Joni & Ken

by Ken Eareckson Tada

  But suddenly the little meeting seemed more awkward than ever. Were they expecting someone different? Maybe someone … white?

  “Oh … well, yes, hello.” The woman hiked her tote bag on her shoulder and extended her hand. Her husband did the same. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Eareckson,” he said.

  Finally, they said their farewells, and the family walked on down the beach.

  “They evidently don’t approve of me,” Ken said, pushing Joni’s chair back toward the hotel.

  “And who cares what they think?” Joni replied.

  “Mr. Eareckson! Tell me, do I look Swedish?”

  He sounded hurt. “I’m sorry, Ken. That’s — that’s the way people are sometimes. They don’t even consider if it’s rude or not.” She couldn’t get around the fact that she had become a recognizable public person. Was Ken ready for that? Ready to be ignored by excited people who wanted a photo opportunity with Joni but weren’t really interested in him?

  She felt protective of him, defensive for him. Sometimes the spotlight that people shone on her cast a long shadow over anyone who stood beside her wheelchair.

  This public aspect of life wouldn’t be easy for either of them.

  For that matter, the private part wouldn’t be a piece of cake either.

  If Ken and Joni had held different views on marriage and hadn’t been so insistent on honoring God right from the beginning, they might have gone off somewhere together before they were married to “try out” a few things, just to see how it worked.

  But they didn’t do that.

  Their honeymoon was a true honeymoon of discovery, and part of that discovery for Ken meant learning all of Joni’s routines, including her toileting routines.

  They had talked about it, of course. Joni had done her best to walk him through her day and the handling of all the daily necessities. But talking about such private things in low casual voices while sipping lemonade at an outdoor café in Southern California wasn’t the same as actually being “hands-on.”

  On the second night of their honeymoon, Ken carried Joni to the toilet for her bowel routine. And it was a little messy. Ken was expressionless, helpful, and kind, but Joni felt a little surge of fear well up in her heart. Here they were, barely forty-eight hours past their wedding vows, and Ken was having to lift her onto a toilet and take care of the cleanup job.

  Oh, God, she prayed, I hope he’s prepared for this.

  He wasn’t.

  As much as he had tried to reason it all through, talk it all through, and pray it all through, he wasn’t prepared for how profound her disability truly was. Actually seeing her so — so helpless was a shock. It shouldn’t have been, but it was.

  Joni always handled everything so well and with such grace that people tended to forget she was paralyzed below the neck! She had always seemed so much larger than life to him — so beautiful, so poised, so radiant in her faith, so skillful in her speaking and singing and painting and meeting people in public. How could he not have an idealized image of her persona? For goodness’ sake, this was Joni Eareckson, whose first book had sold millions, someone who was recognized by Christians around the world.

  But now she was Joni Eareckson Tada.

  She would always have an adoring public, but she belonged to Ken Tada. She depended on Ken Tada.

  Was he up to that task … for the rest of their lives together?

  It took a while to separate himself emotionally from what happened in the bathroom, but he was able to shake it off. With God’s help, he believed he was up to the task. She believed he was too.

  But it didn’t take away the fear.

  APRIL 1983

  They moved away from the graveside of their friend Corrie ten Boom under a sun-splashed canopy of new green leaves. Neither of them spoke as they reflected on this gentle, courageous woman’s remarkable life. She had passed away on April 15, on her ninety-first birthday. At the memorial service, the pastor related how before Corrie’s passing she had specifically instructed him not to speak about her, but rather about the love of Jesus.

  And so he had.

  It had been the same every time Joni had visited with Corrie: Jesus was always at the center of her thoughts and words. She rarely spoke of “the Christian walk” or “the Christian experience.” She didn’t speak of Christ as though He were some creed, doctrine, or even lifestyle. She spoke about a Person. Someone she loved more than anyone or anything else in all the world.

  It was the same during their last visit in her home, though her speech had been limited by a series of crippling strokes.

