Joni

by Joni Eareckson Tada

“Tell him I’ll be out in awhile. Just give me a minute to wake up.” Being a late riser, this was the time I usually woke in the morning.

  Jay went into the other room and chatted pleasantly for a moment or two, then excused herself to come and help me get up, dressed, and ready for the new day.

  “Good morning!” I said cheerfully a half-hour later when Jay wheeled me into the other room.

  “Hi!” Donald said. He bounded out of the chair and came toward me. “Hope I’m not intruding—but you did invite me, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I invited you. My day usually starts around this time, so you’re not intruding.”

  Donald began to talk. When he stopped for breath, it was noon. I hadn’t had breakfast and was hungry, but he showed no signs of ending the visit.

  “Donald, would you like to stay for lunch?” I asked.

  “Hey, I’d love to—if it’s no bother.”

  Jay prepared a lunch and listened while we talked. Actually, I did most of the listening too. I learned about Donald, his family, how he met the Lord, all about his work among the young black kids in Pimlico, and his ideas for Christian service.

  “Donald, would you like to stay for dinner?” asked Jay later.

  “Hey, I’d love to—if it’s no bother.”

  We talked through dinner and finally, after dinner, Donald rose to leave.

  “Can I come back to see you?” he asked.

  “Uh—well,” I hesitated, thinking he might be at the door in the morning again. “Tomorrow I have classes at college.”

  “Let me take you.”

  “Uh—that’s okay, Donald. Thanks, but Jay usually takes me. She knows my routine and needs.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ve really enjoyed this visit. Let’s do it again.”

  “I’d like that.”

  The next day, he met us outside the school and spent the remainder of the day with us. At first, I was a little put off by what seemed an overbearing approach. But by the third day (when he came to the ranch again), I was beginning to like him.

  At the next Young Life leadership session, he was there, smiling, handsome, and personable. During the course of the evening, Diana and I got into a friendly but heated discussion over some theological insignificance, and many of the younger people there chose sides and joined in. Yet, Donald seemed to withdraw. That was strange, since there were several new Christians at the study. I was sure he would speak up and end the confusion that Diana and I had raised in our debate.

  Finally, the study ended. Donald rose and said to me, “Joni, before you turn in tonight, look up 2 Timothy 2:14 and read it. I think it’ll really speak to your heart.”

  Then he left.

  Excitedly, I looked for my Bible. “Hey, great! Why didn’t he tell me about this verse before?” I said, thinking it was a verse to help me convince Diana that I was right. Someone found the verse and read it to me: “Remind your people of things like this, and tell them as before God not to fight wordy battles, which help no one and may undermine the faith of some who hear them.”

  I was stunned by the impact of that truth and convicted that we had argued about such a trifle that evening. Most of all, though, I felt bad about my own immaturity.

  However, the other side of the coin immediately became clear to me. I was impressed with Donald’s maturity, sensitivity, and wisdom. I saw in him a man of authority, and he became more and more attractive to me. I thought of him often during the next few days.

  At our next meeting, we exchanged greetings and immediately shared how much each of us was beginning to mean to the other.

  “Joni, before I became a Christian, where I come from it’s every man for himself—dog eat dog, y’know? I’ve been in Christian circles for several years now, though. But, it’s funny—I’ve never experienced people showing love before. I’m really attracted to you.”

  “I like you too, Donald. No one’s ever come to me before and started a friendship so easily. Usually they’re put off by my chair. It takes a while to get past my handicap. When they get to know me, they forget the chair. But with you—well, it’s like you never saw the chair in the first place.”

  “Joni, I don’t know—I guess it’s my background—but I can’t cover my feelings and emotions. I won’t try to hide behind some jive talk or hypocrisy. I won’t ever con you,” he told me.

  “I’m glad you don’t beat around the bush. I like it when a person isn’t afraid to say what’s on his mind,” I replied.

