Joni agreed. “It’s like a wedding gift all over again. I would have never thought this journey through cancer would have given us so much. At home we have a wooden plaque over our kitchen sink with the words of Isaiah 43:2 carved into the wood. It reads, ‘When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned.’
“The fact is, if God brings you to it, He will bring you through it. He will. And He has. And when we come out on the other side of this, wherever that other side is, our love and commitment and joy as a husband and wife have become stronger than we could have imagined. And my respect for my husband has just gone up notch after notch—just to see the way he has honored those wedding vows to me.”
“This interview is amazing to me,” Dr. Dobson said. “Here you are, talking about a time in your life that’s been filled with such great struggles — trials you wouldn’t wish on anyone. And yet you’re describing it like a storybook love and romance. This really is a love story. It’s not just a story of a man and a woman who have gone through unbelievable trials and struggles together; it’s a story of your love and commitment and dedication to one another through it all.”
“It is a love story about Ken and me,” Joni replied, “but it’s also a love story about Jesus. It’s about getting closer to Christ, and experiencing Him in a way beyond anything we had experienced before. He pushed us out of the shallows in our marriage to unfathomable depths — and it was frightening. But now we know His arms have been underneath us, holding us up all the way along.”
“That’s right,” Ken said. “The more we have been forced to depend on Christ in our weakness, the stronger our marriage has become.”
“So what about the future?” Dobson asked. “What are you thinking as you look ahead?”
“We’re not in control of events,” Ken replied. “As much as we’d like to see into the future, we have to live day by day, like everyone else. And during that waiting period, we have to call on the Lord to be our sustaining force.”
“I love reading the Puritans,” Joni added. “How they’re always talking about death, and the fact that really your whole life is about preparing to die. We have a PET scan coming up where they’ll be looking to see if my cancer has spread. So life may be very different next year. But that’s OK, because God will give us the grace. As Ken often says, ‘Not one of us ever gets out of this life alive.’ “
“I don’t have the opportunity to be with you in person very often,” Dr. Dobson said, “and even now we’re just talking on the phone. But I can see you in my mind’s eye, Joni, sitting in a wheelchair during this chemo. I can see you, bald and suffering the ravages of the chemo, and — knowing you, Joni — still singing a hymn.”
Joni smiled. “And you would be right. That’s just what I do. I sing because I have to sing, no matter what’s going on in my life. Lately, I’ve been singing this Fanny Crosby hymn …” And Joni began to sing into the speakerphone — and in radios across the United States and Canada:
All the way my Savior leads me —
Cheers each winding path I tread,
Gives me grace for every trial,
Feeds me with the living Bread.
Though my weary steps may falter
And my soul athirst may be,
Gushing from the Rock before me,
Lo! a spring of joy I see;
Gushing from the Rock before me,
Lo! a spring of joy I see.13
“Every morning I get to drink from that spring flowing from the Rock. And it really is a spring of joy. And every morning to pray, ‘Lord, fill me up; help me this day,’ is a privilege. And anyhow … the bottom line of life is heaven. When I step over to the other side, I just want to hear Him say, ‘Well done, Joni. Well done, good and faithful servant. I gave you a big challenge in your life, and you grabbed it, and you remained faithful to Me.’ I can’t wait to hear those words!”
“And Ken will hear those same words,” Dr. Dobson added. “Only with this difference. Joni, you didn’t have any choice about the challenge God tossed to you as a seventeen-year-old girl. But Ken did! He willingly chose this path, willingly chose the hardship and suffering it would involve. No, he didn’t know everything, and the enormity of his decision probably hadn’t dawned on him yet. But he willingly chose you and married you. Ken, you drew her into your embrace, and you have taken care of her all these years.”
“I think you give me too much credit,” Ken replied. “God gave me the privilege of having a wife like Joni.”
“And I agree with Ken,” Joni added. “I think Dr. Dobson is giving us both too much credit. It isn’t about us and what we have faced in life; it’s about Jesus Christ. I don’t think we could daily embrace our cross without first embracing the cross of Jesus.”
Later on, after the interview was over and he had put Joni to bed, Ken sat in his chair by a crackling fire in the stillness of their living room, thinking about the interview, pondering Joni’s words to him on that “worst of all nights.”
“Ken … you’re Him! You’re Jesus!”
It wasn’t every day that someone mistook you for Jesus. It wasn’t every day you got to be Jesus to someone. It was humbling. In one sense, if you really thought about it, it was the ultimate achievement of his life. What could he have ever done in life that would be more significant than that? His dad had wanted him to be a businessman. Suppose he’d gone that way. Suppose he’d become a billionaire like Donald Trump, with a big skyscraper in Manhattan named after him. Tada Tower. He laughed at the thought. Or maybe if he’d become a famous teacher, and they made a movie about him, like Goodbye, Mr. Chips. Would any of those things be more amazing, more eternally valuable, than having someone look at you in their pain in the night and see Jesus?
Through the years, he and Joni — together, as a team — had experienced the privilege of being the hands and feet and voice of Jesus to thousands of suffering people around the world … in India, Romania, China, Ghana, Cuba, Poland. They’d had the opportunity to bring hope and Christ’s love to wounded veterans coming home from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. They’d had the chance to laugh and smile and cheer on kids and teens with disabilities at their family camps across the country.
