Joni (14 page)

“I don’t know.”

Steve broke in, “You know, I was thinking about that when I read Hebrews 11 recently. You know the passage?”

“Yeah, it talks about the people of faith,” I answered.

“Well, it also says there are two categories of people—those whose faith was rewarded and those whose faith was not. All kinds of miraculous, fantastic things happened to some. Others were ‘sawn asunder,’ ‘saw not the promises,’ or did not experience a visible reward.”

“And you think I’m in the latter category?” I asked.

Steve leaned forward to make a point. “Uh-huh. I think so. For now, anyway. But not forever. Second Corinthians 5 tells about the wonderful resurrection body you’ll have some day instead of a useless, earthly body. We’re living in ‘tabernacles’ now—temporary dwellings. But someday we’ll live in temples—heavenly bodies that are perfect and permanent.”

“But what about those verses we read about faith?” I protested.

Steve grabbed my knee to emphasize his words—as if I could feel it. “But that’s what I’m trying to say! Remember the faith healer who told you, ‘I believe it is God’s will that you be healed’?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I believe it too. I believe it’s God’s will for everyone to be healed. But maybe we just can’t agree as to timetable. I believe it is His will, but apparently it doesn’t have priority over other things. You will be healed, but probably not until you receive your glorified body.”

“But God does heal other people,” I argued.

“Yes, I know. I don’t question His sovereignty on this,” he replied.

Diana added, “But when He does heal someone supernaturally, He must have reasons for it. For instance, there seems to be
a lot of examples of healing miracles overseas in cultures where missionaries work. When people don’t have the written Word of God, maybe they need a more obvious witness—you know, like ‘signs and wonders’—to attract them to Christ.”

“Yeah, could be,” I answered.

Steve went on to say, “In our culture, it wouldn’t be appropriate or necessary. Some hot-shot, sensation-seeking press would change the focus and distort the whole situation. God wouldn’t receive the glory, and the whole purpose would be lost.”

“I think maybe that’s the way it works,” I remarked.

Diana nodded. “It’s a dangerous misunderstanding of the Bible to say categorically that it’s God’s will that everyone be well. It’s obvious everyone is not well.”

“Right. We’re trying for perfection, but we haven’t attained it yet. We still sin. We still catch colds. We still break legs and necks,” I said, adding, “The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that God doesn’t want everyone well. He uses our problems for His glory and our good.” As I thought of this, I recalled several godly families touched by tragedy and disease. Many who truly love the Lord are often afflicted the most and fall into this category.

Man’s dealing with God in our day and culture is based on His Word rather than “signs and wonders.”

“You know,” Steve said, “there’s really no difference in God’s power. Maybe you have greater credibility because of your chair than if you were out of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember the Greek word for the power of God? I think it’s
dunamos.
”

“Yeah, it’s where we get the word
dynamite.
”

“Or
dynamo,
” Steve said. “They both mean great power. One is explosive energy. The other is controlled, useful energy. A healing experience would be like an explosive release of God’s energy getting you out of the chair. But staying in the chair takes power
too—controlled energy flowing through you that makes it possible to cope.”

Over the next few months, Donald and I talked about this and many other things; but one thing we now avoided was talking about our future.

Then one day when Donald came, I sensed an awkward quiet, a tenseness. Finally, in a low voice, he said, “Joni, I’m going to be counseling this summer up in New York at a
Young Life
camp. I’m leaving tomorrow. I just wanted to come and say good-by.”

I thought,
That’s good. Things have been a bit sour in our relationship lately. We both need a breather from each other—like the Europe trip.
But I was puzzled about the decisive inflection Donald gave to the word
good-by.

“What do you mean, good-by? You’ll be gone for several weeks, but—”

“No, Joni. This is it. I’m sorry. We never should have allowed this relationship to develop the way it has. I never should have kissed you. We never should have shared the things we shared. We never should have talked and dreamed of marriage. It was all a mistake.”