  We saw a great deal of each other in the weeks and months that followed. Before summer ended, Donald took me to Ocean City. He stood beside my wheelchair on the boardwalk as we inhaled the fresh, salty ocean air and soaked in the sounds of gulls and waves crashing.

  Old memories returned—the feel of sand between my toes and the exhilarating wetness of the surf splashing over me in the water. I sighed and sat in my chair, prepared to watch Don swim for my vicarious enjoyment.

  But suddenly, seeming to sense my mood, he began pushing me off the boardwalk into the sand. The wheels bogged down, but he was strong and virtually plowed furrows toward the wet sand near the water’s edge. Here it was packed, and traction was easier.

  Donald didn’t stop! He plunged ahead with a controlled recklessness until I was all the way out in the water—up to my legs.

  “Don-aid! What are you doing?” I screamed. The wheelchair was completely into the rolling surf. I was both shocked and thrilled at the impromptu excitement.

  People on the beach looked at this ridiculous sight, uncertain as to whether they should intervene and stop this “madman” who was “trying to drown the poor crippled girl.” My laughter and obvious enjoyment reassured them, however, and they returned to their own preoccupations.

  Donald picked me up and carried me out into the breakers. I couldn’t feel it, but I knew my heart was pounding madly.

  After this Ocean City experience, I was floating on air. Donald made me feel “normal” for the first time since my accident. The wheelchair was no object to get in his way—there was no pity or uncomfortable, awkward uncertainty. He treated me as he would any woman he liked. He was strong, but always gentle, giving me assurance. I knew he’d never let anything happen to me.

  Donald also made me feel attractive, feminine. For the first time since my accident, I felt like a woman—appealing to someone who saw qualities of beauty in me.

  As the season changed, Donald took me on picnics and trail hikes. He’d push my wheelchair as far as he could on the trail. When the path narrowed too much, he’d simply fold up the chair, pick me up, and carry me to the top of the hill. There he’d spread out a blanket, and we’d have a picnic lunch and view the scenic beauty.

  We’d talk for hours, sharing God’s Word and what each of us had learned through our individual Christian experiences. These were romantic, enjoyable, spiritual times. And each one brought us closer together.

  I began to worry about my growing deep affection for Donald and where such feelings might lead me. I knew I had to guard against becoming too involved, too close, guard against caring too much for him. Anything more than a “platonic” relationship would be out of the question.

  By the spring of 1971, we were spending a great deal of time together. He often took me with him to his work on the street. As I watched him minister to the kids, I was even more impressed with him as a person. His strengths made him a dominant individual in every situation he faced. He was confident without being domineering.

  Against my better judgment, I was allowing myself to become even closer to him, allowing strong emotional ties.

  One day as I was outside drawing a picture in the warm, spring sunlight, Donald leaned over and said softly, “Joni, I love you.”

  Caught up in the creative and spiritual expressions of my drawing, I said, “I love you too, Donald,” with the same inflection I’d use in saying. “Yes, you’re a good friend too, Donald.”

  “Joni, I don’t think you understand—” he paused and look
ed intently into my eyes. “Joni—I’m falling in love with you!”

  He bent down to take my face in his hands and kiss me. I was frightened. I couldn’t kiss him without weighing the importance of my actions. A kiss from another woman might be just a casual display of affection. But for me, in a wheelchair, it called for mutual commitment. I didn’t want to impose such a commitment on Donald without letting him think through the consequences.

  “Look, Donald, this is—”

  “But I love you.”

  “I—I don’t know.” I was afraid. A relationship based on anything but friendship would be out of the question. “You—uh—we’re not able to handle it.”

  As confident and self-assured as Donald was with me, I felt deep inside that even he could not ultimately deal with the complications my paralysis presented.

  Later, I mentioned the episode to Diana and Jay. As I shared my emotional feelings, they both became overprotective and guarded.

  “I don’t think you should get serious with Donald,” urged Jay. “You’ll both get hurt.”