Dr. Dobson and everyone else always wanted to talk to Ken about how hard it had been. How difficult to be married to a paralyzed woman and go through all of that suffering and all of those trials together. And yeah, it had been hard at times. Incredibly hard. And he hadn’t always been cheerful or optimistic about it. His steps had faltered at times. He had wrestled with weariness, depression, and questions of self-image.
But he had stayed the course. And that thought filled him with gratitude.
Now, when she needed him more than ever, he was there — and he would be there, no matter what. He would pour his life into her, as she had poured her life, without reservation, into him. He would stand by her side, and they would fight the cancer with every ounce of strength that Jesus gave him.
After all, there was that middle name thing of his.
Takeshi.
Warrior.
His parents had named him better than they knew.
CHAPTER TEN
REFLECTING ON THE JOURNEY
But I trust in you, LORD;
I say, “You are my God.”
My times are in your hands.
PSALM 31:14 – 15
JANUARY 2011
It was a late-winter Sunday afternoon, and it was raining.
Ken built a fire and lit a couple of candles, and they sat together by the sliding glass door watching the rain. They both liked keeping the house cool, with the fireplace as their only heat source. Joni had her coziest sweater on, as well as a pair of corduroys, and Ken had his usual at-home uniform of cotton gym shorts and a fleecy Polartec sweatshirt. Off to their right, where the eaves of the house and the patio latticework came together, it formed a waterspou
t, sending a cascade onto the brick patio. It made for a satisfying splashing sound, like an impromptu fountain. In the distance, the Santa Susana Mountains seemed moody and misty, hiding and then reappearing as heavy clouds poured in from the west.
Glancing at her husband, she thought to herself, He is such a good man. He was always a good man. He always did his duty, helping me like a good Boy Scout, but now it’s more than a duty — it’s a delight. He likes me! He doesn’t just love me; he likes me and wants to be with me. Such thoughts still felt a little new, like a fresh-from-the-store sweater that you know you’re going to love and feel comfortable in for a long, long time.
As the fire popped and raindrops pattered on the windows, the two of them began reminiscing on their years together.
It was the sort of thing that probably would have never happened apart from the cancer surgery and the long hours of just being quiet together, in the shelter of a familiar and well-loved place.
Another blessing of cancer.
“Do you remember …”
“How about that time when …”
“I’ll never forget when we …”
It was like a slide show without the slides. Memories — some sharp and vivid, others with blurred corners and softened edges — kept the conversation and the laughter alive all afternoon.
And then it was time for takeout Chinese, moo goo gai pan, and maybe an episode of Downton Abbey on TV.
Joni loved Sundays.
FEBRUARY 1982
“I know who did it,” Joni whispered in Judy’s ear.
“Bet you don’t.”
“Yep. Yep, I do. It was that guy’s mistress.” Her voice had grown louder.
“Not a chance!” Judy had forgotten to whisper at all. “She was nowhere near when the murder took place.”
“Shhh!” Ken had leaned forward, putting his finger to his lips.
Joni glanced at him. “Sorry!” she said in a hoarse whisper. She turned back to Judy. “We’ve got to keep it down a little. Anyway, I think the mistress knew all along about that …”
The Agatha Christie movie concluded, and Joni and Judy broke into excited conversation and laughter as the credits rolled. Ken was silent, gathering up his sweatshirt and popcorn box and stepping over Joni’s legs to retrieve the wheelchair at the front of the theater.
“Excuse me,” he said, suddenly sounding stiff and formal.
“Uh-oh.” Joni glanced at Judy. “Something’s wrong.”
After the two of them transferred Joni to her wheelchair and Judy left for the restroom, Joni said, “What’s the matter?” Ken didn’t reply, busying himself instead with the adjustment on her foot pedals.
“What’s wrong?” she repeated.
He still didn’t answer. Mr. Strong-and-Silent evidently wasn’t going to talk to her. That would never do.
They were both relieved when Judy said good-bye outside and left for her own car. When they got to Joni’s van, Ken turned his back to her and started to fiddle with the ramp.
“Wait!” Joni said. “I’m not going any further until you tell me what’s wrong.”
He turned to look at her, straightening his spine and folding his arms across his chest. (If he only knew how much he looked like “Mr. Clean” when he did that.) “OK,” he said, “you were talking during the movie, and you didn’t stop even after I said something.”
“I’m not one of the kids in your classroom, Ken.”
“You were disturbing people.”
“Are you kidding? We were whispering. Besides, the place was practically empty.”
“Look, I had just gotten up to tell those teenagers down in front to be quiet. And then you and Judy started doing the same thing!”
“We were NOT. We were whispering — not throwing popcorn and making a racket!”
“Don’t yell at me!”
“You call this yelling?
You haven’t heard anything yet!”
“Well, I don’t yell.”
“Well, I do! Our whole family yells.”
“I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“We get engaged, and then we become different people.”
She tried to control her voice. “Ken, this is who I am. I’m not being different.”
