Joni (11 page)

What began as a simple experiment in practical psychology became a regular habit for me. I enjoyed being one of the crowd in this way and was glad it made everyone more comfortable.

Diana tried another experiment in role-playing. This time, I saw my situation as others do. She sat in the chair, and I was on the sofa. “Joni, I’d like a glass of water,” Diana said, pretending to be helpless.

Taking her role, I saw something I’d never noticed from my chair. I was annoyed.

“Gee—I’m really engrossed in this TV program. Can you wait until the commercial?” I asked.

“Well—I guess so,” sighed Diana.

Everyone smiled knowingly. I said, “Is that the way I really am? Oh, good grief—I’m sorry. I see how selfish I can be without even knowing. I’ll try to be more considerate of you guys from now on.”

Being out of the wheelchair was also good for my self-confidence as a woman. In the chair, sometimes I felt stiff and awkward, but sitting here on the couch, I felt relaxed and at ease. One evening when we were watching TV, Dick stretched out and put his head in my lap. I managed to take off my arm brace and began to stroke his hair with my hand. Of course, I couldn’t feel anything, but Dick could. He relaxed and enjoyed the normal attention of a girl running her fingers through his hair.

These were pleasant moments of growing and learning, offset only by the fact of Kelly’s sickness. She was growing weaker almost daily. But her situation, as well as my own, were made easier as I began to grow in faith and understanding.

Steve continued to come, sometimes several times a week. His Bible-based teaching of simple doctrinal truth was becoming a part of my life. Before, I had accepted doctrine pretty much without question. But it was not real in my experience. Its truth had not been tested. In my earlier depression at Greenoaks, I had examined other philosophical and theological points of view. It was no longer possible for me to accept doctrine without question, but even as I questioned, answers were provided. Steve explained Bible truth in such a way that it was as if the Lord spoke directly to me.

I saw Steve’s coming into my life as a specific answer to the desperate prayer I had prayed just before I met him.

We discussed the second coming of Jesus Christ. I learned that one day Jesus would return to earth and I’d get a brand-new body. Christ would give me a glorified body that could do everything I
could do before—probably even more. Some day I would have feelings again!
I won’t be paralyzed forever.

This new perspective made it unnecessary for me to retreat into fantasy trips or daydreams any more.

Steve helped me end my cycle of peaks and valleys of spiritual progress. “Set your heart on things above,” he read from Colossians 3, “and not on the passing things of earth.” Since I could see that one day I’d have a renewed body, it became easy for me to focus my desires on heavenly, eternal things. I had already lost temporal things, the use of my earthly body, so it was easy to accept this truth. Although “condemned” to a wheelchair, I knew one day I’d be free of it.

“Steve,” I said to him, “I’m beginning to see the chair more as a tool than as a tragedy. I believe God is going to teach me something more about this!”

Steve introduced me to the process of putting God’s Word into practice, of acting on His promises and commands. I would read something in the Bible and consciously say, “This is God’s will.” Intellectually, I understood the meaning of it. Emotionally, I had to put this new truth to the test, to prove it by my own will. “Yes, this is God’s will,” adding, “for me.”

“Lord, I’m trusting You to bring me through all this victoriously,” I reminded Him. Scripture took on personal meaning. Job had suffered, so he could speak convincingly to my needs. Jeremiah had suffered, and I learned from him too. Since Paul had endured beatings, shipwrecks, imprisonment, and ill health, I related to his sufferings as well. I began to see what the Bible calls a “fellowship of suffering.”

I memorized Scripture portions that had great meaning to me. Understanding these passages that spoke to my needs enabled me to better trust God with my will as well as my life. Even when distressing or despondent times came along, I could depend on the fact that “He knows what He is doing,” as daddy frequently said.

Through memorizing God’s promises, I learned that the Lord would take me out of training in this school of suffering—but in His own good time. The apostle Paul wrote that the key was to keep forever striving. Even he, at the peak of his life and commitment to Christ, admitted that he had not arrived spiritually.

Probably,
I thought,
my suffering and training is a lifelong process. It will end only when I go to be with Christ.

There was a lot of catching up for me to do. If life was going to mean anything, I’d have to learn everything I could—not just spiritual truth, but academic understanding as well. I’d have to find a way to make some kind of contribution to society.

Diana and Jay were eager to help me get back into circulation, up-to-date with the outside world. Seeing people and going places were refreshing and stimulating. By now, I was even comfortable in my chair, used to the stares and awkwardness of others. Being outside was a pleasant experience to my senses that summer. Shut in various hospitals for two years, I’d almost forgotten all there was to see, hear, and smell in the outdoors. These experiences saturated my starved senses. But as a result of such sensory shock, I tired easily and was forced to rest after these outdoor trips.

Steve tried to encourage me to verbalize my new understanding—to put this new truth into practice. He asked me to share my faith, the testimony of my Christian experience, with the youth group at his church. The thought of speaking to fifteen teenagers terrified me. My natural tendency then was to be shy, so when the time came, I was really nervous. I looked out at those polished, self-assured faces and was almost too petrified to speak.

