A Place of Healing

by Joni Eareckson Tada

  All they had left was Lindy’s little wheelchair. It was a red one with a seatbelt and shoulder and foot straps that supported their girl so well on her school-bus rides down the rutted dirt roads of Alaska, with so many potholes.

  Jay and Kim had something else left, too, in the wake of their daughter’s departure: They had a deep desire to honor little Lindy by personally taking her small wheelchair on a Wheels for the World trip in order to give it to another disabled child.

  That’s how Jay and Kim ended up going with our Peru team a few years after Lindy’s passing. As they were flying to South America, frequently praying together, they wondered just who would be receiving Lindy’s little red wheelchair.

  At that same time, another mother and father were wondering about a wheelchair. Gladys and Ruben Suarez lived in the little village of Pichus up in the Sierra Mountains eighty miles east of Lima, with their six children. Because their eleven-year-old, Christian, was afflicted with cerebral palsy and couldn’t walk or even crawl, his parents had to carry him wherever he needed to go.

  Without a wheelchair, Christian had never had the opportunity to attend school. This is what Gladys and Ruben had been praying about—something that seemed almost impossible to them. They needed a child-sized wheelchair—one with side supports and shoulder and foot straps—the kind of wheelchair that Christian could use on the rutted dirt roads around their village, roads with so many potholes.

  Little wonder that on the day our team arrived in downtown Lima for distribution, Gladys and Ruben had thought nothing of traveling by bus for four hours with little Christian on their lap. They were traveling with high hopes … as were Jay and Kim from faraway Alaska. Neither at that time knew that within hours, their hopes would be realized. A little red wheelchair with shoulder straps and foot straps would find a home. Amid smiles and songs, the families would meet, a spark would ignite, and—superseding any language barrier—there would be laughter and tears.

  It would be easy to imagine the Lord Jesus looking on, perhaps with His arm around little Lindy.

  Remember that “network” I mentioned earlier in the chapter?

  Remember how I said that God doesn’t waste our pain?

  In His good pleasure, He brought two families, half a world apart, together in His name. The surface details of language and culture that divided them were nothing compared to the living, eternal bonds that grafted their lives: love of family, love of Jesus, patience in suffering, and membership in a worldwide body that enables them to experience each other’s pain … and be lifted by each other’s joy.

  From Peru: A Mother’s Prayer

  In the town of Arequipa, Peru, on the next-to-the-last day of the distribution, all the child-sized wheelchairs had been distributed. All the team had left was one pediatric wheelchair that was so wide it was virtually unusable. The team put it aside because it wasn’t suitable for any disabled boys or girls.

  Just about that time a woman from the mountains arrived with her little disabled girl, Claudia, wrapped in a blanket on her back. The journey had been long and difficult, and she was afraid—you could see it in her face—that she was too late.

  And truthfully, she was too late.

  There were no more pediatric wheelchairs left.

  Claudia’s mother, however, had come too far with hopes too high to simply turn away and go home empty-handed. Instead, she sat outside the distribution center all afternoon and prayed. It broke our hearts to see her out there, with little Claudia in her lap, waiting on the Lord for what she could never provide herself. And there simply weren’t any more wheelchairs to be had! What could they possibly do for her?

  That night Samuel, one of our team members, also prayed about the girl’s dilemma. It was the sort of answer described in Isaiah 30:21 where it says, “Your ears shall hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘‘This is the way, walk in it,’ whether you turn to the right or whether you turn to the left.”

  To Samuel, with mechanical skills, laying on his hotel bed and unable to sleep, the Lord’s voice sounded more like this: “Cut the axel a little this way.… Make an adjustment on the crossbar that way.… turn the wrench to the right, and turn to the left … and you’ll have it. You’ll be able to fix that chair for Claudia.”

  The following morning Samuel got right to work on the leftover pediatric wheelchair that had seemed so unsuitable and unusable. And he got it fixed just in time, only moments before the determined Peruvian woman with her little disabled daughter came back to the center.

  She had prayed. Samuel had prayed. And God miraculously answered.

  From India: Out of the Tunnel

  Mahesh was a leader in his family, a highly educated man with an impeccable British accent. But then one night he had a fall—off the edge of his home’s balcony, badly breaking both of his legs. Although his legs were cast, they never properly healed, and he became a paraplegic.

  His disability disgraced his family, and they put him out on the streets.

  When we met Mahesh and heard his story, we were stunned. Could it really be? Would a man’s own family actually treat him in such a way? But Mahesh only shrugged, telling us that this was the tradition in India. After all, he reminded us, he had lost all his respect. When we first encountered him, he was living inside a tunnel that linked two highways together. His bed was nothing but a filthy bed of rags and threadbare towels, and he had been living there for several years.

  Thankfully our team members spotted him as they were driving through town. We were amazed that this man who looked like a beggar was so educated and well-spoken. He was just as amazed that these foreigners would actually stop and talk to an outcast like himself.