  Joni finally broke their thoughtful silence. “Corrie’s life reminds me of that Scripture in Corinthians, where Paul says he didn’t come to them with eloquence or all this wisdom or beautiful words. Remember? He said, ‘I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.’ ”10

  The fine gravel crunched under the wheels of Joni’s chair, and a breeze whispered through the new leaves, rustling Ken’s thick black hair.

  “How is it,” she said, “that we get so caught up in explaining our walk in Christ, our life in Christ, or some spiritual experience instead of simply talking about Him?”

  Ken nodded. Jesus — the real, living Person of Jesus — had meant so much to both of them. He had pulled Ken out of some frightening pits as a young man in college; He had walked with Joni through those dark and heartbreaking years of learning to accept the unacceptable: that she would be paralyzed for life. And against all the odds, He had brought them together as husband and wife, that they might serve Him better as a team than as individuals.

  Was there a danger as they “settled into” married life of nudging Jesus into the background just a little? How terrible that would be! Would He, could He, ever become some abstract doctrine or generic “way of life” to them? Would they love Him as much as a couple as they had loved Him and delighted in Him and depended on Him as Christian singles?

  Passing by the gravestones of Fairhaven Memorial Park in Santa Ana, it was something to think about.

  This life, their life, was too short to let themselves become distracted from the Life.

  Suddenly the irony dawned on her. Tante Corrie was gone now … and they were leaving her graveside. But here she was again, still teaching Joni’s heart.

  And that made Joni smile.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE TESTING YEARS

  I’m feeling terrible—I couldn’t feel worse! …

  Help me understand these things inside and out

  so I can ponder your miracle-wonders.

  My sad life’s dilapidated, a falling-down barn;

  build me up again by your Word …

  I grasp and cling to whatever you tell me;

  GOD, don’t let me down!

  I’ll run the course you lay out for me

  if you’ll just show me how.

  PSALM 119:25, 27 – 28, 31 – 32 MSG

  Misty mornings in London … spring twilights in Paris … a family dinner and golden sunset in the hills of Transylvania … gazing out across the Aegean from the Parthenon … seeking out the disabled in the garbage dumps of Manila … heading behind the Iron Curtain where intrigue, mystery, and danger held sway … riding the wave of hands-on, over-your-head work for Jesus out on the world’s front lines … learning to handle politicians, the media, the agents, the editors, the interviews, and the fans and admirers.

  Being married to Joni in those early days certainly kept the adrenaline pumping. They had circled the globe, served the desperately needy, reasoned with indifferent foreign officials, stood in front of eager, even wildly excited crowds, and racked up more adventures and improbable experiences in more exotic places together in just a few years than many couples would encounter in a lifetime.

  But then they would come back home, unpack the suitcases, develop their pictures, iron out their digestion, get over their jet lag, restock the pantry, pay the household bills, and allow the adrenaline to quie
tly drain away. The vision of exotic landscapes and crowded marketplaces on narrow streets would fade. Ken would step back into his role as teacher and coach, and Joni would reengage with the machinery of a worldwide ministry that bore her name.

  It was back to normal life.

  So to speak.

  In reality, living with quadriplegia was never “normal,” and even the most compelling of international escapades began to fade after a while. For Ken, what didn’t fade was the daily-nightly-daily-nightly drudgery of Joni’s disability routines.

  • Help Joni get up …

  • Clean up breakfast dishes (don’t women do this?) …

  • Pick up groceries (isn’t this another female thing?) …

  • Help Joni sort through her things when she comes home from work …

  • Put away the dishes while Judy or one of the other women gets Joni ready for bed …

  • Turn Joni and tuck her in with pillows …

  • Get up in the night when she calls to turn her again … and again …

  • Help Joni get up the next morning …

  He remembered a story Chuck Swindoll had once told about his boyhood in the Gulf Coast region of Texas. A longtime family friend, a venerable old black man named Coats, would sometimes rub a leathery hand across young Swindoll’s blond crew cut. “Little Charles,” he would say with a sigh, “the thing about life is that it’s so daily.”