“I…uh…I’m Joni Eareckson…and…uh…uh…” My mind went blank.
What was I supposed to say?
The teens were polite and didn’t break into snickers or mocking. “I…I…uh…I want to tell you…uh…what Christ means to me. Uh…you see…He is very…uh…real to me. I’ve…uh…had…uh…lots of troubles…uh…but I…I mean
He…
He’s been faithful. And uh…I hope you know Him as I do.”

My throat was dry, my face was flushed, and I couldn’t think of any way to continue, so I merely dropped my gaze and said nothing.

After an awkward, terrifying pause, Steve picked up on what I said. Somehow, he put the pieces together and made sense of it. I was both relieved and impressed that he could salvage the situation.

Later I said firmly, “I never want to do that again as long as I live!”

“Nonsense,” Steve countered. “You just need experience. I was the same way the first time a friend asked me to give my testimony at one of his street-corner evangelism meetings.”

“Really?”

“I stammered all over the place. I thought my tongue was swollen.”

“But I don’t have your gift for speaking—your presence of mind. I just can’t.”

“You should go to college,” he said, slapping my knee good-naturedly. “You could attend classes in your wheelchair at the University of Maryland. They have quite a few handicapped people there. You shouldn’t have any trouble,” Steve suggested.

“Hm-m. Maybe you’re right.”

He grinned and nodded.

“All right,” I conceded, “if Jay and Diana will help, I’ll go to college this fall.”

In September, I began attending a few classes at the university. Jay or Diana went with me and took notes for me. I signed up for
Oral Interpretation, Voice Diction,
and
Public Speaking.
My speeches were related to things I knew about and could discuss easily: relating to people with handicaps, accepting the wheelchair, and my Christian experience.

Slowly I developed confidence, especially as I saw that people were interested in what I was saying. Deep inside, I sensed that God was preparing me; that somehow, someday, I’d be able to use what I was learning.

At the same time, I began to understand spiritual truth in meaningful ways. This new understanding gave me victory over past sin, temptation, and depression. God had given me the means to control my sinful nature when I realized the importance of His reality and the present.

The fantasies ended. Forever. With God’s complete fulfillment, I didn’t need to relive memories from the past. I had come to the place where my body no longer needed the sensations I once thought so terribly important. God had taken me beyond the need for feeling and touching. Yet, He saw to it that, whenever possible, I could enjoy such things as the feel of a cashmere sweater on my cheek, a hug from someone I care about, the reassuring movement of a rocking chair, and the sensations He brought every time I went outside—wind, sun, even rain on my face. And I was grateful for all He gave.

It is important to remember that the promise “God causes all things to work together for good” only applies to those who love God, those who have been born into His family. However, due to our sin and rebellion we are alienated from God and subject to His judgment. Praise God, though, that He sent His Son, Jesus, to be judged on the cross—paying the death penalty for my sin and your sin! If we truly trust that our punishment was borne by Christ and obey Him as our Lord, we can be assured of eternal life and the promise of Romans 8:28.

It is my hope that in the course of reading this book, the Holy Spirit has enlightened your heart and mind to these truths. Jesus is alive and His power is available to you…He proves Himself daily in my life, and what more couldn’t He do in your life! Are you a part of God’s heavenly family? For indeed, I hope one day we shall meet in glory.

Joni

PTL

I
n February, 1970, my niece Kelly died of the brain tumor that had kept her in constant pain for a year. Her death underscored for me the importance of each individual soul.

I was just beginning to get a handle on a positive spiritual frame of reference myself, so Kelly’s progress in faith, though she was only five, was encouraging and helpful to me as I saw the reality of God’s love and power at work in her tiny life. Her tragedy brought us closer as a family and closer to the Lord.

We had all accepted the inevitability of Kelly’s death, and we had peace about it; yet, this did not mean that the agony of losing her did not take its toll on us or that we did not ever ask, “Why, God?”

Kelly’s mother, my sister Linda, suffered the most. Soon after Kelly became ill, Linda’s husband left and divorced her. This left her with two sons and Kelly to support, along with facing Kelly’s death. Her world seemed to be collapsing around her, and for a long time she didn’t want to face it.

Through Kelly’s death and my own paralysis, I was learning that there is nothing but unhappy frustration in trying to secondguess God’s purposes.
Why God? Why did Kelly die? Why was I paralyzed? Why is someone else alive and healthy?
There was no reason apart from the overall purposes of God.

We aren’t always responsible for the circumstances in which we find ourselves. However, we
are
responsible for the way we respond to them. We can give up in depression and suicidal despair. Or, we can look to a sovereign God who has everything under control, who can use the experiences for our ultimate good by transforming us to the image of Christ (2 Cor. 3:18).

God engineers circumstances. He used them to prove Himself as well as my loyalty. Not everyone has this privilege. I felt there were only a few people God cared for in such a special way that He would trust them with this kind of experience. This understanding left me relaxed and comfortable as I relied on His love, exercising newly learned trust. I saw that my injury was not a tragedy but a gift God was using to help me conform to the image of Christ, something that would mean my ultimate satisfaction, happiness—even joy.

