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One hot July afternoon in 1967, I dove into a shallow lake and my life changed forever. I suffered a spinal cord fracture that left me paralyzed from the neck down, without use of my hands and legs. Lying in my hospital bed, I tried desperately to make sense of the horrible turn of events. I begged friends to assist me in suicide. Slit my wrists, dump pills down my throat, anything to end my misery!
And questions! I had so many. I believed in God, but I was angry with Him. If God is supposed to be all-loving and all-powerful, then how could what happened be a demonstration of His love and power? Surely He could have stopped it from happening. How can permanent, lifelong paralysis be a part of His loving plan for me? Unless I found answers, I didn’t see how this God could be worthy of my trust.
Steve, a friend of mine, took on my questions. He pointed me to Christ.
‘Joni, whose will was the cross?’ he asked. All those good Sunday School lessons spun through my head and I answered,
‘God’s will, of course.’
Yet he showed me how the devil entered into Judas to betray Jesus, how the devil incited the mob and inspired Pilate to hand down mock justice. Heaven and hell had participated in the exact same event that day, each for its own reasons.
But because God aborts devilish schemes to accomplish His own ends, the world’s worst murder became the world’s only salvation. Through the cross, the floodgates of heaven opened wide for all. That’s why we wear this curious emblem of execution around our necks. Jesus changed its meaning. No longer a symbol of death, it has become a symbol of hope and victory.
Steve helped me see that heaven and hell participated in my accident, too. When I took the reckless dive that made me a quadriplegic, the devil probably thought, I have shipwrecked this girl’s faith and dashed all her dreams. But God’s purpose was probably to turn a stubborn kid into a woman who would reflect patience, endurance and a lively, optimistic hope of heavenly glories above.
In this intensely personal tug-of-war, who gets the glory and whose motive is brought to fulfillment is entirely my choice. For example, my wheelchair used to symbolize for me alienation and confinement. But God has exchanged its meaning because I’ve trusted in Him. Today this wheelchair symbolizes my independence. It’s a choice I made, and one that anyone can make.
I wouldn’t dare list 16 biblical reasons why this accident happened to me. But in the 34 years since it happened, I have discovered many good things that have come from my disability. I used to think happiness was a Friday night date, a size 12 dress, and a future with Ethan Allen furniture and 2.5 children. Today I know better. What matters is love: warm, deep, real, personal love with a neighbour, a husband, a sister, an aunt, a nurse or an attendant. It’s people who count.
And I live with the heightened awareness that even better things are coming. The good things in this life are only a foreshadowing of more glorious, grand things ready to burst on the scene when we walk into the other side of eternity.
The words of this song capture the thrilling perspective that I have come to know in the years since my accident:
I rejoice with him whose pain my Saviour heals.
And I weep with him who still his anguish feels.
But earthly joys and earthly tears are confined to earthly years,
And greater good, the Word of God reveals.
In this life we have a cross that we must bear.
It’s just a tiny part of Jesus’ death that we can share.
And one day we’ll lay it down, ’cause He’s promised us a crown
To which our suffering can never be compared.
That’s why Heaven is nearer to me, and at times it is all I can see.
Sweet music I hear, coming down to my ear,
And I know that it’s playing for me.
For I am Christ the Saviour’s own bride,
And redeemed I shall stand by His side.
He will say, “Shall we dance?� and our endless romance
Will be worth all the tears I have cried.
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