“A mistake! What do you mean? You were the one who encouraged me! I was the one who didn’t want to get involved. You’ve kissed me and held me. I went from fear to hope because you told me you loved me and wanted us to build a life together! Donald—I’ve shared things so deeply with you—more than I’ve shared with my own family. And you’re just going to walk away, just like that? Now you’re saying it’s a mistake—that you were just leading me along?” My voice faltered as I desperately tried to put words and thoughts together.

Hot tears of rage and frustration made me want to throw myself on him and beat him with my fists. All I could do was sit there and sob.

“I wasn’t leading you along, I swear it,” Donald said firmly. “I sincerely thought I could do it. But I was wrong. It’s impossible. It’s all a mistake.”

“Oh, dear God, what is this? Is it really happening?” Panic swept over me as I thought of Donald standing across the room saying good-by.
What happened?
He came into my life and made me feel so attractive and useful—a
woman.
I didn’t think anyone would ever care for me as much as he had. I didn’t think it possible I could love anyone as deeply as I loved him.

I tried to stop crying. “Maybe you need time to reconsider—”

“No. Joni. I’ve thought seriously about what I’m doing. There’s no turning back. It’s over. I’m sorry.” With that, he turned and walked to the door.

“Donald! Don’t leave me! Donald, wait!”

“Good-by, Joni,” he said quietly and closed the door behind him.

“No! Oh, my God—why are You letting this happen? Why are You hurting me like this?”

A
nd so, with a simple “good-by,” Donald walked out of my life. My heart and mind raged.
How could he be so cruel after being so loving and tender?

Yet, after I regained my composure, I saw that he hadn’t meant to be cruel. It was simply his style—no jive, no hypocrisy, he had said.

I knew when he left that he was walking out for good. He gave me no false hopes, no wrong impressions. In the long run, it was the least painful of any method he could have used.

I learned that Dick and Donald, good friends since school days, had shared the problem with each other. Dick, who himself had had similar confusion in his relationship with me earlier, had warned Donald not to let his feelings for me get out of hand.

“I know exactly what Don is going through,” Dick told me later. “I was confused and torn up inside after you wrote me from California that you wanted to be ‘just friends.’ I knew what you were doing, but I felt then—and still feel—very much in love with you. But I also know you’re right
about what my being able to really face up to all your injury means. I just don’t know. But I was willing to commit myself to making it work. Maybe you knew me better; maybe you didn’t believe I could handle it. I don’t know. In any event, since we’ve been ‘just good friends’ the past two years, I was happy for you both when you and Don fell in love. I prayed that he’d be able to do whatever I couldn’t and that you’d really be happy together.”

“Then what went wrong?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I began to see Don questioning the relationship. Several times he confided to me that he wished he’d never let his feelings for you get so out of hand. I suppose he—being older and probably wiser than me—saw what you saw with me: that many guys really can’t deal with the chair in the long run. Or, at least it seems Don and I can’t.”

My hurt was even more painful as I continued to hear about Donald secondhand. He wrote letters to kids we had both been counseling. I was angry and resentful when kids we both had prayed with and helped received letters and were still close to Donald and I wasn’t.

I’d been warned not to let my feelings for Donald get out of hand. Jay and Diana had urged me many times to be careful, but I didn’t listen. Now my hopes and dreams for marriage were hopelessly crushed.

Why, God? I don’t understand why.
My reactions included rage at Donald, self-pity for myself, and jealous anger at friends who were still close to him. A young high school girl, a new Christian whom we had both counseled, came over to read a letter she had received from Donald telling how God was working in his life in exciting ways. She, of course, didn’t know what happened between us. She merely came over to share an encouraging, newsy letter to her from Donald. My envy grew and hot tears began to run down from the corners of my eyes.

When she left and I was by myself, I felt ashamed of my attitudes. I wasn’t handling this “irritation” with a godly response. I
turned to a familiar Scripture passage for comfort—I Corinthians 13, the love chapter of the Bible. But my mind played tricks with the words.