  “Joni,” added Diana, “I know he’s sincere and doesn’t take advantage of you. I know he’s good to be with, and I can tell he really likes you. But love? Wow, that’s something else altogether. Be careful. Please be careful.”

  CHAPTER 13

  That same summer I had met Don, Diana had met and fallen in love with a young man named Frank Mood. Diana and Frank were married in June, 1971, and moved into a house near our family ranch in Sykesville. About the same time, Jay invited me to come and live with her at the family ranch. Jay lived in the two-hundred-year-old stone and timber building that had once been slaves’ quarters well over a century ago, and that dad had remodeled. It was a quaint, two-bedroom cottage on a knoll overlooking the picturesque river valley. Living at the ranch would mean that I could spend time with Jay, Diana and Frank, or Kathy and Butch, and they all would share in caring for my needs.

  When it was decided I would live with Jay, dad added a wing to her house. It was a big room, planned for the same kind of traffic and entertainment of friends as the house in Woodlawn. In the corner was a beautiful fireplace. The outside walls had picture windows to let in light and scenic beauty. The inner walls were lined with wood paneling he made by hand. The center of the big room was dominated by a huge oak dining-conference table where all our activities seemed to center.

  I had loved the ranch as a girl; I loved it even more now. It brought a sense of tranquillity and beauty into my life.

  Donald liked the ranch too, and he spent more and more of his time there with me. Together we took trips to Ocean City, went on picnics, on hiking trips in the hills, and other outings. I never worried about going anywhere with him because I knew he could handle any emergency. He was strong enough to carry me by himself; he helped me eat and drink; he emptied my leg bag, and he could position me in my chair.

  I was relaxed and at ease with him. He was never put off by the physical aspects of my handicap and never bothered by the wheelchair itself. He treated me normally; he joked, played, challenged, and provoked me as he would if I were not paralyzed.

  If anyone can handle the physical and psychological problems of my handicap, Donald can, I thought. The possibility of a man coming into my life, not as a brother in Christ, but as a romantic interest, both frightened and excited me.

  Diana and Jay again warned me not to get romantically involved with Donald. Later, Diana told me of a similar “Dutch uncle” talk she had had with Donald on the same subject.

  “Donald, I want you to know that Jay and I are concerned about what’s happening with you and Joni,” Diana had cautioned.

  “Concerned?” he asked.

  “Yes. You’re getting too serious. Have you thought about what this means to Joni?”

  “Yes, I have,” Donald replied. “I’ve thought very seriously about what’s happening. I wouldn’t lead her on if I weren’t serious. Diana, I’m falling in love with Joni.”

  “But—Donald—uh—usually when two people fall in love, they make plans to marry and spend the rest of their lives together.”

  “Yes, I know. Diana, I know all the problems. I’ve thought and prayed about all the problems of such a relationship. I know the consequences if we’d get married. But I can handle it. I’d marry her now if she’d have me!”

  When Diana shared her conversation with me, she still wasn’t sure. “Joni, I’m really happy for you—but—”

  “I know, Diana,” I reassured her. “I’m filled with mixed emotions too. On one hand, I’m sure I love him, and I believe, really believe, that if anyone can handle such a marriage, Donald can. On the other hand, I think it’s probably impossible for anyone to cope with it. I—I guess it’s that doubt I want to protect myself from.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Yes, I guess I do. It’s scary. But, y’know, I like it!”

  As our love grew, I kept weighing the significance of such a relationship.

  “We’re talking about a terribly important commitment, Donald,” I said one day as we were driving to a softball game.

  “I know. But we’re able to handle it, Joni. We’re both independent and resourceful spirits. We can do it.”

  “But marriage—”

  “Is no more out of the question than anything else. I could take care of you—bathe you, fix meals, clean the house. We could get a mobile home so everything is compact and easy to handle. When we can afford it, we could get something better—maybe even some cleaning and cooking help. Meanwhile, I could do it. I could take care of you.”