  Through an interpreter, we were able to share the gospel of Christ with him, and the next day we returned to the tunnel with a wheelchair. We worked hard to custom-fit him, right there in that tunnel on the sidewalk between two highways. Then our team members took him to a health care clinic and connected him with an Indian ministry that works with the disabled.

  Mahesh is now being restored to society and to wholeness—yes, because of the clinic and the work of some local churches, but best of all because of Jesus Christ. Yes, that’s right: Mahesh became a Christian, and it’s made all the difference in his life. God’s healing love became more real in that filthy tunnel than in any glorious cathedral. It’s what happens when you touch the untouchable in Jesus’ name.

  From Cameroon: “Where Is My Food?”

  Amidou is a Muslim man who was paralyzed as a result of a stroke and had been in that condition for several years. When our team met him, he was badly in need of help.

  After we fit this elderly gentleman to his new wheelchair, he listened very intently, especially as we gave the gospel to him, explaining the salvation message using the colored beads of a gospel bracelet. We told him the black bead represented his sin; the red, Christ’s blood; the white bead was for forgiveness; and the green bead represented growth, and so on.

  As our worker explained the green bead, Amidou suddenly said, “Where is the food for my growth? I am hungry for this food that others are receiving.”

  We realized that Amidou wasn’t talking about physical food, but rather about the Bible that he had seen others receive that same morning. So we wasted no time in giving a French Bible to Amidou and his wife, Adizai. They were absolutely fascinated, and Adizai told us that although she had heard the name of Jesus, she’d never had any details. She was amazed to hear that He was still alive!

  It’s difficult to describe the joy on this former Muslim couple’s faces as they left the distribution center that day. Patting the cover of their new Bible, Amidou said, “Surely we will eat this food. Such a God we have never known before.”

  From Thailand: A Left-Handed Wheelchair

  Last year when we were in Thailand, we were unloading our wheelchairs in Bangkok when we noticed a ch
air designed for a person with only one arm—the left arm.

  If you turned just one wheel on a normal wheelchair you would, of course, go in circles. But this particular wheelchair had a long lever mechanism that could be pumped by a person’s left arm in order to propel it forward. When our team members saw that chair, we scratched our heads. It seemed really odd, and we couldn’t understand how it made its way into the group of all the other wheelchairs. It was way too specialized. There was no one on our Thailand list who was a paraplegic without use of his or her right arm.

  After a busy week of distribution, just as we were about to close the distribution center, a man crawled in off the street. His name was Francis, and he had just heard that we were in town. So he had crawled onto a bus and had traveled from a far distance to find us. When he arrived, he crawled into the distribution center dragging his feet behind him, and using only one arm to do so.

  His left arm.

  Miraculously, Francis had been able to pull the weight of his body with only his left arm. We learned he had been injured in a work accident several years earlier and never received proper care. But that day we gave him not only good health care, we gave him a wheelchair that fit him perfectly. It was that crazy ultra-specialized chair with the lever mechanism that a person could operate with his left hand.

  It was the perfect chair and a perfect fit for Francis.

  Who knew?

  God knew.

  From West Africa: Mal’s Testimony

  Seventy-five-year-old Mal, a master mechanic who hailed from Minnesota, was one of our most senior team members. Just a year before journeying with our Wheels team to West Africa, Mal had been in a coma, almost dead. But the doctors gave him a medication that had brought him back from the edge and saved his life. Nevertheless, when he emerged from the hospital, it was with both legs amputated below the knee.

  Most people would have been crushed by that development, thinking they had lost everything. But Mal was grateful to have his life back, and had promised the Lord that whatever door of ministry He might open up, Mal would step through—legs or no legs.

  Six months later when a door opened for Mal to become a member of one of our teams delivering wheelchairs and Bibles to West Africa, he strapped on his prosthetic legs and signed up as a wheelchair mechanic. Mal did a phenomenal job with his screwdriver and hacksaw, fixing all the wheelchairs and fitting them perfectly to the needs of each disabled person.

  But here’s the real reason God wanted Mal on that trip.

  The Africans—especially the older ones—were drop-jawed amazed at this elderly man who was so confidently walking about and helping others while he was standing on steel legs. Mal’s faith in his sovereign God was a powerful testimony to the many families who came to the wheelchair distribution. He was a living audiovisual aid of John 9:3 (ESV): “that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

  Many Africans—including a large number of elderly men and women—came to Christ during that wheelchair distribution. The wheelchairs were a dream come true, and they readily accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ. But what had won their hearts was a seventy-five-year-old man with no legs who came across half the earth to help others in need.

  From Egypt: Yasser’s New Friends

  My friend Rebecca Atallah runs a camp for disabled children who live on a garbage dump outside of Cairo, Egypt. It’s called the Garbage Village Camp, and sometimes a lot of adults show up at her camp.

  Like Yasser.

  He’s a thirty-year-old Egyptian man whose legs were amputated just a few years ago. Although he’s got a wheelchair—something many disabled people throughout the world could only dream about—Yasser struggles with depression over his loss. Concerned about his situation, Rebecca allowed him to stay more than one week at camp.

