Joni (16 page)

Perhaps I overreact to this type of situation, but I am intensely interested in getting people to relate to me, my art, or my Christian witness strictly on their own merits. I don’t want my chair to be the overriding focus as I talk to people, whether about art or Christ.

I’m not upset about the chair, so don’t you be,
I want to tell people.

The ceremonies were excellent, and the focus on my art was not lost. The questions of reporters dealt primarily with my art; the chair was merely background.

Mr. Miller told me, “Joni, your sights are set too low. You don’t realize just how good your art is. I’m sorry if all this embarrassed you at first. But I guess I don’t believe in doing things in a small way.”

The excitement peaked following the ceremonies, and the rest of the exhibit followed the standard procedures for such events.

People asked:

“Where do you get the ideas for your drawings?”

“How long does it take to complete a picture?”

“Did you study art professionally?”

When the crowd thinned at one point, Mr. Miller brought a tall, good-looking young man over and introduced him. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, and he looked uncomfortable.

“I wanted him to talk to you, Joni,” Mr. Miller said and walked away, leaving us awkwardly looking at one another.

“I’m happy to meet you,” I said. “Won’t you sit down?” He sat at the nearby table without speaking, and I began to feel uneasy.

Why was he here?
He didn’t seem to want to talk to me. My efforts at small talk were hopeless. Yet I could tell by his eyes something was bothering him.

Trying once more, I asked, “What do you do?”

“Nothing.” Then, almost as a concession, he muttered, “I used to be a fireman. But I can’t work now.”

“Oh?”
What do I say now?
“Uh—will you tell me about it?”

“It was an accident.”

“Yes?”

He shuffled nervously in his seat. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know why I’m here. Miller told me I ought to come and talk to you—that you had a rough time a while back with—uh—with your handicap.”

“Yeah—I sure did. I guess I’d have killed myself if I’d been able to use my arms. I was really depressed. But—” I paused, letting him know I still didn’t know what his problem was.

His handsome young face was contorted with anguish. He raised his arms, taking his hands from his coat pockets. But he had no hands—only scarred stumps where they had been amputated.

“Look at these ugly stumps!” he said. “My hands were burned in a fire—and they’re
gone.
And I just can’t cope!”

The frustration, pent-up rage, and bitterness poured out as his voice broke.

“I’m sorry,” I told him, “but Mr. Miller was right. I can help you, I think.”

“How?” he said sharply. “I’ll never get my hands back.”

“I know. I don’t mean to sound glib. But I’ve been where you are. I know the anger, the feelings of unfairness—of being robbed, cheated of your self-respect. I had those same feelings. Maybe it’s worse for a man—you know, trying to be independent and self-supporting. But I think I can identify with you.”

I told him something of my own experiences at the hospital and Greenoaks. I told him that his feelings were natural.

“But how’d you get over it? How do you cope with your handicap? You’re cheerful, not at all cynical today. Where do you get the power to pull it off?” he asked.

“Boy, that’s quite a story. Would you like to hear it?”

He nodded. I told him how a relationship with Jesus Christ gives access to God and all His power. I shared how God had been
working in my life the past few years and how He alone helped me face my fears and take on the tasks of living. Then I shared with him the simple gospel message I had heard as a fifteen-year-old at
Young Life
camp.

His face brightened as we talked. For nearly a half hour, I shared the principles God had taught me. When he left, he said, “Thanks, Joni. Neill Miller was right. You have helped me. I’ll try again. Thanks.”

(Today, this young man is enthusiastic about life again and is chief spokesman in the school system for the city fire department.)

Meanwhile, the exhibit at the Town and Country drew to a close, and Neill Miller’s idea turned out to be the event that launched my art career. By early evening, I was stunned to learn I’d sold about a thousand dollars’ worth of original drawings at fifty to seventy-five dollars each!

The event also got exposure for my work on Channel 11 in Baltimore: in addition to covering the exhibit, they invited me to be on a local talk show and feature my art.

Seymour Kopf, of the Baltimore
News-American,
carried a full feature in his column.

“Why do you sign your drawings ‘PTL’?” Mr. Kopf had asked. He recorded my full answer in his column:

“It stands for ‘praise the Lord.’ You see, Mr. Kopf, God loves us—He
does care.
For those who love God, everything—even what happened to me at age seventeen—works together for good. God has been good to me. He has ingrained the reflection of Christ into my character, developed my happiness, my patience, my purpose in life. He has given me contentment. My art is a reflection of how God can empower someone like me to rise above circumstances.”

I was invited to participate in local art shows later that spring. The exhibit also opened the doors for me to address Christian women’s clubs, schools, church groups, and civic functions where I not only showed my art, but shared my Christian testimony as
well. I even made a special tour of the White House, where I left one of my drawings for First Lady, Pat Nixon.

Other TV and radio appearances were offered, and each new contact seemed to generate additional stories or appearances.

On the strength of growing art sales, I was thrilled to see a small measure of independence. I wouldn’t have to be a financial burden on anyone but would now be able to earn my own money. I even created a line of greeting cards and prints from several of my drawings, and these began to sell well too. We named this company
Joni PTL,
and it expanded rapidly.

About this time, a close friend, Andy Byrd, told me of his plan to buy a Christian bookstore franchise and open a store; he wondered if I would like to have a partnership. We talked to Ken Wagner who became a third partner.

Our plans were not only exciting but seemed like a solid business investment. A Christian bookstore was something many of us had prayed for as a necessary element for Western Baltimore.

