Eight
Eight
Ultimate Healing
When Christ calls me Home I shall go with the gladness of a boy bounding away from school.
—Adoniram Judson
Through all the years of my paralysis, I have longed—yearned, ached, wept, and prayed—for God’s healing in my broken body.
After forty-plus years in my wheelchair, however, I had settled into the realization that in His love, sovereignty, and far-reaching, perfect, but often incomprehensible plan, He has chosen to gently but firmly say, “No, child. Not now. Not yet.”
As a result, thoughts of ultimate healing in heaven have frequently become my focus, my passion, my dream, my meditation, and my song. Healing will come, and it won’t be a halfway job. Restoration to physical wholeness will only be the tiniest fraction of His good plan and purpose for me.
Those thoughts have brought me great peace, even in the face of great trials.
In 1995 I wrote a book on heaven. Meditations on our future, forever home have been one of the principle themes of my ministry, writing, counseling, and speaking ever since.
But when that hostile, disruptive, unwelcome intruder named chronic pain came into my life a couple years ago, it came as a tormentor, mocker, and thief, robbing me of rest, peace, and the ability to do so many of those satisfying and fruitful things God had enabled me to do through the years of quadriplegia. Paint? Speak? Write? Sing? Travel? Broadcast on radio and TV? Strategic ministry planning? As of this writing, all of those activities have become infinitely more difficult. Until something changes, I honestly don’t know how much longer I will be able to continue them.
All of the old questions about physical healing—some of which I have discussed in this book—have come back to me with a fresh immediacy and flashing-red-light urgency. How can I explain it? It’s like thinking you’ve completed all the requirements and wrapped up a certain college course only to discover that you haven’t passed it at all, and that you have a major comprehensive exam immediately in front of you.
I had become “used to” paralysis, if I can put it that way. But I don’t know how in the world I can get “used to” constant, driving pain. I had learned how to cope with the hassles, hardships, and seemingly endless physical necessities and routines of quadriplegia, but I don’t know how to cope with nonstop agony. I need rescuing. I need deliverance. I need healing from this suffering. I need God to do something. As quickly as possible.
I used to dial His number at various times throughout the daylight and nighttime hours; now it’s a moment by moment 911 call to God—on speed dial.
I used to pray for grace to maximize each day; now I pray for survival.
“Quickly Psalms”
As a result of these unwanted changes in my life, I have become a great fan of what I call the “Quickly Psalms.” These are those psalms—mostly David’s—in which he not only makes his requests of God, but adds a “rush order” to them. In other words, “Lord, I’m making this request (and I know I need to wait on You), but I really don’t have a lot of leisure time to wait on Your answer. If You don’t come through pretty quickly, then You don’t have to bother with answering at all, because I will be toast!”
Just listen to the sheer urgency of these ancient cries for help, from the psalm:
But you, O LORD, be not far off;
O my Strength, come quickly to help me.…
Turn your ear to me,
come quickly to my rescue.…
Come quickly to help me,
O Lord my Savior.…
Be pleased, O Lord, to save me;
O Lord, come quickly to help me.…
Do not hide your face from your servant;
answer me quickly, for I am in trouble.
Come near and rescue me.…
Hasten, O God, to save me;
O Lord, come quickly to help me.…
Yet I am poor and needy;
come quickly to me, O God.
You are my help and my deliverer;
O Lord, do not delay.…
Be not far from me, O God;
come quickly, O my God, to help me.…
May your mercy come quickly to meet us,
for we are in desperate need.…
Do not hide your face from me
when I am in distress.
Turn your ear to me;
when I call, answer me quickly.…
O Lord, I call to you; come quickly to me.
Hear my voice when I call to you.…
Answer me quickly, O Lord;
my spirit fails.1
You gotta love it. David is saying, “Oh, won’t You hurry, Lord? Yes, I honor You for Your grace, Your provision, Your compassion, and Your deliverance. But is there any way You could maybe grease the skids just a little? Maybe send the help by FedEx priority overnight instead of by mule train?”