  And so it was. The days of those nonstop routines became weeks, the weeks flowed into months, and the months rolled into years.

  It was a thousand and one things, done over and over. And no one, unless they also had care responsibilities for a person with severe disabilities, seemed to really understand. Little irritating things that stacked up and weighed a person down. Getting urine on his fingers while emptying her leg bag. Washing her underwear. Picking up her medications. Hassling with insurance companies over coverage. Wading through a never-diminishing stack of medical forms and paperwork. It was like climbing a mountain where you took one step ahead and slid back two; instead of making progress, you felt like you were going backward. No matter how diligently you worked at it, you were never “done.”

  Sometimes he found himself asking, How did I get here? Why is everything so hard? Why don’t things ever get better?

  At the high school, people looked up to Ken. His colleagues respected him; the administration valued him; the kids loved the friendly, fair, approachable “Mr. Tada” — or “Coach,” as his football players called him — and he felt like everything was under control. In Joni’s world, he might as well have been the invisible man. No one seemed to pay much attention to him or ask his opinions. Or if they did, it was obligatory, or a kind of formality. Flight arrangements? Joni’s speaking schedule? He always felt like things were decided by the time the questions reached him. He was always in her shadow. When they went anywhere together, he was her “Hawaiian” tour guide, just like on their honeymoon.

  Somewhere along the way, the never-ending demands became abrasive, scraping away at the romance of their marriage, grinding down perilously their resolve to go on.

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 1995

  It was a Saturday afternoon, and Judy was helping Joni into the van after several hours of looking for sales at the mall.

  “Joni, did you remember I have a church meeting tonight? It means I’ll have to drop you off at home early.”

  As she secured Joni’s wheelchair in the van, Judy looked at her face. “I thought so … You didn’t remember, did you?”

  “Well … no.”

  “Do you think it will be OK … with Ken?”

  And that was the question, wasn’t it? Joni wasn’t at all sure it would be OK with Ken. This meant Ken would have to get her ready and put her to bed by himself that night. It meant he wouldn’t get his “space” on the one day of the week when he really wanted it.

  Bother!

  Judy glanced at Joni in the rearview mirror before starting the van. Joni smiled a wan little smile and gave her friend a knowing look. It was one of those things they never talked about but both understood very well. Judy was well aware of the tension — even depression — that dropping off Joni early might cause Ken.

  “Think you’ll be OK with doing dinner?” Judy asked.

  Joni felt her pulse quicken and a wave of anxiety tighten the muscles in her neck. She didn’t want to ask Judy to stop by the market and pick up something—that might make her late for her meeting. But for the life of her, she had no idea what was in the refrigerator at home. What could she say?

  “Sure,” she said as she forced a smile, “it’ll be fine.”

  She chose the word “it” rather than “Ken.” She knew very well that her husband would not be fine, and a neutral reference to the situation, at least, wasn’t a lie. Ken didn’t like surprises … changes in plans … especially on a Saturday afternoon.

  Saturday afternoons were semisacred. Ken needed the time to be alone, to unwind, to sort things out. Especially these days.

  “We’d better call him, though,” Joni added. “Let him know what’s up.”

  It was a nice way of saying that a change in Saturday plans, especially dinner plans, would be greeted with reluctance. Ken wouldn’t say that (there was a whole lot that Ken wouldn’t say), but both Judy and Joni knew it was true.

  Before Judy turned the ignition, she dialed the phone number and put it on speakerphone. It rang a few times, and then Ken, in a tired voice, answered. “Hullo?”

  “Hon, Judy has to be at church tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t mention this earlier …” Already Joni knew this was a burr under Ken’s saddle. To have “not mentioned it earlier” only reinforced that she wasn’t thinking ahead. From Ken’s perspective it seemed like Joni never thought ahead when it concerned changes in the weekend routine; she had no problem if it was office stuff, but Ken’s weekends?

