In spite of herself, her mind wandered.
That couple two rows in front of her. He had slipped his arm around her, and she snuggled against him a little. Nice. His hand was touching her, lightly, brushing his fingers across her shoulder. And she liked it. How good would that be? How long had it been since a man had done that with her?
I wish I had someone. I’m almost thirty-two, and there’s no one.
The power of dormant feelings stirred and awakened. Old pipe dreams. Love songs with “rainy days and Mondays” kind of lyrics. Memories of teenage boyfriends back in Maryland, in that misty Time Before prior to the accident. Longings. Desires. Disappointments. Fading hopes.
Stop it, Eareckson! Stop it right now!
She slapped her thoughts back into line, and pushed herself straighter in the wheelchair. Attention! Front and center! This is a WORSHIP service. “We take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”7 Get your mind back on the message.
She tried … a little. But where was the message? It had evidently meandered down the tracks without her, and it was just a little late to get on board. She had no idea what he was talking about or where he was going. And he kept looking down at his notes with a bewildered expression on his face, almost like he had never seen them before.
Her eyes settled at random on the back of a man’s head five or six pews ahead of her, drawn perhaps by his thick, black hair. In that instant, as if somehow aware that eyes were on him, he tilted his head slightly, revealing a strong jaw and the smooth, tanned curve of his neck. Leaning to the left, now in profile, he reached for a Bible in the rack in the pew.
Maybe he’s bored too. Maybe he’s going to read Scripture instead of trying to track with the sermon. A good-looking man. And sitting by himself.
What would it be like to have a man friend? Someone to be with. Talk to. A little romance? Things every woman longs for. Was it even possible for her, the way she was, the way life had worked out?
No. No. No. Stop it, Joni! She was losing this battle. And it must not happen. She would not sit there and squander a worship service on selfish notions. She would not … But it was taking a mountain of effort to pull her eyes away from the back of the man’s head. That glossy, black hair. The athletic shoulders. He reminded her a little of Mr. Lee, her eighth-grade teacher she’d had a crush on.
The speaker droned on. OK, she told herself, if I can’t change my focus, I can change my purpose.
She began to pray. Father, You desire mercy rather than judgment. Those are Your words. Now be merciful to me, a sinner. And bless You for not judging me according to these empty, discontented thoughts. Stupid, silly thoughts that distract me from worshiping You. Be merciful and help me with this battle, for Your honor and for the benefit of this man, whoever he is.
That was more like it. She had gained a little ground.
Father, I want to talk to You about this man for a minute or two. This good-looking guy with the nice black hair. This man You have known before the foundations of the earth. I pray for him! If he knows You, get him deeper into Your Word. Help him to obey. If he’s dating somebody, convict him if he’s messing around. If he’s married (but I don’t see a wife!), hold him to his vows. Don’t let him get away with cheating, even if it’s only in his thoughts. Strengthen him against the Devil and the world with all its temptations. Make prayer a big part of his life, and give him extra joy when he makes a stand for You.
Yes! She had regained her focus. Maybe this had been in God’s mind all along. Maybe He had specifically brought her to church that day to intercede for that man, that stranger, who had needed prayer.
And Lord, if there are problems where he works, make his life shine as a real witness to his coworkers. If there is a lingering argument with his mother or father, resolve it, would You? Make his testimony at home consistent with what he believes here in this church.
She fixed her gaze on the man’s head, the black and shining hair. Judy had glanced at her, probably thinking she was really into the speaker’s message! A wave of peace washed over her as she sensed victory within grasp. She smiled to the Holy Spirit. We’re winning.
The speaker was winding up his message. Where had the time gone?
Save him, Lord, if he’s not in Your family. And if he already is, strengthen him. Refine his faith. Keep him from lies. Clear up his bad habits. Assist him in prayer. Sustain his health. Guard his mind. Deepen his friendships. Lord, make him into the man You want him to be.