I like that. I like the fact that the Bible acknowledges that we will find ourselves in emergencies and times of deep distress or intense fear when we need immediate help or an emergency injection of hope directly into a main artery of our soul.
When Peter found the sea surface on which he walked suddenly more liquid than a few moments before, he uttered what may be the shortest prayer in the Bible:
But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!” (Matt. 14:30)
So yes, I’ve been uttering some Peter Prayers and Quickly Psalms of my own. My prayers for healing have come back to an urgent level—more reminiscent of those times when I was a scared teenager in a Baltimore hospital than at any time in many, many years.
But this present life crisis has had another effect as well.
It has trebled my heart’s longing for the ultimate healing that will be mine just around the corner in heaven. My friend, this is not a daydream or a pleasant diversion for me; it’s a lifeline. It’s hope. It’s sanity. It’s a place where my mind can go when it’s way too difficult to contemplate where I am.
A death wish?
Not at all. It’s a simple longing for the comfort, relief, refreshment, and joy of my Father’s house. I already have a room with my name on it, paid for, reserved, and waiting for me; Jesus told me so.
There is plenty of room for you in my Father’s home. If that weren’t so, would I have told you that I’m on my way to get a room ready for you? And if I’m on my way to get your room ready, I’ll come back and get you so you can live where I live. (John 14:2–3 MSG)
Does that still sound morbid to you? It shouldn’t.
Let me illustrate. I have friends who backpack and have described the experience to me. Now just imagine a fifty-five-pound pack on your back—the straps digging into your shoulder muscles—and a long, long hike with zigzagging switchbacks and a steep elevation gain. Now imagine that you’re on the return journey, back to the trailhead, your car, and home. The sun burns down on you, you stub your toes on roots and rocks, you’re covered with dust, scratches, and mosquito bites, your shoulders ache, your legs are beginning to feel like rubber, and you know from the small fires within your hiking boots that your blisters are making a serious statement.
Sure, you may still share some good conversation with your hiking buddies. You may still be walking through some spectacular terrain—with mountain views at every corner, wildlife in the forest glades, puffy cumulus clouds riding through a blue vault of sky, and lovely trickling streams winding through alpine meadows. It’s all very nice and pleasing to the eye, and part of your soul acknowledges every scene of beauty and gives thanks to a mighty Creator.
But mostly, you just want to go home.
You can’t wait to take the pack off your shoulders, the boots off your smoldering feet, get out of that sun that saps your energy, take a long, long drink of something cold, climb into a hot, soapy shower, and start telling your loved ones about your journey.
It’s the longing of the saints in the book of Hebrews:
These men of faith I have mentioned died without ever receiving all that God had promised them; but they saw it all awaiting them on ahead and were glad, for they agreed that this earth was not their real home but that they were just strangers visiting down here. And quite obviously when they talked like that, they were looking forward to their real home in heaven.
If they had wanted to, they could have gone back to the good things of this world. But they didn’t want to. They were living for heaven. And now God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has made a heavenly city for them. (Heb. 11:13–16 TLB)
These good people, weary and worn from long journeys, saw a city sparkling on the far horizon, and knew it for what is was: home. The only home they really desired. And they were filled with longing and pangs of homesickness for a place where they had never seen, but a place where they truly belonged.
“Happily Ever After”
All of us have special books that have been handed down to us, and I’m no exception. I’m thinking of a big red book of fairy tales that sat on a shelf in my sister’s bedroom. It had beautiful end pages, and each story was illustrated with lots of detail.
To this day, if you were to ask me what the Pied Piper looked like, I could give you an exact description—all the way down to his funny hat and pointed shoes. Even when I see twisted oak trees, I think of the color plates in that big red book of fairy tales.
