore, my paralysis was temporal. When my focus shifted to this eternal perspective, all my concerns about being in a wheelchair became trivial.

Steve showed me other evidence in the Bible that God’s perspective is different from ours. In Hebrews 12:1, we are encouraged to endure life with patience. Second Corinthians 5:1-5 reminds us that our bodies are the temporary dwellings of our spirits and personalities. Philippians 1:29 says some are called to suffer for Him—maybe even suffer “fiery ordeals.” As the author of 1 Peter expressed it: “And now, dear friends of mine, I beg you
not to be unduly alarmed at the fiery ordeals which come to test your faith, as though this were some abnormal experience. You should be glad, because it means that you are called to share Christ’s sufferings. One day, when he shows himself in full splendour to men, you will be filled with the most tremendous joy” (1 Peter 4:12, 13
PHILLIPS
.) Steve took me through the Scriptures and helped me fit my pain and suffering into this perspective.

“Those who suffer,” explained Steve, “should concentrate on doing right and commit their lives and souls to His care. We should all do that, but the Bible makes a point of telling those who suffer fiery trials to especially live for Christ.”

In my fantasies and daydreams, I had sought the reality of past experiences because I wanted to avoid the truth of the present. Yet, even the present isn’t true reality. There will, one day, be an existence for us that will be the ultimate in reality and experience, and we can understand this truth only by faith. What we see by faith is true reality.

We were all learning and growing through Steve’s late-night sessions at our home. Diana continued to live with us and went back to college in the fall to study psychology. One of the “games” she learned in this course was role-playing to achieve better understanding of people and various situations.

One night after our study time, we all switched roles and “walked in each other’s shoes” for awhile. Diana and I changed places. Someone carried me to the sofa while Diana sat in the wheelchair.

“You know, this is strange,” remarked Diana, as she played me. “You people seem afraid of the wheelchair. Everyone seems to keep his distance. There seems to be a space around the chair that no one is willing to intrude on.”

“That’s interesting,” I added. “I was just thinking how people seem less awkward to me when I’m sitting on the couch.”

We discussed the chair and what it meant to different people. The typical reaction from strangers was condescension toward one
who, to them, was somehow inferior. I suppose, as I’ve said before, some people think that if you are physically handicapped, you are mentally deficient too.

Diana, Jay, and Dick were so used to the chair that they took a casual attitude toward it. So casual, in fact, that walking with me was often a game. They’d push me one-handed or give me a shove and walk beside the chair. They often did this to puncture the stuffy, provincial attitudes some people have about wheelchairs. For example, the chair is only about two feet wide, but on sidewalks people clear a path wide enough for a car to drive through. Their subtle awkwardness only adds to the confusion and frustration of persons in wheelchairs. It makes them feel clumsy and fat.

People often stare without meaning to, especially when the chair is being wheeled too fast (at least in their opinion). Apparently, popular opinion dictates that a person in a wheelchair should be treated like a load of priceless antiques.

Older women often came up to me in a department store or on the street, clucked their tongues, and said something like, “Oh, you poor, dear, brave, brave girl.” I’d smile politely but often felt like telling them my real feelings—which weren’t always charming!

However, I came to terms with myself. If others had a problem with the chair, I tried to do everything I could to make them feel at ease. At the Bible studies, I had Dick carry me to the sofa. Out of sight, the chair no longer intimidated people. Sitting, with my legs propped up on an ottoman, I looked like a “normal” person.