Her heart bubbled up with honest-to-goodness joy. And maybe something more. She felt a sense of assurance that God had led her into those prayers, heard her petitions, and would answer them in His own way and in His own time. But she also knew He had enabled her to win the day over wandering, undisciplined, definitely unhelpful thoughts. And she had exalted Him on this Lord’s Day, even if it was in a most unorthodox manner.
“Amen!”
The speaker had concluded his prayer, and people stood up to make their exit (was that relief she was sensing in the auditorium?). As if to compensate for a less than rousing sermon, the organist pulled out all the stops on a booming postlude, almost but not quite drowning out the sounds of people gathering books, Bibles, purses, and sweaters. Somewhere up ahead of her, the nice-looking man (Asian … Hawaiian, perhaps?) had picked up his Bible and turned to leave.
“I’m starved!” Judy said with a smile, stepping out of the pew over Joni’s foot pedals. “Let’s hurry home for lunch.”
“Let’s!” Joni responded. The Asian man had stepped into the aisle. He had an athletic build. And a nice, almost shy smile. He was chatting with several people. Just for a moment, Joni wondered, Should I approach him? Introduce myself? Maybe mention how I had prayed for him?
Bad idea. Very bad idea. Of course not. He would think she was crazy, or being too forward or maybe making advances or something else just as unpleasant. Besides, it wasn’t about her. The victory had been in getting outside herself, praying for him.
She decided to keep the incident between herself and God.
And somewhere, if she had known, God was smiling.
MAY 18, 1980
The memory of that Sunday battle in April had faded, and another worship service at Grace was wrapping up. This time, Dr. MacArthur had been in the pulpit and in top form, and Joni hadn’t had any trouble locking into the Bible teaching. After the service, out in the foyer, one of Joni’s friends introduced her to a handsome Asian-maybe-Hawaiian man … who looked strangely familiar.
Suddenly brightening, Joni asked him to turn around.
“Turn around?” he said, puzzled and not sure he’d heard right.
“Just for a minute. I want to see the back of your head.”
He complied, turning slowly, and then back again. And ah, there it was. That nice, thick black hair. Joni explained that she had prayed for him, for the back of his head, in a church service where she had lost the thread of the message. They both had a good laugh over that. Ken looked pleased and just a little surprised.
They chatted for a few more minutes and went their separate ways. As Joni powered her wheelchair toward the exit, she realized she had already forgotten his name. And that wouldn’t do. She pulled a neat 180 in her chair and circled back.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I seem to have already forgotten your name. Mine’s Joni.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” he said with a smile, his eyes crinkling pleasantly at the corners. “I’m Ken Tada.”
And just that quickly, with a wave, he was gone.
JULY 7, 1980
It was not the way she had wanted to spend the rest of her July — inside her bedroom on a hospital bed. What an appalling waste of a beautiful Southern California summer.
Joni had been afflicted by pressure sores, the bane of those who are physically immobilized and compelled to spend an inordinate amount of time in a wheelchair, or any chair. It had to be treated, of course, and the main treatment was to get the weight off of it. And
that meant extended time in bed, lying on special cushions to relieve pressure.
It was a long haul. And for someone already dealing with limited mobility issues — dreaming of sunshine, flowers, and sweet California breezes — the idea of weeks in bed was a heartbreaker.
On one of those long days, just after lunch, Joni had been on the edge of dozing off when Judy stuck her head in the room and announced she had a visitor. And suddenly Ken Tada appeared, walking into the room, smiling that million-dollar smile. Joni had been half asleep when Judy had announced his arrival, and even now, with afternoon sunlight streaming into the room, it all seemed to have a dreamlike quality about it. He’d heard she was stuck in bed and wanted to come by and say hello. But he also had something else in mind. Stepping back into the hall, he reemerged with some kind of strange wooden construction he had evidently created. It was an easel. And one that fit perfectly over a hospital bed!
“Now you can paint again,” he said. “If you want to.”