And oh, what wonderful memories! I can close my eyes and hear Daddy coming upstairs in the evening to help us girls get settled in. He’d open up that book and read to Kathy and me. Hansel and Gretel … Goldilocks and the Three Bears … Little Red Riding Hood … Billy Goats Gruff. (Does anyone ever read these stories to children anymore?) They were classic stories of good and evil, and the best part was always near the end of the story.
My father’s voice would slow a little as he read those final, heartwarming words: “And they lived happily ever after.” It meant Hansel and Gretel lived, and the old witch died, Little Red Riding Hood survived, and the nasty old wolf was banished. The goats had the run of the pasture, and the old troll was never seen again. It’s wonderful to live happily ever after.
No matter how young a child is—no matter what he believes about God and heaven—every boy and girl instinctively knows what “happily ever after” means. You don’t have to teach them about it. Children seem to know, they realize that this world is full of wolves, trolls, and big bad bears. They’re aware that things aren’t quite right, that something’s wrong with the world, and we all want—we long—for that time when we will live happily ever after. When the prince will finally kiss us and we will wake up from this strange dream and enter true happiness and joy forever and ever.
Sounds rather biblical, doesn’t it?
That’s because it is.
The book of Ecclesiastes says that God has put eternity in the heart of man. We can’t exactly put our finger on it, but it’s there, all right. This itchy longing for eternity … this wanting everything to be “okay” … to live happily ever after.
That’s why faith in Jesus Christ is so satisfying, so fulfilling. For only in Christ is every longing fulfilled, every hope realized, every yearning for peace and well-being finally answered. In Christ is the culmination of that classic struggle and the defeat of all things evil, when our wonderful Savior will right every wrong, and the Prince of Peace will be our King of Kings.
There is a happy ending ahead. I can almost hear His footsteps on the stairs. Jesus, come quickly!
Conflicted?
Am I conflicted when I consider these things? Of course I am. How could it be otherwise for any of us? We have a temporary address here on this broken planet, but we’re told beyond doubt that we are citizens of another place. Not only that, but the true essence of who we are is actually seated or settled in heaven with Christ already, as it says in Colossians 3:1.
So yes, I am torn.
On one hand I want to go be with the Lord Jesus—no buts about it. I want Him to close the door on Satan and suffering. No more death, no more pain, no more sorrow, no more wheelchair, no more braces, no more leg bags. And when I read the Bible, I see tons of verses that encourage us to fix our hearts and minds on heavenly glories above. I come across verses all the time that speak about how good it is to long for Christ’s return and for heaven’s arrival.
But then! Then we come across almost as many verses that tell us to roll up our sleeves and work hard here on earth. Put your hand to the plow.… … Work, for the night is coming.… Invest your talents. And even though the apostle Paul himself desired deeply to be in heaven, he thinks twice, then says to his friends at church, “It is better that I remain.” He goes on to say, “Work out your salvation with fear and trembling. Sow seeds, shake salt, shine light, make fishers of men, spread the good news, travel to the uttermost parts of the earth. Hey: We’ve got work to do! The gospel’s got to get out there.”
The truth is, the Bible communicates both messages at the same time. And where it concerns heaven? That is where I feel the conflict. Like the apostle, I deeply, profoundly desire to go to be with Jesus. Yet on the other hand, lots of my friends, relatives, and folks in my community don’t know Christ. So I’ve got to keep my hand to the plow and work and sow seeds and shine light and not let up!
But does that mean I am not to long for the Lord’s return as urgently?
I was talking about this with my girlfriend this morning. I was telling her about the many people I know who aren’t saved. We were talking about the day-to-day labor (sometimes very heavy labor) of plowing furrows in God’s vineyard and rightfully reclaiming earth as the Lord’s. I explained to her that sometimes I feel a little conflicted that I mustn’t long too deeply or too much for heaven, because there’s so much work on earth to do.
Her answer?
She quoted Revelation 22:20 (KJV): “Even so, come, Lord Jesus.”
I looked at my friend kind of funny and then she explained. “Maybe that’s why it says ‘even so.’”
