8 minute read
Joni and Friends: Victim or Victor?
BY JONI EARECKSON TADA
“I am the victim of a terrible diving accident,” I said in a flat and factual way to the lawyer. “It has left me completely paralyzed from the shoulders down.”
Our family attorney quietly jotted copious notes as I droned on. I was numb and hurting. I didn’t flinch at all at the idea of making Maryland Beach, Inc. pay. As far as I was concerned, it was their fault the water was too shallow.
I was insistent on making my accident everybody else’s fault. I wanted everyone to pay. My physical therapist owed me time off if I didn’t want to go to PT. Vocational rehab owed me a better case manager. And I really pushed the victimization thing at home: “You were the ones who brought me into this world. It’s all your fault, Mom and Dad!”
Looking back, most of my anger and depression was rooted in seeing myself as a victim – as an innocent bystander drawn into a terrible tragedy. A culture of comfort encourages an entitlement frame of mind, so we feel swindled if life is anything less than a bed of roses.
People feel victimized in their marriages or from abusive childhoods, violent crime, or unfair employment practices. Many have convinced themselves that someone else should either pay for the damages owed them or take responsibility for their lives. People who choose to see themselves as victims choose self-pity.
Back in the late 60s, after I became paralyzed in that diving accident, I was stuck in self-pity. But you can only sit in a corner feeling sorry for yourself for so long. Sooner or later, my heart longed to be free of the suffocating effects of depression and self-focus. After a year of trying to adjust to life in a wheelchair, I began to tire of the blame game.
One day in occupational therapy, I was confronted with the devastating effects of my self-centeredness.
They wheeled in a young ventilatordependent quadriplegic named Tom. He had suffered a high-level spinal injury from a motorcycle accident, leaving him paralyzed from his cervical spinal vertebrae on down (C 3-4 quad). He sat rigid and upright in a bulky, oversized wheelchair. Still new to his disability, he had not yet been fitted with a puff-and-sip device to steer his chair. I watched as an aide wheeled him in front of a small table-top easel.
My occupational therapist approached Tom with a mouth stick, giving him the same speech she had given me two weeks earlier. “Since you can no longer use your arms, you will need to use this stick between your teeth to type and turn pages.” I hadn’t taken the bite--I had spat out the mouth stick and insisted, “I’m not like other disabled people. I’m going to get back use of my hands!”
Most of the time in OT, I had sat in the corner and watched everyone else. By the time Tom arrived on the scene, I was ready to make a change – I was tired of being inactive. So I watched closely as this young quad –much more functionally limited than I – reached for the mouth stick. Will he spit it out? I wondered. He didn’t.
Tom slowly scrawled the letters of the alphabet on a paper tablet on the easel. It took him almost 30 minutes to write all the letters with his mouth. As he completed each letter, I felt more shame over my peevish attitude. I was so embarrassed, watching this courageous fellow moving forward into life.
Tom’s courage convinced me that I needed to leave behind feelings of self-pity. I needed to quit looking at myself as a helpless victim. I may not have been responsible for the unexpected sandbar that concealed the shallow water, but I was responsible for my response to the accident. I may have been unable to control the circumstances surrounding my accident, but I could control my attitude.
Still, I needed guidance to pull myself out of depression. I sought the advice of a young friend from church. Steve didn’t know anything about pushing wheelchairs, but he knew I needed help… and he wanted to make a difference. His hospital visits became fascinating discussions over what the Bible had to say about depression and self-pity.
“Look,” I said to Steve one day, “there’s no way I can face a life of total paralysis with a happy attitude. It’s just too much, too big.”
He had a wise and ready reply: “I couldn’t agree more. It is too much to ask. And god doesn’t ask it of you either. He only asks you to take one day at a time.”
This wasn’t a platitude lifted off a cross-stitched plaque; this was a powerful and fundamental signpost pointing to the path away from pain. I began to “wheel” the path to a brighter attitude, beginning with a short verse in the Old Testament. Lamentations 3:22 says, “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” I quickly learned this was the only way for me to live: one day at a time with god’s help.
I realized my days in rehab were limited, and if I was going to make progress, I’d better get to work! I began lifting weights, and learning how to write, type, and draw with a mouth stick. I cooperated with my vocational rehab counselor and began to look at my future seriously. I quit badmouthing nurses and aides and began to express gratitude for their help to me and my family. I moved forward into life.
There were many mornings I would still wake up dreading my wheelchair. But my emotional frailty and physical weakness were the things that drove me to God and to the Bible. I discovered that my weakness could be a friend – like a sheepdog snapping at my heels, driving me to the safety of the Good Shepherd.
I needed god – and whenever I began to forget that important fact, my wheelchair stood ready to remind me. And now, to this day, even after over 56 years of quadriplegia, I still wake up in the morning needing god’s help. It is, perhaps, the best way for me to start any day. For god always seems bigger to me when I need Him most.
And the lawsuit against the owners of the beach where I broke my neck? We lost that case. The truth is, I made a stupid, reckless dive without properly checking the depth of the water. Most of all, I realized that playing the victim is not consistent with living for Jesus. God’s children are never victims. Everything that touches our lives, He permits.
The irony is that I can’t imagine a more victimized person than Jesus. The scriptures tell me He had no real home. His friends were, for the most part, the fairweather sort. He was betrayed and unjustly crucified, suffering a death He did not deserve. Yet when He died, He did not say “I am finished,” but “It is finished.” He did not play the victim and so, he emerged as the victor. This is the example He has set for me.
Victory is mine when I refuse to allow my circumstances to shape and define my life… victory is mine when I allow God to change my heart and lead me confidently into the future. Knowing my truth has set me free!
Joni and Friends, for people accident in 1967 left her a quadriplegic. After two years of rehabilitation, she emerged with new skills and a fresh determination to help others in similar situations. She founded Joni and Friends in 1979 to provide biblically based programs to families living with disability, as well as training to faith communities. Joni and Friends serves thousands of special-needs families through retreats and getaways and has delivered over 210,000 wheelchairs and Bibles to needy disabled persons in developing nations. Joni’s lifelong passion is to bring principles from the Bible to the world’s one billion people with disabilities. She and her husband Ken were married in 1982 and reside in Calabasas, California. Learn more about Joni’s ministry at www.joniandfriends.org or write her at response@joniandfriends.org.