  Gently but persistently, Rebecca challenged Yasser to start working and supporting himself again. At first he wasn’t sure what he could do, but later he told Rebecca that he might be able to go into the tin-can recycling business, scavenging for soda cans in the vast garbage dump. The tops of soft drink cans are made of aluminum, and are worth five times as much as the rest of the can. People who live on scavenging the dumps, however, usually don’t have access to the special scissors required to cut off the tops of the cans. They have to turn in the whole cans for recycling, and their tiny earnings are worth even less. Lots of children who live on the edge of these mountains of garbage help their families make a livelihood from recycling.

  But how could Yasser, a double amputee, compete with the children for cans—or navigate his wheelchair through all those great mounds of trash? It overwhelmed him to think about, and he was almost ready to declare defeat before he even began his venture. That’s when Rebecca offered to collect cans for him, if he would do the work of cutting off the tops of all the cans. Yasser was very grateful, and eagerly accepted the offer. With strong and able hands, this was something he could certainly do.

  It wasn’t long before news of the little arrangement between Rebecca and Yasser spread through the camp. A group of deaf teenagers at the camp were taking an afternoon walk and started talking—actually, signing—to each other about Yasser and his hope of starting a small recycling business.

  As they were walking and signing, they started noticing all the soda cans strewn alongside the dirt road. That gave them an idea. A couple of them ran back and got some plastic bags so they could start collecting these throw-away cans by the side of the path. They brought back three very large bagfuls of cans for Yasser to work on!

  When Rebecca saw this, she was overwhelmed. With tears in her eyes, she told me, “Joni, these deaf young people have so much pain in their lives … so much rejection. Here they are, suffering so much, and yet they were moved by the Lord to share in Yasser’s plight—and in such a practical way!”

  To me, it’s such a wonderful illustration of that beautiful verse in Galatians where we are told to bear one another’s burdens. Yes, we have our aches and pains. Yes, we have our sorrows and disappointments. I have my quadriplegia and chronic pain, and you have your own set of difficulties and challenges. But always and always, Scripture forces us to keep considering the needs of others, no matter how little you have, or how difficult your experiences.

  And I thank those young, deaf Egyptian teens for not focusing on their own afflictions, but rather getting excited about bearing the burden of Yasser—a man with no legs, but with a fresh grip on hope.

  Ten

  Thank You, God, for This Wheelchair

  O LORD, you are my God;

  I will exalt you and praise your name,

  for in perfect faithfulness

  you have done marvelous things,

  things planned long ago.

  —Isaiah 25:1

  Her name is Shantamma.

  When our Wheels team was in India recently, we met this bright-eyed eighteen-year-old, from a Hindu family living in Ongole.

  No one born in the poverty and despair of the teeming slums of this city has an easy life. But many have had it easier than Shantamma. Born with a disability, she has spent her life scooting around on the floor of the family’s tiny home, dragging her legs behind her and rarely venturing outside her front door.

  The message of good news in Christ, however, has permeated this coastal city of 300,000. Four years previous to our meeting Shantamma, an evangelical pastor from a small church made contact with the family. When he learned of Shantamma’s condition, he went back to his little office, picked up his tattered copy of an old Joni book out of his meager library, and brought it to the young woman as a gift.

  Although a Hindu her whole life, Shantamma read that book cover to cover. With tears running down her cheeks, she made up her mind to trust in Jesus Christ … just like Joni. In fact, she read that book eight times, rehearsing over and over how a person could come to sal
vation through Jesus. And finally, that is what she did. In a big decision that undoubtedly had consequences within her family and her community, Shantamma left the Hindu religion and became a Christian.

  Then our team came, bringing wheelchairs and Bibles to Ongole to deliver to needy disabled people. After all those years of crawling and dragging herself from place to place, Shantamma learned to her wonder and delight that she was to receive her own wheelchair. The chair, however, had an excitement for her that went far beyond the gift itself. These were followers of Jesus who were giving those wheelchairs to people! Shantamma was so proud and excited to think that the God she had learned to trust from reading the Joni book so many times, that this God—her own God—was showing her this special kindness and providing an opportunity for her to receive an actual wheelchair fit just for her.

  After Shantamma was finally fitted for her chair, however, she was shocked and stunned to learn where the chairs had come from. She burst into tears when she realized that these wheelchairs were sent “by her very own Joni, from so far away.”

  Since that day, Shantamma has experienced a new level of joy and confidence, and has become more emboldened to share her faith in Christ with friends and neighbors still locked in the Hindu religion. She said to one of our team members, “I am ready to go wherever God leads me in this wheelchair … just like Joni.”

  My friends, this is one of a million reasons why I am grateful God didn’t heal me of my paralysis. What if I had been healed at the Kathryn Kuhlman crusade back in the early 1970s? What if God had answered my prayers as a seventeen-year-old, released me from my paralysis, and returned me to a normal life of a woman on her feet?

  It might have been well for me, but what about Shantamma?

  There would have been no Joni book for the pastor to give this young woman with so little hope and so few prospects, and there would have been no Joni and Friends or Wheels for the World to do a wheelchair distribution for impoverished people in Ongole, India.