It was like a light flicked on in my mind. Yes, there’s work to do here on earth, but I don’t need to think I’m longing too much for heaven, because the Bible says “even so.” In other words, even though there’s lots of work, many to win, and much to accomplish, even in light of all those things, we are to long with all of our hearts and say “come, Lord Jesus.”
And I would add “come quickly.” (There’s that quickly word again!)
I’d like to leave you with four simple meditations on heaven from a backpacker who has it in her sights and can’t wait to take that last step off the path, emerge at trail’s end, let the pack slide from my shoulders, and step into the embrace of my Savior—be it today, tomorrow, next week, or twenty years from now.
Meditation No. 1: Too Easily Pleased?
The good things in this life are only glimpses of what lies ahead for God’s sons and daughters. The trouble is we get so caught up in the here and now that we end up being far too satisfied with the good things down on earth. We tend to forget about the better things yet to come.
C. S. Lewis has said that if we consider the unblushing promises of reward held forth in the Gospels,
It would seem that our Lord finds our desires not too strong but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling around … when infinite joy is offered to us. Like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the seashore. We are too easily pleased.
We are too easily pleased. It’s true from the time that we are children—and I can illustrate from my own experience.
Growing up in Baltimore, Maryland, the very idea of going to the mountains thrilled me. When I was young, my mom and dad announced to the family that we were about to take a trip to the Rocky Mountains. Mountains. That’s all I needed to hear. I got so excited about the idea of rock climbing. I’d always heard about the marvelous views from those big peaks. And I taxed my imagination to the limit trying to picture what it would be like to drive in the car and look straight up at the cliffs that reach the sky.
When we began our trip it took us only a day or two to arrive at the Appalachian Mountains. We stopped at lots of viewpoints, and I was thrilled at the chance to climb the hillsides. Everything looked so big and wide open—I couldn’t imagine a place more beautiful.
Bottom line: I didn’t want to go on. Why should we? I wanted to stay. I was far too easily pleased.
Continuing our journey, we descended out of the Appalachians and onto the flat plains of the Midwest. I was convinced my parents made a wrong turn. Let’s go back to the Appalachians! Who wants the Rockies? All I could see for miles around was flat as the proverbial pancake.
Ah, but I can remember the thrill to this day, seeing those magnificent Rockies rise up out of nowhere. Mountains like I’d never dreamed of before. I forgot all about the Appalachians.
Yes, we humans—so enraptured with the present, the here and now, so caught up with the things we can touch and feel and see—are far too easily pleased.
For some of us, we’ve just got to quit making mud pies down here on earth. A holiday at the seashore has been offered to us. A trip to mountains higher and more majestic than we could ever dream. And we had better realize—and start living as if—the good things on earth are only mere glimpses of marvelously better things just ahead.
Meditation No. 2: The Best of the Best
How would you describe heaven to someone who has never heard about it or read about it in God’s Word?
Sometimes when I want to paint a picture of what heaven will be like—especially for those who don’t believe in God—I borrow the words of the prophet Isaiah, letting him set the scene.
On this mountain the LORD Almighty will prepare
a feast of rich food for all peoples,
a banquet of aged wine—
the best of meats and the finest of wines.
(Isa. 25:6)
When I have read that verse from the Bible to people—particularly non-Christians—they look at me and say, “Huh?” Never in their lives have they heard such a thing. Their idea of heaven was a bunch of ghostly looking saints sitting around on clouds surrounded by angels plucking harps. They never thought heaven could be so … earthy.
Or is it heavenly?
The point Isaiah is trying to make is that heaven is rock-solid real. Much more real than anything we can see, touch, or taste on this earth.
It’s not just meat, it’s the best of meats.
It’s not just wine, it’s the finest of wines.
Everything will be far better than anything we ever experienced on earth. I tell these unbelievers, “The most beautiful, pleasurable things one could enjoy here on this planet are only hints and whispers, and omens—mere crayon scribbles on a grocery sack—of even greater, more glorious things. Pleasures on earth are just shadows of their realities in heaven.