After he left, Joni closed her eyes a moment and thought about the goodness of God. On a restless, out-of-sorts Sunday, she had prayed for a total stranger, doing her utmost to push her thoughts away from herself.
And then God had brought that very man back to her own door, armed with a thoughtful, practical act of kindness to help her endure the long days of healing. How like Him that was!
And now — happy thought! — she had a new friend.
OCTOBER 15, 1980
Somebody’s up to something.
Why had Ken Tada been invited to her birthday party? Joni was almost certain she could detect the hands of Carol and Twila behind this, two friends from church who were hosting the party at their town house.
And wasn’t it funny how she kept running into him at church? And hadn’t she seen him in the audience in Burbank at that Young Life function where she had spoken? But this birthday party thing was just a little too suspicious. She hardly knew him.
There was no doubt that Ken Tada was an attractive man. Probably Hawaiian. An island guy. And he had been so sweet to think of building that over-the-bed easel, all on his own. He sat on the sofa now at the town house, gesturing with a can of cola as he spoke. She liked the way he looked right at people when he was talking to them, giving them his full attention. She liked how he smiled so much, not just with his mouth, but with his whole face.
When she thought no one was looking, she stole a glance at him, studying his features. That thick black hair, 1980s full and bushy and over the tops of his ears, framed high, wide cheekbones, dark brown almond eyes. Judging from his strong neck and arms, he was an athlete. Was he reserved? Yes … maybe even a little shy, even at this party among friends.
For most of the evening, she sat in a corner between the entryway and a living room chair, chatting with this person and that person, trying not to be overly conspicuous in her power chair. Was Ken going to walk over and talk to her, or at least make significant eye contact? Maybe not. Which was a little disappointing. The evening dwindled, and the guests began to drift away. Some tidy soul was gathering up plastic punch glasses and crumpled napkins. Most stopped to say good-bye and wish her a happy birthday as they funneled toward the front door.
Ken did too, but lingered.
Leaning against the wall beside her chair, he began chatting with her. This is a man who is comfortable in his own skin, she thought to herself. I like that. In the course of the conversation, she learned that he lived in a condo next door, was a history buff, taught social studies and government at a nearby high school, and coached football. I knew it, she told herself. I was right about the athlete thing. She also learned he wasn’t Hawaiian at all; he was Japanese.
Finally, she told him she had to go — that she had an early morning the next day. Ken left, apparently to get his coat, and Joni said good-bye to Carol in the kitchen, thanking her for the party. Twila — bless her! — had knelt down to empty Joni’s bulging leg bag.
As the bag drained slowly into a bottle, wouldn’t you know it — Ken returned, coat over his arm. “I was wondering …” he began. “How about if we continue our conversation over dinner next Friday night?” If he had noticed the leg bag operation, he’d given no sign of it. Not so much as a glance.
“I suppose so,” she said, then instantly amended her answer. “Sure. I’d like to go.”
“Can I pick you up about six?”
“That would be fine.”
On the long road home, driving alone in her specially-equipped van, it suddenly occurred to her that she had accepted a date from a good-looking man, just like it was something that happened all the time. It had been so casual, so natural. Except for the leg bag thing. But then again, that was life for her, and there was nothing she could do about that.
She had learned a long time before that day that there was no pretense with a disability like quadriplegia. If Ken had any interest in her, he would have to deal with that part of it too, even on a first date.
Maybe it would scare him away.
Or maybe it wouldn’t.
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 24, 1980
“Roses? For me? Who are they from?”
Kerbe slipped the tiny card out of its envelope and read it to Joni. “Looking forward to Friday … Ken Tada.”
Joni rubbed her nose against the soft yellow petals, sniffing the delicate fragrance. “Hmmm,” she said. “Nice gesture.”
“Is that all you can say?”
“I don’t know … I mean, don’t you think it’s a bit much? I hardly know him.”