  That’s right, she thought to herself, with a slight edge of bitterness. They are KEN’s weekends, not mine. They aren’t even OUR weekends.

  Her throat was tight, but she tried to sound as normal as possible. “And can we do leftovers tonight?” She had no idea if there were leftovers in the fridge. And she knew that Ken knew it too.

  Judy gunned the engine up the hill on Cairnloch Street, but slowed on the approach to Joni and Ken’s house. Joni leaned down from her position in the back of the van to see if — yep, there he was. Ken was standing in the driveway, hands in the pockets of his down jacket and, even though there was a chill in the late-afternoon air, wearing flip-flops and shorts. And, yep, he looked irritated too. She could tell by the way he kept looking down at the driveway bricks, rolling his tongue against the inside of his jaw—his typical signal of impatience and irritation.

  “Hi, Hon!” Joni called out from the back as the automatic side door opened. Without saying a word, Ken walked up to the van and waited for the automatic lift to lower. It didn’t. Drat! Joni thought. Of all times for this thing to give out on us! Ken pursed his lips and grabbed the handle on the side of the lift to lower it manually. Just one more reminder of quadriplegia and how inconvenient it was. (Or how inconvenient she was?) Joni backed her chair down the ramp with Ken holding the wheelchair handles, but she moved a little too fast, nearly running over his toes.

  “Watch it!” Ken groused, jumping out of the way. One more “quadriplegic thing” to further dampen the already depressing situation. As she turned her wheelchair, Joni sought out Ken’s eyes, but he was still looking down.

  “Are you guys OK?” Judy called from the driver’s seat.

  “We’ve got it.” Ken tried to equal the strength in her voice. As Judy wound up the passenger window, Ken turned toward the front door with Joni still behind him. The van pulled away, and a hollowness filled Joni’s chest. She followed Ken up the winding brick walk, past the blooming flowerbeds, then under the veranda and into the house — a lovely, classic, California ranch-style rambler with tan stucco and a red-tiled roof. It was her home, but it s
ure didn’t feel like it. Instead, she felt a growing sense of dread over what looked to be another tense — and very long — evening.

  They had cold leftovers for dinner that night. When it was time for bed, Ken mechanically washed Joni’s face, flossed and brushed her teeth, and helped her into her nightclothes. Neither of them spoke.

  How odd this is, Joni thought to herself. It seemed so strange to go through such an intimate routine without being personal, without any talking or feeling “connected.” But things were looking up; she’d soon be by herself in bed. Ken would pull up her blanket, fluff the pillow, turn on the TV, leave the room, and go back to his fishing magazines. It was pretty much what he always did.

  Only this time he didn’t.

  When it came time for him to walk out of the room, he paused by the dresser. After a long, quiet moment Joni asked, “Is there something you want to say?”

  Ken folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the dresser.

  “This isn’t right,” he said quietly. She waited, unconsciously holding her breath. “I mean,” he said, “about things being so tense between us. It’s not right.” With those few short words, Joni’s chest felt lighter, and she could breathe easier.

  This was so like Ken. So like the man she had fallen in love with back in the 1980s.

  Yes, she knew he wrestled with depression, and that it went back to before they’d ever met. That was a comfort, in a strange sort of way. And yes, she was well aware that in recent years he was feeling increasingly trapped by her paralysis, which in turn pushed him into deeper depression.

  But Joni knew his heart. Knew his integrity. Knew he would stick with his vows to be with her “for better or worse,” even when “worse” seemed like a very steep hill to climb.

  She offered an olive branch of sorts: “My disability puts a lot of pressure on you, doesn’t it?”

  He nodded, his arms still folded, his mouth working, not trusting himself to speak. There was another long silence. It was a delicate moment, and Joni knew better than to push the point.