And then I say, “I will sit down at the wedding supper of the Lord with Moses, toasting Martin Luther and King David, and giving a hug to the prophet Daniel. And I’ll look up and there walking toward me will be my dad and mother, and before you know it, we’ll break up into laughter and we will wipe our eyes and try to stop, then start laughing again, saying, ‘We’re here … they’re here … you’re here!’ And Jesus Christ will open our eyes to the great fountain of love in His heart for us, beyond all that we ever experienced on earth … and when we finally stop laughing and crying, Jesus Himself really will wipe away every one of our tears. That’s right, every one”(Rev. 21:4).
Then I will say to these unbelievers, “Are you prepared for heaven? Are you ready to meet your Maker? It’s a holy place for holy inhabitants. May I explain how you can get ready?”
Heaven’s coming, and it’s real.
And I really want you—and all my friends—to be there.
Meditation No. 3: Sown in Dishonor … Raised in Honor
There is a special ring that’s been passed down in our family. It is a beautiful, antique-cut diamond ring in a platinum setting. I possessed it for awhile a few years ago, but then went ahead and passed it on to my niece, Jayme Kay.
It’s a stunning ring—a full-karat diamond. But if you look closely, way down deep inside the translucent stone, you’ll see a tiny speck of black carbon in the stone. Now I realize it’s just a minor flaw, but it reminds me of where that diamond came from—its beginnings.
Diamonds, of course, are the hardest naturally forming material on the planet, renowned for strength, durability, and stunning beauty. The precious stone’s name is drawn from adamas, the Greek word for “invincible.”
Formed by incredible pressure and mind-boggling temperatures deep within the earth’s mantle, a diamond begins life as carbon deep inside the earth. Once mined, rough diamonds are sorted into thousands of categories according to shape, quality, and color. No two diamonds in the entire world are the same.
Every single diamond, however, begins as black carbon that eventually turns into a precious, stunning gem. Sown in dishonor, it’s something akin to black coal. Raised in honor, carbon can become a highly valuable gemstone. It’s an illustration that always makes me think of 1 Corinthians 15:42–44:
So will it be with the resurrection of the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.
What a lesson a little bit of carbon can teach us, for it serves as a model of how awesome, wondrous, and incalculably different—yet very much the same—our glorified body in heaven will be from our earthly body. Heaven is going to be so unspeakably glorious, and we will be as different and far better from what we are now as a diamond is different and far, far better than a piece of primordial black rock.
I like to meditate on that as I sit here in this wheelchair of mine. My body wasn’t all that great when I was on my feet many years ago, but it’s even worse now—what with atrophied muscles, misshapen hands and fingers, and deteriorating bones with their attendant agonies.
Now you have to understand that for me, just to have a body like yours that actually works … well, that would be fantastic. I would feel as if I were already in heaven if I could but run and walk and hold things with my hands. But the marvelous truth about 1 Corinthians 15 is that in heaven I won’t just get back my earthly body that functions in all the expected earthly ways. No, it will be a glorified body that will suit me perfectly for both the new heaven and the new earth.
I think it’s interesting that a diamond is, in its very essence, the same thing as carbon. The only difference is in how time and pressure create an entirely new substance. (Although, as I said, it is one and the same as the black lump of dirty stuff from which it came.) In the same way, my friend, my heavenly body will be a new and improved version of this old one in which I now reside. The only difference is how time and pressure (a lot of pressure) will change this earthly garment into something so bright, so precious, so perfect, so multifaceted, that it will shine like a star in the night sky.
Meditation No. 4: Ultimate Fulfillment
Sitting in a wheelchair for over four decades has loaded me with a lifetime of memories of what it was like to be on my feet—everything from feeling my fingers on the cool keys of a piano to diving through the breakers at high tide to peeling an orange to holding the hand of someone I love.