Kerbe sniffed her disapproval, but sensing Joni’s uneasiness, she made no further comment. She set the vase on Joni’s bedroom dresser, fluffing the blooms and greenery, and walked out of the room. Ken was a pleasant guy, Joni thought, but did he have to make such a big deal about going out to dinner? She had hoped he would have been more … well, casual about it.
Joni stared at the roses. Well, he’d gotten the color right. Bright, sunny yellow roses were supposedly symbolic of joy and friendship. Maybe it was time she allowed a little of that joy to penetrate her heart. And friendship too, for that matter.
He didn’t look casual at all, however, when he showed up at six o’clock on the button Friday night, dressed in a tailored blue suit and bearing yet another bouquet of flowers. Joni was glad she had dressed up a little too, in her white wool jacket and silk blouse. She hoped he wouldn’t pop a button on his dress shirt when he lifted her in and out of the car.
Judy and Kerbe gave him a crash course in the essentials, explaining how to lift Joni single-handedly and straighten her in her wheelchair, how to tuck her jacket in the back so it wouldn’t wrinkle, and how to pull down the inseams of her slacks. Ken listened attentively, showing concern for details.
He wheeled her outside to his car with Joni reminding him, as graciously as she knew how, to be mindful of the steel ramp, cracks in the sidewalk, and turning too-sharp corners. Her housemates watched, arms folded and somewhat amused, as Ken removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, hiked up his pants, and squatted by her chair to lift her. Slinging her arm around his neck as he’d been instructed, he surprised her with a mighty karate “hi-yah,” lifting her to his chest and then setting her gently in the front seat.
“Hey,” Joni joked, “it’s a date with Bruce Lee!”
Judy showed him how to fold Joni’s wheelchair and load it in the trunk, while Kerbe leaned into the car to straighten her jacket. “Have fun,” she said with a smile as she pushed the door closed.
“You really aren’t heavy at all,” Ken observed as he backed out of the driveway. “Light as a feather.”
“Oh, really? Judging from that weight-lifting exercise back there, I would have never known. HI-YAH!”
Ken steered with one hand while sliding a cassette into the tape deck with the other. “Well, I have been working out a little,” he admitted. “Lifting weights and stuff.”
“Getting ready for tonight?”
“Maybe.”
“OK.
So how much do you train with?” “Oh, about 175 pounds.” “A hundred and what!?”
“I wanted to make sure I didn’t drop you,” he said with a smile.
“Just so you understand, I don’t weigh 175 pounds!”
He grinned. “Don’t worry. I can tell how much you really weigh.”
She returned his smile. So he knew how much she weighed? Of course he did. He’d held her in his arms already. On their first dinner date.
So what? she said to herself. She didn’t have the luxury of the modesty and standoffishness that most women had on a first date. But that was her life, and it was what it was. What mattered was that there were no pretenses. What mattered was that she was out by herself with a man who evidently loved Jesus and who cared enough about her to go to all that extra trouble without making her feel in the least bit uncomfortable or strange about it.
It was a beautiful twilight in the southland, and traffic on the freeway moved swiftly, as easily and unencumbered as her conversation with this unassuming and delightfully ordinary guy.
Marina Del Rey?
Nice! And a restaurant table overlooking the bay. Yes!
Joni looked out over the masts of hundreds of sailboats moored at the docks. The skyline of masts against the evening sky made a beautiful picture. I should paint something like this, she thought.
“You look nice tonight,” Ken said, after the waiter had brought their water glasses and menus.
“Thank you,” she said, inspecting her cuffs. “I usually wear this outfit when I’m speaking.”
“Like at the Young Life dessert?”
“That’s right. You were there, weren’t you?”
“Uh-huh. And I liked what you said that night. About how we can relate to people whose circumstances are different from ours. Like your wheelchair. People don’t have to be afraid of it.” He picked up his menu and reached over to open hers. “Or of you.”
Joni & Ken Page 4