Epilogue
Epilogue
“Wouldn’t it be exciting if right now, in front of you, I could be miraculously healed, get up out of my chair and on my feet? What a miracle! We’d all be excited and praising God. It’d be something we could confirm for ourselves. We’d actually see the wonder and power of God. Wouldn’t that be thrilling?” I was speaking to an audience of 1,600 young people.
I paused as they visualized that scene. Then I continued, “But far more exciting and wonderful in the long run would be the miracle of your salvation—the healing of your own soul. You see, that’s more exciting because that’s something that will last forever. If my body were suddenly and miraculously healed, I’d be on my feet another thirty or forty years; then my body dies. But a soul lives for eternity. From the standpoint of eternity, my body is only a flicker in the time-span of forever.”
Afterwards, someone asked me, “Do you suppose you were so strong-willed and stubborn that the only way God could work in your life was to ‘zap’ you and put you in a wheelchair?”
I shook my head. “In the Psalms we’re told that God does not deal with us according to our sins and iniquities. My accident was not a punishment for my wrongdoing—whether or not I deserved it. Only God knows why I was paralyzed. Maybe He knew I’d be ultimately happier serving Him. If I were still on my feet, it’s hard to say how things might have gone. I probably would have drifted through life—marriage, maybe even divorce—dissatisfied and disillusioned. When I was in high school, I reacted to life selfishly and never built on any long-lasting values. I lived simply for each day and the pleasure I wanted—and almost always at the expense of others.”
“But now you’re happy?” a teenage girl asked.
“I really am. I wouldn’t change my life for anything. I even feel privileged. God doesn’t give such special attention to everyone and intervene that way in their lives. He allows most people to go right on in their own ways. He doesn’t interfere, even though He knows they are ultimately destroying their lives, health, or happiness, and it must grieve Him terribly. I’m really thankful He did something to get my attention and change me. You know, you don’t have to get a broken neck to be drawn to God. But the truth is, people don’t always listen to the experiences of others and learn from them. I hope you’ll learn from my experience, though, and not have to go through the bitter lessons of suffering that I had to face in order to learn.”
In the months after the Chicago trip, I began to see the chair as a tool to create an unusual classroom situation. It was particularly gratifying to see many young people commit themselves to Christ after my sharing with them. This too was “something better.”
I understood why Paul could “rejoice in suffering,” why James could “welcome trials as friends,” and why Peter did “not think it strange in the testing of your faith.” All of these pressures and difficulties had ultimate positive ends and resulted in “praise, honor, and glory” to Christ.
I quietly thanked God for the progress He had helped me make. I recalled how at the hospital a few years earlier someone had told me, “Just think of all the crowns you’ll receive in heaven for your suffering.”
“I don’t want any crowns,” I had barked back. “I want to be back on my feet.”
Now my thought was, “Good grief, if I’m winning crowns, I can’t wait to get more because it’s the one thing I can give to the Lord Jesus Christ when I meet Him.”
I am actually excited at these opportunities “to suffer for His sake” if it means I can increase my capacity to praise God in the process. Maybe it sounds glib or irresponsible to say that. Yet, I really do feel my paralysis is unimportant.
Circumstances have been placed in my life for the purpose of cultivating my character and conforming me to reflect Christlike qualities. And there is another purpose. Second Corinthians 1:4 explains it in terms of our being able to comfort others facing the same kinds of trials.
Wisdom is trusting God, not asking “Why, God?” Relaxed and in God’s will, I know He is in control. It is not a blind, stubborn, stoic acceptance, but getting to know God and realize He is worthy of my trust. Although I am fickle and play games, God does not; although I have been up and down, bitter and doubting, He is constant, ever-loving.
James, the apostle, wrote to people who were being torn apart by lions. Certainly their lot was far worse than mine. If this Word was sufficient for their needs, it can definitely meet mine.
At this writing, the year 1975 is just ending. I am sitting in my chair backstage at a large auditorium in Kansas City. I’ve been asked to speak to nearly 2,000 kids in a Youth for Christ rally tonight.
I have had several moments to pause and reflect behind the heavy curtains that separate me from the audience. My mind has roamed back through the scenes of the past eight years. Familiar faces of family and friends come to mind. Jay, Diana, Dick, Donald, my parents, Steve—people God has brought into my life to help bend and mold me more closely to Christ’s image. I can, and do, praise Him for it all—the laughter and the tears, the fun and the pain. All of it has been a part of “growing in grace.” The girl who became emotionally distraught and wavered at each new set of circumstances is now grown up, a woman who has learned to rely on God’s sovereignty.
I hear the voice of YFC director Al Metsker introducing me. Suddenly the purpose of my being here is once again brought sharply into focus. In the next thirty minutes, I will speak to 2,000 kids, telling them how God transformed an immature and headstrong teenager into a self-reliant young woman who is learning to rejoice in suffering. I will have a unique opportunity. What I share with them may determine where they will spend eternity, so I approach this responsibility seriously.
I will talk to them about the steps God took in my life—and explain His purposes, as I understand them, to the present. In the process, I will share the concepts of God’s loving nature, His character, the purposes of Christ’s coming, and the reality of sin and repentance.
Al Metsker, the YFC director, is finishing his introduction now. Chuck Garriott carries my easel on stage while his wife, Debbie, wheels my chair into the glare of the footlights. As the applause dies down, I quiet my thoughts and pray for the Holy Spirit to once again use my words and experience to speak to people. Hopefully, here—as in other meetings—scores of kids will respond to God. But I will be pleased if only one person is drawn to Christ.
Even one person would make the wheelchair worth all that the past eight years have cost.