Steve, in one of our fellowship study sessions, compared my life to the experience of the apostle Paul: “I want you to know, my brothers, that what has happened to me has, in effect, turned out to the advantage of the gospel” (Phil. 1:12).

I reflected over this concept one evening as Steve crossed the room to stir the fire in the fireplace. He reminded me, “Joni, what is happening to you will advance God’s cause! Paul had his prison chains; you have your chair. You can rejoice in suffering because He is allowing you to suffer on His behalf.” Steve then sat down and stretched his frame into the overstuffed chair, thumbing through his Bible. “‘You are given, in this battle,’” he read, “‘the privilege not merely of believing in Christ but also of suffering for his sake’” (Phil. 1:29).

It was exciting to think that what had happened to me could indeed “turn out to the advantage of the gospel.” I began to share
my faith with more people in a positive context, and I saw that the Word of God could not be bound and chained, even if I was (2 Tim. 2:9).

Now, as each successive problem arose, it came in a context I understood. I merely trusted God. I reminded myself that all things come into my life according to Andrew Murray’s formula: by God’s appointment, in His keeping, under His training, for His time. And I had His promise that He would not heap upon me more than I could bear.

As I began to see that circumstances are ordained of God, I discovered that truth can be learned only through application.

In 1 Thessalonians, I read, “In everything give thanks.” But sometimes I didn’t want to give thanks. Emotionally, it was something I just didn’t feel like doing. Yet, I could give thanks with my will, if not my feelings.

“After all,” I reasoned one day to Steve, “for two years, I woke up every morning in a hospital. If for no other reason than that, I can give thanks that I’m no longer there.”

So I began a habit of giving thanks, even when I didn’t feel thankful. After awhile, a curious thing happened. I began to feel thankful!

“Your paralysis could even be a blessing,” observed Steve during one of our times together.

“A blessing?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t know about that,” I admitted. “I’ve come a long way just to accept my accident as something God has allowed for my ultimate good. But I don’t really feel it’s a
blessing yet.”

During the weeks ahead, I read more and more on the subject of God’s sovereignty. It truly was a reassuring doctrine. As its light flooded my intellect and mind, it brightened my spirit and self-image. I felt secure, safe. God had control of everything in my life.

That spring, Steve and his parents went to a seminar where the value of “self was explained in biblical terms. Steve shared
these concepts with me one afternoon when he stopped by with some books he wanted me to read.

“Joni, you must know by now the value God places on you,” he said as he plopped them on the table.

“Yes, I suppose so. Why?”

“Well, I think you’re still hung up on your self-image.”

“Hung up on my self-image? What do you mean?”

“You’re always putting yourself down—always on the defensive,” he replied.

Steve was right, of course. I’d still look at healthy, active people—attractive people—enjoying themselves around me. Everyone I compared myself to came out best. I’d even lose out when I compared myself to a mannequin!

“But that’s the same for everyone if we let society determine our value,” Steve explained as he sat down on the piano bench. “We always lose when we evaluate ourselves according to someone else’s ideas or standards. And there are as many standards as there are people. A jock measures you by your athletic ability; a student by your brains; a steady by your looks. It’s a losing battle,” he said, striking a sour piano chord for added emphasis. “We have to forget about what people say or think, and recognize that God’s values are the only important ones.”

It was true. God knew that I had hands and feet and arms and legs that did not work. He knew what I looked like. And none of these things really mattered. What counted was that I was His workmanship created in His image. And He wasn’t finished with me (Eph. 2:10).

In the days that followed, I thanked Him for “me”—whatever I was in terms of mind, spirit, personality—and even body. I thanked Him for the way I looked and for what I could and could not do. As I did, the doctrine of His sovereignty helped everything fall into place, like a jigsaw puzzle.

Not only was there purpose to my life at this point, but there was an iceberg of potential as well—10 percent above the surface,
90 percent below. It was an exciting thought—an entire new area of my life and personality not even developed yet!

“Joni, I learned this concept from an illustration Bill Gothard
(Institute in Basic Youth Conflicts)
uses. He says our lives are like paintings that God is making. Often we jump off the easel, grab a brush, and want to do things ourselves. But when we do this, we only get a bad copy of the masterpiece He intended for our lives.”

Steve added to this thought. “Joni, your body—in the chair—is only the frame for God’s portrait of you. Y’know, people don’t go to an art gallery to admire frames. Their focus is on the quality and character of the painting.”

This made sense. I could relax and not worry so much about my appearance. God was “painting” me in just the perfect way so I could enhance the character of Christ within. This gave a whole new perspective to the chair. Once it had been a terrible burden, a trial for me. Then, as I saw God working in my life, it became only a tool. Now, I could see it as a blessing.
For the first time in my paralyzed life, it was indeed possible for the wheelchair to be an instrument of joy in my life.