“Though I speak with the tongues of men and angels and have
lust,
I’m like sounding brass or crashing cymbals. If I have prophetic gifts, absolute faith, and lust, I amount to nothing. If I give away all that I have, even allow my body to be burned, and have lust, I achieve nothing. Lust is quick to lose patience; it is possessive; it tries to impress others and has inflated ideas of its own importance. Lust has bad manners and pursues selfish aims. It is touchy…”

By substituting the word “lust” for “love,” I saw what had gone wrong with our relationship. I had
lusted
after Donald—after his time, his attention, his presence—because I felt I had a right to. I saw what a consuming, fiery passion lust can be. It was a desire that I did not want to deny myself. In the end, I lost everything that I sought to selfishly control.

Now the truth of 1 Corinthians 13 became evident. True love is unselfish, disciplined, directed, self-controlled, patient, and kind.

I began to sob bitterly at my confusion and hurt. This time, however, my hurt drove me to the Lord instead of to self-pity and self-centered introspection. I reread Scriptures that had helped me overcome previous disappointments.

I decided I didn’t want to listen to the birds. They all reminded me of the beautiful times Donald and I had gone to the woods for quiet retreats, and this was the only way I could consciously shut him out of my mind. It was difficult enough just to be outdoors with all those memories. How can I describe my feelings? For a year my mind had been working toward fulfillment of an ideal—my marriage to Donald; I had believed that our plans were part of God’s perfect will for us. Then, in one brief day, my dream disintegrated before my eyes so completely that there was not a flicker of hope that it could be revived.

I recalled Steve’s mention of Lamentations 3. He had once told me, “Joni, God must have His reasons. Jeremiah says that ‘it
is good that a young man bear the yoke in his youth.’ Perhaps your life will have greater value in years to come because you’re going through this experience now.”

“Lord,” I prayed, “what is happening to that ‘excellent gift’ I read about in Your Word? What are You doing?” I recalled passages from the Gospels in which Peter and John questioned Jesus as I was now doing. “What is that to me?” was the Lord’s simple, blunt reply. Jesus didn’t coddle Peter or allow him to indulge in self-pity. The Lord said, in essence, “What do you care? It doesn’t matter. You keep your eyes on me.” I learned that God’s truth is not always kind or comfortable. Sometimes His love for us involves harshness or a stern reproof.

I read other verses: “Welcome trials as friends,” said the apostle James, reminding me of the lessons God had already taught me in the hospital and during the years that followed. “In everything give thanks…All things work together…”

I forced myself back into God’s Word. There was no extensive self-pity, no wallowing in tears. God was merely providing me with yet another test—a “gut” testing of His truth, love, and purposes.

Letters from Donald to mutual friends were vibrant with his testimony of God at work in his life. He wrote of exciting spiritual growth and progress as the weeks turned into months. After the long summer, he wrote to friends telling of a lovely young woman he had met while working at the camp.

I felt the sting of hurt as I received the news that Donald had fallen in love with another woman. But the Lord seemed to say, “What is that to me?”

I wrote to Steve, away at Bible college, and poured out my heart. He wrote back and assured me of his concern and prayers. His letter closed with a promise from Psalm 40: “His truth and lovingkindness shall continually preserve me”—that whatever the hurt involved in this learning process, God always deals with us in love. This and other passages sustained me through this difficult period.

It was hard for me to accept the fact that Donald was not God’s will, God’s best for me. “But, Lord, if not Donald, I believe You have someone or something better for me. I will trust You to bring it into my life.” I recalled hearing a preacher say
God never closes a door without opening a window—He always gives us something better when He takes something away.

I took this promise at face value. It’s obvious, looking back, that God did know best. I had read into circumstances, Scripture, and everything else all the right “meaning” to make Donald a part of my life. It was easy to say “God wants us happy, doesn’t He?” and then bend verses to fit my purposes. I suppose I knew all along it wasn’t going to work, but I pursued the idea that it was God’s will that Donald build his life around me.