These memories flood every nerve and fiber of my being … and ignite my imagination. Whatever it is I have lost here on earth, whether it be the ability to hold things or feel things, or to run or to walk—whatever it is I have lost, it will all be regained in heaven. And not just “regained”! Even the best memories of walking and running and swimming and riding a horse—why, these are whispers and faded newspaper images of how much more I will have in heaven.
And our relationship with our Savior? Oh, it will be much, much more. It had better be! Because the whisper of every good thing on earth will find completeness and fulfillment in heaven. I will do so much more than peel an orange or touch a flower or run across a meadow. Those are good things and treasured memories. But they are only hints and promises of more wonderful things yet to be fulfilled. Yes, I certainly love the Lord Jesus on earth. But in heaven? In His physical presence? Wow. I will love Him as purely and perfectly and as completely as He loves me. I can’t even begin to imagine how wonderful that will be, but the Bible promises me that one day in heaven, the earthly Joni will step into the glorious Joni God intended me to be.
The best thing about heaven will not be running or walking, touching or holding. The best thing about heaven will be a pure heart no longer weighed down by sin and selfishness. And I can say that from this wheelchair. Glorified bodies? Hey, bring it on. But a pure, glorified heart? That’s the best!
A Dream of Heaven
I dreamed of heaven the other night.
In the dream I was on my feet, not in a wheelchair. I don’t have those sorts of dreams often, but when I do, it’s a delight.
Actually, I had been reading the book of Revelation, the part about God wiping away our tears. I had been thinking about the marvelous thought that, one day, it will be God’s responsibility—not my friends’, not my husband’s, not the angels’, it won’t even be my responsibility—and pleasure to wipe away my tears.
Anyway, in this dream I was sitting at my old piano—the same old black baby grand piano in my parents’ living room. Before my paralyzing accident I had taken ten years of piano lessons on that old thing. Unlike some kids who hate taking piano lessons, I loved it.
In my dream I couldn’t see myself sitting on the piano bench; all I could see were my hands. I was watching myself playing a piece by Schumann, a favorite of mine called “Romanze.” It is the loveliest piece he composed for the piano. And here’s what was amazing: I knew that as I was playing, it had been years since my accident. And I wondered as I was sitting there watching myself play, How am I able to remember this? It’s been ages since I played this thing!
But the miracle in my dream was that my hands and fingers had memorized all the movements on the keys, all the chords, all the runs, where one bar of music led to the next. My fingers knew it all, and I just sat there, playing and smiling. I can’t tell you how delightful it was.
I woke up astounded and I wondered immediately if, in fact, those were the correct notes and chords for that piece in my dream. Somehow, I wouldn’t put it past my brain to remember it all. It’s a little like memorizing Scripture, isn’t it? Or maybe an old hymn. You commit it to memory, practice it by heart, over and over, and just when you think you’ve forgotten it, it pops up.
Oh friend, heaven will be wonderful. The sights, the sounds, the people, the things we’ll do, the places we’ll explore, the friends we’ll make, the kingdom we’ll rule, the fun things we’ll learn, the joy of being with our God, the happy-hearted praise we’ll give our Savior, the angels, the heavenly hosts. And music? Just imagine following the river of music to its very source, the very headwaters, where it bubbles up out the bedrock of heaven in an artesian fountain!
Yes, I dreamed a dream, then woke up back here on earth with all the pain and pressure of another day.
It reminds me of a story someone told me about a man on his deathbed. His pastor had been sitting with him, holding his hand, keeping him company. The dying man had fallen asleep for a moment, and when he opened his eyes, he said, “Is that you, pastor?”
“Yes, it’s me,” the minster answered. “I’m still here with you.”
“Oh,” the man moaned. “I’m so disappointed! I thought I was going to see Jesus, and it’s just you!”
Soon, however, the man slipped away from his earthly life. And we can have no doubt at all that when he opened his eyes that next time, he wasn’t disappointed at all.
Far from it!