He stopped his pacing for a moment to turn to look at her. “Haven’t you heard of those verses about being angry and sinning not? About letting no unwholesome words come out of your mouth?”
She was incredulous. Something absurdly minor had somehow mushroomed into something incredibly major. And he was suddenly pushing his expectations on her. This was making her very angry.
“Don’t go throwing verses at me,” she snapped. Powering up closer to him, she had a sudden urge to run over his feet! Look at him standing there like a statue again, with his arms folded. She had just opened her mouth to really give it to him when …
“Excuse me.” A young couple stepping through the twilight approached their van. “Aren’t you the lady who draws with her mouth? Joanie? We heard you speak at my mother’s church once.”
She swallowed the verbal harpoon she had been about to hurl at Ken and pasted on a smile. It felt as cheap and phony as a piece of Monopoly money.
“Yes,” she said, “I’m Joni. And this is Ken Tada, my fiancé.”
They looked pleased and happy.
Ken extended his hand, somehow managing a weak smile, trying to mumble something appropriate. As he began answering questions about the upcoming wedding, Joni wondered if he was still all that excited about it.
They watched as the couple headed for the movie theater, holding hands and talking excitedly. “So, Joanie …” he began, “what did you talk about at his mother’s church?”
“Oh … well,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “I probably talked about my paralysis, and how it was helping me become more Christlike. You know … being loving … self-controlled … patient …”
He took a step toward her, his face relaxed into the Ken Tada smile that always made her heart beat faster.
“And,” she said, raising her face to him with an answering smile, blinking back sudden tears, “and I still want to get married … if you do.”
“I do,” he said, wiping a tear from her face with a clean, folded handkerchief. “And that’s good practice. I do.”
SEPTEMBER 1987
Borrowing Ken’s hands, she had just finished packing her bags for yet another ministry trip. Ken had already packed rods and reels and fishing gear for a trip of his own. They would be apart for several days, and they knew they’d miss each other.
Wheeling through the living room that afternoon, she stopped in her tracks as she noticed a beautiful red rose in a bud vase on the table. That Ken! What a thoughtful thing to think of. It warmed her heart.
Moving into the bedroom to gather her things, she spotted another red rose in a bud vase on her dressing table. What in the world was he up to? Quickly she glanced in the bathroom, and yes, there was yet another perfect red rose in another bud vase adorning the counter of her vanity.
With the third rose, her feelings of pleasure drained away. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his gifts, but really, they were leaving in a few hours. Nobody but their miniature schnauzer, Scruffy, would be in the house to enjoy the roses — the expensive roses. Could they really afford to throw their money around like that?
Ken’s big hug, however, melted away her protests, and she decided not to make an issue of the spending.
As she settled into her seat on the airplane, she thought about those roses, which of course was what Ken had hoped would happen all along.
Back when they were dating, he had flooded her with gifts. She had received more candles, stuffed animals, sweetheart cards, and vases of fresh yellow roses than she cared to remember. She had pleaded with him to lighten up, only to receive pink roses instead of yellow ones the next day. This was a man who wanted to show his love, even if it meant excess and sheer extravagance.
Extra
vagance. Wasn’t that a mark of authentic love?
Her plane lifted into the skies above Southern California. She peered out the window, catching a glimpse of the Pacific, where Ken would soon be fishing.
Love was extravagant in the price it was willing to pay, the time it was willing to give, the hardships it was willing to endure, and the strength it was willing to spend.
That was certainly a picture of Ken.
That was certainly a picture of Jesus.
SUMMER 1988
They pitched their tent underneath a stand of tall pine trees near a stream, swiftly flowing with melted snow from the High Sierras.
Ken had been out with his fishing pole already and had caught and cleaned a couple of rainbow trout for breakfast. From the tent, she could smell them sizzling in the cast-iron frying pan over the campfire, mingling with the fragrances of pine trees and fresh coffee percolating in their old, fire-blackened percolator.
Even in midsummer, their high altitude camping spot was crisp and cold. Ken’s eyes danced with pleasure as he came into the tent to get her up and dressed.
For Joni, camping meant a flannel shirt, dusty jeans, no makeup, and a scarf over her dirty hair. And it was glorious! Not all of her girlfriends appreciated camping the way she did. But her girlfriends hadn’t been raised by a daddy who was an outdoorsman and was determined that his three daughters appreciate it as much as if they had been three sons.
They didn’t do much. Ken would fish, and Joni would sit in the sun and read a good book. They might explore a trail or two or even rent a boat and row out into a mountain lake.
Now that was a glorious morning. The scenery was enough to pull the air right out of your lungs. The very essence of tranquillity! Drifting along in the sunshine, the water lap-lapping against the sides of the boat, the whir of Ken’s fishing reel as he made a long cast, and the mountains soaring all around them like high sentinels.
She and Ken watched an eagle leave its nest in one of the rocky crags and sweep over the lake in search of breakfast. They had been reading in Job that morning, and she was reminded of the Lord’s words to the old patriarch: “Does the hawk take flight by your wisdom and spread its wings toward the south? Does the eagle soar at your command and build its nest on high?” (Job 39:26 – 27).
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