After my accident, I had clung to Dick, then Jay, Diana, and until now, Donald. I needed their love and support to satisfy my emotional needs. Now, however, I felt free. It was as if I had finally gained emotional independence through complete dependence on God. One day, while sitting outside in my wheelchair, I was quietly reflecting over these thoughts.
Lord,
I prayed,
I wish I could have seen this earlier—I wish I’d have remembered that Your grace is sufficient for me.
As I sat there on the quiet wooded lawn, verse after verse came to mind to comfort me.
Please, Lord, make Yourself real to me just now.

Peace of mind and inner joy flooded my mind and soul. Then I looked up. Almost as a symbol of God’s love and reassurance, a butterfly from high among the trees fluttered within inches of me. It was both startling and beautiful.

“Lord, thank You for Your goodness. Sending that butterfly at precisely this instant was a creative, subtle way of testifying to Your quiet and understated presence.” I promised myself to think of God’s goodness every time I saw a butterfly.

I reflected over this most unusual and difficult summer during long outdoor retreats with the Lord. I sought to be outside and meditate on His purposes, so to occupy myself during these
times, I devoted all my time and energy to my art. I found a renewed interest in drawing. And it seemed my art was getting better. There was a quality that hadn’t been there before. I didn’t know what it was, but others noticed the difference too.

It was a slow transition, but not as difficult as I had expected. I saw Donald in a new light, with greater understanding. He had done what was right and best, even if it hurt us both, for I know now that it hurt him as much as it hurt me.

We were both blind to the serious consequences of what such a relationship would mean. When we’re in love, our love takes expression in actions. If there is nowhere to go, in reality, then wishful thinking and fantasy convince us that “everything will work out.” People warn us, but we choose not to believe them.

Many young people ignore reality. They know something is wrong, that a relationship won’t work, but they go ahead anyway, as we would have done, convinced by wishful thinking.

I look back now and thank God for our relationship. There are so many things I never would have learned if Donald had not come into my life and left me, and so I thank the Lord for this experience. I’m especially grateful God helped me deal with our separation without lingering feelings of bitterness or despair.

I even accepted Donald’s new love with honest joy that he too had at last found God’s perfect will for his life. At a Bible study one evening, a friend came up to me. Hesitantly, he said, “Uh—Joni, I want to tell you something before you hear it from someone else.”

“Jimmy, you don’t have to say anything more. I know.”

“You do? You’ve already heard that Donald is engaged? How?”

“I don’t know,” I smiled. “I guess I just knew it, that’s all.”

I was shocked at how easily God helped me meet what should have been a hurtful, difficult meeting. And when Donald brought Sandy, a beautiful, young widow who had lost her husband in an accident, to Bible study three weeks later, we were seated next to one another.

She knew about me. In any other situation, this would have been awkward, to say the least. But I turned to her, a tall, lovely woman whose dark features complemented Donald’s own good looks, and said, “Sandy, I’m really glad to meet you. I want you to know how genuinely happy I am for you and Donald.”

She smiled and said thank you.

I told her, “I pray for you both every night. I praise God for what He’s done in all three of our lives. I’m really excited about you both—especially your willingness to serve Christ.” And I meant every word.

Friends and family members who knew how deeply Donald and I had cared for one another were amazed at my attitude. They had expected me to fall apart. And I probably would have gone to pieces if I had not allowed God to handle the situation.

I really began to see suffering in a new light—not as trials to avoid, but as opportunities to “grab,” because God gives so much of His love, grace, and goodness to those who do.

My life changed more during the last half of 1972 than any other period of my life—even my previous five years in the chair.

When Donald walked out of my life, there was no one in whom I could put my trust—except God. And since the Lord had always proved Himself faithful before, I trusted Him now.