Finally, in September, 1973, after months of plans, prayer, and hard work, there was a grand opening of the Logos Bookstore, 1120 North Rolling Road, in the Rolling Road Plaza shopping mall. Just before the store opened, amid boxes of materials, books to price, and supplies, we prayed. Our prayer of dedication was for the many secular-oriented shoppers passing by—that our store would be a center of Christian concern and outreach where people could come for help.

I used the store as a center for selling original art and prints of several originals. These sold almost as quickly as I drew them. Between the bookstore, speaking engagements, and art fairs or festivals, it was difficult to keep up with the demand.

I developed a brief testimony sheet, which I printed and handed out at art shows while I was drawing. It explained my unusual drawing methods and faith in Christ and became a great tool for counseling and witnessing as people who came to watch stopped to chat and discuss the power of God in my life.

Through all the activities and events, there was one overriding focus to all this: that, humanly speaking, my art would help me gain independence, and, more important, that it would be used to glorify God.

I
was sitting outside at the ranch at Sykesville one beautiful late summer morning in 1974 when a telephone call came for me.

“Miss Eareckson, I’m calling from the ‘Today Show’ in New York. We’d like you to come on the program and tell your story and show your drawings. Can you come?”

My heart was in my throat. The “Today Show”!

“Of course,” I replied. “I’ll be glad to come.” Jay stood by the phone writing down the information. We agreed on an appearance for September 11.

Jay drove me to New York, taking our friends Sherri Pendergrass and Cindy Blubaugh to help. After getting settled at the hotel the day before the scheduled appearance, we went over to Rockefeller Center to meet with the director. He explained the procedure to me, and we discussed possible interview questions. He made me feel relaxed and comfortable, not only with the mental preparation for the show, but with the line of questioning the hostess, Barbara Walters, was likely to take.

Early the next morning I found myself sitting opposite Barbara Walters. Lights flooded the set with warmth and brightness. Miss Walters smiled and glanced quickly at her notes.

“Just relax, Joni,” she said warmly. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Fine.”

“Fifteen seconds!” someone called from behind the cameras.

I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I might be—probably because I was secure in what I was planning to say and knowing that my testimony would be shared with so many millions of people. I didn’t know what Miss Walters planned to ask me, but I knew of nothing she could ask that would make me uncomfortable.

“Ten seconds.”

Lord,
I prayed quickly,
give me confidence, wisdom, opportunity. Make this all meaningful.

“Five.” I swallowed and wet my lips, watching the floor director count down with his fingers. “Three, two, one.”

A red light on top of one of the cameras went on, and Barbara Walters turned toward it.

“We want to show you a collection of drawings that we have in the studio today,” she said. “And, as you’ll see, they’re drawings that have been obviously executed with artistic skill and what would seem to be a fine hand. But they were drawn in a manner unlike, I believe, any pictures you’ve ever seen before. The artist is Joni Eareckson of Baltimore. Maryland.”

Then she turned to me, and the interview began. I don’t recall all I said, except that Miss Walters made it natural and enjoyable. Her questions were interesting and not at all threatening. I liked her instantly and had the feeling I knew her, that she was an old friend.

The camera also took in a display of my drawings as we talked. The interview lasted ten minutes before Miss Walters broke for station identification. Then while the affiliate stations around the country cut away for local news, she interviewed me for another five minutes for New York City viewers.

I was able to say everything I wanted to say. Miss Walters thanked me and resumed her duties with other features of the show for that day.

Eleanor McGovern, wife of the senator, was also a guest that morning. She and I talked at length after the show went off the air. She told me how her husband, George, the former Democratic presidential candidate, had discovered some of the same values and concepts that I had learned. “It was when he studied for the ministry, before he became interested in politics,” Mrs. McGovern explained, and we chatted about her own spiritual values and beliefs. I gave her a drawing of Christ I’d done, and we exchanged addresses to keep in touch with one another.

As the production crew began putting things away, turning off lights, and putting lens caps on the cameras, I finally had time to reflect on what had happened.

“Just think,” remarked Jay, “you probably talked to twenty or thirty million people this morning about your faith. That’s quite an opportunity!”

Mr. Al Nagle, president, and Mr. John Preston, vice president, of the PaperMate Division of the Gillette Company were each watching that morning. Having noticed I was using a
Flair
pen, their company arranged several national exhibits.

Many other people watching the “Today Show” that morning wrote to me. Some wanted prints of my art work, others ordered greeting cards, and still others asked questions about my experiences.

My first exhibit sponsored by PaperMate was held in Chicago at the prestigious Rubino Galleries on LaSalle Street in the shadow of the famous John Hancock Center.

I exhibited my art and demonstrated my drawing for a week. During that time, I was interviewed by the
Chicago Tribune
and the
Sun-Times.
I also appeared on the CBS-TV affiliate in Chicago, “The Lee Phillip Show.”

When we returned home, again a flood of mail greeted me. I began to be swamped with requests for additional interviews. Art
exhibits were scheduled for Lincoln Center in New York and Atlantic Richfield Plaza in Los Angeles. Scores of churches and Christian groups contacted me to come and speak.
Women’s Day, People, Teen,
and
Coronet
magazines asked for interviews.
Campus Life
did a four-page story.
Moody Monthly
and
Christian Life
also did stories. There were more radio and TV appearances.

I could see how the Lord was going to use the “Today Show” to broaden my scope of witness and open many new doors.