  We pulled into the park and stopped near the ball diamond. “But I could never really be happy not being able to serve you fully as a woman. I want to fix you meals, care for your needs. I want to be able to express my love and tenderness fully as a woman.”

  “Well, I’m a liberated male, I guess. My cooking and caring for you won’t detract from my masculinity. And as for sex, well—I’ve heard it said that it’s overrated,” he smiled. “Don’t worry, Joni. Sex isn’t that important. I can handle it.”

  I was unsure. I felt that sex was, indeed, an important part of marriage. But as I weighed the problem, I thought, Perhaps Donald is right. After all, if he says he can cope with the problems, I believe him. I’ve learned to trust his judgment. I also recalled the lectures given to paraplegics and quadriplegics at Rancho Los Amigos during my rehabilitation there. Doctors instructed us on the possibility of lovemaking—even the fact of being able to have children. Our bodies being paralyzed only meant we had no physical feelings; function was not impaired.

  “But you know—I can’t feel anything,” I reminded Donald. “I don’t think that I could really be free to satisfy you. I’d feel trapped by my body, not able to express love and tenderness in ways that would meet your needs. We’d both be turned off by a lifetime of mutual frustration!”

  “I said it’s not important.” Then he took my chair out and lifted me into it, continuing, “People live with worse problems. Besides, we’ll work it out.”

  “I—I don’t know. I suppose. If you tell me that you can handle that kind of a marriage, I guess I believe you. I—I suppose I could commit myself to you.”

  Donald smiled tenderly and nodded. Oblivious to the players on the ball diamond, he bent his face toward me in a kiss. This time, I felt his gesture was rich with mutual commitment and meaning. And this time, I returned his kiss with the deep feelings of giving and trust. My head swam with emotion and excitement as he wheeled me toward the bleachers.

  This is too good to be true! I thought. Donald came into my life at exactly the time Diana, my best friend, is going out of my life for marriage and a family of her own.

  God had brought me someone who really cared about me; someone who sincerely believed in the idea that we could spend the rest of our lives together.

  “This is God’s highest plan for me,” I reasoned with Jay when I returned home that evening. “It’s that ‘most excellent thing’ H
e has reserved for my life! After all these years of patience, in accepting my lot as a handicapped person—and especially an unmarried person—God is now rewarding my patience and trust. Donald is the answer to my prayers!”

  I was deliriously happy. Even when I was on my feet, I’d never been this happy. We both talked excitedly about sharing our lives together, about serving Christ together.

  As I thought of this and what God’s will on the matter was, I looked to Scripture. Everywhere I turned, verses leaped from the pages to confirm my thoughts.

  “No good thing will the Lord withhold from those who walk uprightly.

  “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above.

  “Donald is my ‘good thing,’ my ‘perfect gift’ from the Lord,” I told Jay.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, Joni. Don’t read in more than is there.”

  I wrote a song expressing my thoughts and gave the poem to Donald:

  I woke up this morning to the sight of light—

  bright, yellow, mellow—

  and I thought it only right

  To praise my God for morning—and you.

  Lying here, teasing my mind with sleep in mist-muted colors—

  Smiling, I keep on

  Praising my God for the evening—and you.

  A trail of thoughts giving way to dreams of past and future—

  that finally it seems that I

  Praise my God for the present—and you!

  I was so happy. I’d never imagined anyone would love me as a woman while I was in the chair. I suppose that’s why I was so thrilled and excited when it really happened.

  Just before Christmas that year, Donald and I had our first argument. We’d been spending a lot of time together, and I began to become possessive. I was even upset when he had to work. I wanted to spend all my time with him; I wanted his life to center around me.

  When pretty, young girls from church or youth groups came to visit, I was jealous when he laughed and chatted with them. I became envious that I wasn’t on my feet to compete for his attention.