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Human Suffering and Heaven’s Hope | Part 2

Truth in Love 178

Affliction has taught me a more lively delight in and adoration of God.

Dale Johnson: This week on the podcast, I’m joined by Joni Eareckson Tada, and Joni needs no introduction to many of you. The Lord has used her life in so many ways around the world. Joni is the founder of Joni and Friends International, an organization that ministers to those who are disabled around the world. She has lived a life of consistent and faithful ministry to the Lord Jesus, demonstrating that joy can be had even in deep human suffering. Joni, today we’re delighted that you’re here to share with us about some of that suffering and the ways that God, through His Word and through His promises, has given you hope and the ability to live with joy in this life.

We have a tendency to want to do everything we can to avoid this thing categorized as suffering. The Bible teaches us that Jesus learned through suffering. I know this will be difficult, but can you narrow down maybe two or three things that the Lord has taught you through suffering? 

Joni Eareckson Tada: I was just telling Him the other night in prayer. I was just saying to Him, “Oh, Jesus. Thank you for being obedient in your suffering, because that is providing me the grace to be obedient in mine.” Isn’t that a nice way to pray? “Thank you, Jesus, because your patience has taught me. It’s given me the grace to be patient as well.”

I carry around in me this wonderful stillness. It says, “Be still and know that I am God.” There’s a big part of me that is always still. I may be rushing through a busy day, but there is a large part of me that isn’t. I’m paralyzed. I’m in a wheelchair. There is instant stillness. I come off a plane. I sit by the luggage carousel and baggage claim and I sit. I can’t rush and hail a cab. I can’t grab a luggage cart. I can’t take my suitcases off the carousel. I can’t do that stuff, but I sit and I think. My affliction has taught me wonderful things about being still before God, being patient, and letting go of it.

Through the practical inabilities, the physical inabilities to do stuff—grab luggage, hail a cab, reach for a luggage cart—these practical lessons have spilled over into beautiful emotional lessons. In a disagreement with my husband, do I really want to die on this mountain? Nah, not worth it. It’s like sitting there and letting somebody else get the luggage cart. I don’t need to win this one.

It’s surprising how much that happens, how, when you allow a physical affliction to force you into some physical lessons like patience and stillness and quietness before Him, it enables you to let go of an awful lot of other things that involve relationships. My relationship with my husband is so much more sweet because of this disability. It’s made us both patient.

Another lesson is prayer, because I have a lot of time. I have to lay down at around 7 o’clock at night because I can’t tolerate sitting up in a wheelchair past that and I refuse to look at television, especially Fox News or CNN. I can’t do that. There I am in bed for about three hours before it’s time to actually turn out the lights and go to sleep. What am I going to do with that time? Well, there’s my audio version of the Bible. There are audio books that are great like Jeremiah Burrows and Thomas Owen. And I mean, I pray. I use that time to pray and I sing to the Lord Jesus. I’ve got three hours of paralyzed stillness in bed, which could feel a little claustrophobic, but I look at it as an altar of praise to God. It’s three hours lying still, gravity is my enemy, paralyzed, and I can commune with the Lord.

Oh my goodness. All these things are wonderful things that my wheelchair has afforded me. I know I wouldn’t use my three hours before bedtime doing that were I on my feet. I’d be doing the third load of laundry. I’d be putting the second kid to bed. I’d be emptying the dishwasher and folding the towels for tomorrow morning. And I’m not. I’m lying there enjoying Jesus. What a wonderful thing.

Mind you, I could have said things like, “My affliction has taught me to be conformed to the image of Christ and given me a greater depth of prayer. It’s pushed me into God’s Words, developed a greater capacity to appreciate hardships of others who hurt.” But more than that, it’s gained me a closer enjoyment of Him. A more lively delight and adoration of Him. That kind of transcends lessons.

Not to say lessons, the things we learned from affliction, are mechanistic and inert and static, but rather than the 16 good biblical reasons as to why all this happened to me, I would say it’s made me fall in love with Jesus more and it has also made me hate the sins that nailed my Savior to the cross. It’s made me want to be transformed by His Holy Spirit so that I can be more like Him and enjoy Him and delight Him. It gives me pleasure to know that I might be that person that Jesus delights in. To be His favorite one. “This is my chosen servant in whom I greatly delight.” Sometimes I hear Him say that to me when I’m lying in bed at night. Oh my goodness, I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

Dale Johnson: Yeah, that’s a beautiful thought to think about how the Lord would use our lowly lives to bring delight to Himself. One final question I wanted to finish with. At ACBC, we want to see people delight in God the way that you’re describing, and there’s some key truths that you’re describing that I think are important for us as we grow as counselors to minister to families who live with the challenges of disabilities. Can you give us a few helpful tips and key truths from God’s Word that would help us as counselors to minister well to those families who face the challenges of physical disabilities and suffering?

Joni Eareckson Tada: James 1:12 talks about a crown that awaits those who endure trial. You can’t endure a trial by yourself. It’s impossible. God created spiritual community because He doesn’t want any of us to suffer alone. When you have a disability in your family, if you’re a special needs family, you cannot do it alone. To help you endure, you need the body of Christ. You need people supporting you, loving you, and helping you. It won’t happen unless the body of Christ practices Christianity with its sleeves rolled up. That’s why Jesus says, “Go out, find the disabled, and bring them in. Do this so that my Father’s house might be full.”

Maybe the rest of the world neglects or overlooks or passes by those with significant disabilities, people in nursing homes, people with difficult autoimmune disorders who are bedridden, and people whose husbands abandon them and because of multiple sclerosis they have nowhere else to turn, so they live in county hospitals. My heart breaks for them and this is why I think the church needs to help these people endure, because I don’t want them to miss the crown that awaits them, but it can’t be done solo. It’s got to be through the support, love, help, and the biblical input from Christians who care.