Beyond Heaven and Earth

by Steven H. Propp

  Dr. Secrist nodded his head, but said nothing, as he walked away.

  36

  TRULY FREE

  Jobran sat down in the sun room that was often used by the hospice patients, and removed the lid from his cup of coffee. As he lifted it to take a sip, he noticed a young man named Kevin who he had seen at the hospital and (since Kevin was very friendly and outgoing) talked with a number of times before. Kevin had quadriplegia, and was sitting in his reclining wheelchair, directly in the sun. Since the afternoon sun was fairly hot, it occurred to Jobran that it might be too hot for him.

  “Excuse me, Kevin,” Jobran said, moving around until the man could see him, then added, “I don’t know if you remember me, but…”

  “Of course I remember you,” Kevin said, smiling. “You’re Jobran Winter from the hospice; I never forget a name or a face.” Jobran nodded in acknowledgment, and the young man added, “So how are you doing this afternoon?”

  “I’m fine; I was just taking a break before I go back—I volunteered for a second shift, today, because two of our other volunteers can’t make it.” Embarrassed, he added, “Say, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but I just thought you might be a bit hot, sitting in the sun like that, and maybe you’d like to be moved a bit…?” Jobran noticed that there was some perspiration on the man’s forehead.

  Kevin grinned broadly, and said, “Hallelujah: God has answered prayer!” then he added, “Yes, if you could move me out of the sun a bit, please.” Jobran moved the chair back, then forward to an area that wasn’t directly in the sun. “Thanks so much, Jobran,” Kevin said, with genuine warmth. “The sun wasn’t quite directly on me when my parents first put me here; apparently, it’s taking longer talking with my specialist than they expected.” He laughed good-naturedly, and said, “Now, if I was a rich author like Stephen Hawking, I could afford one of those fancy mouth-operated chairs.” With a pretended sigh, he added, “Unfortunately, when you’re only lower middle-class…”

  Jobran looked concerned, and asked, “Are you here for some particular problem, or…?”

  Kevin shook his head as much as he was able. “No, I just finished having my monthly checkup of everything; just making sure that nothing’s going downhill faster than they expected, and so on. My parents and sister are talking to my doctor by themselves.” He laughed lightly, and said, “When you’ve been a quad for as long as I have, the problems start to add up over the years.”

  Jobran thought for a moment, then asked shyly, “Do you mind if I ask you a question? A personal question?”

  “Sure,” Kevin said, gregariously. “Fire away.”

  “Do you believe in life after death?” Jobran asked.

  “Absolutely!” said Kevin, pleased with the opportunity to proclaim it. “I’m a fundamental, Bible-believing evangelical Christian.”

  “Can I ask you why you believe in it?” Then, embarrassed, he held up his hand and said, “Wait, that came out all wrong; let me restate that.”

  Kevin grinned, and said, “It’s no problem at all. As a Christian, I’m always glad to bear my testimony. ‘Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.’ First Peter 3, verse 15.” With a slight scowl, he said, “I’m always ready—but unfortunately, this contraption scares most people away, so I hardly ever get a chance!”

  Jobran said, “I’m not asking the question as a skeptic, or anything like that. But I’m particularly interested in your answer, since as a disabled pe…I mean, as a…,” and, blushing furiously, he said, “Boy, I’m really getting everything wrong, aren’t I?”

  Kevin laughed heartily, and its fullness was reassuring to Jobran. “Don’t worry about it, Jobran; I got over my ‘super-sensitive-about-using-a-wheelchair-so-let’spretend-you-don’t-see-it’ stage about fifteen years ago. Now, it only seems funny to me when I meet someone, and they pretend not to even notice that I’m using a chair.” Imitating such a person’s voice, Kevin said, in a high-pitched tone, “‘Oh my goodness, you’re in a wheelchair?!? Why, I’d never have known…” and they both laughed. Then, with an impish smile, Kevin added, “As long as you don’t call me a ‘cripple,’ we’ll be fine.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Actually, you can call me a ‘Crip’—that’d mean you thought I was able-bodied enough to be a member of a street gang, and that’d be way cool.”

  Kevin’s humor restored most of Jobran’s self-confidence, so he said, “I think that what I was trying to say was that I’ve been very interested in the question of life after death since my wife passed away almost two years ago…”

  Kevin interrupted to ask sharply, “Was she a Christian?”

  “Yes,” Jobran said.

  “Then hallelujah,” Kevin said, with genuine enthusiasm, “Because she’s closer to Jesus right now than either of us are!”

  Jobran was noticeably less assured than was Kevin about this, but he continued, “Since then, I’ve been studying the question from the perspective of all different sorts of religions, and I thought that as a…person using a wheelchair, you might have some unique outlook on…wait, that didn’t come out right again….” and he started blushing again.

  Kevin laughed again, and said, “Jobran, my friend: If I could pat you on the shoulder reassuringly right now, I would. As it is, please just take my word for it: you don’t need to be ‘supercautious’ about your language around me; I’m not offended that easily, and I’m never offended by someone of good will who has a verbal slip of the tongue.” Taking a deep breath, he summarized by saying, “I think that what you’re trying to ask is, ‘Have my experiences as a person using a wheelchair given me any spiritual perspectives that are unique—or at least, interesting?’ Did I get it right?”

  “You got it exactly right,” Jobran said, nodding his assent vigorously.

  “Well, then: First, I need to ask you a couple of questions. Number one, are you a Christian?”

  “Yes; at least, I think so,” Jobran said, and Kevin laughed. Flustered, Jobran clarified, “I mean, I was raised as a liberal Protestant, and I’m currently studying to become a Catholic—which is what my wife was—but I’m not sure that I’ve got convictions that are that deep, as of yet.”

  “Do you believe the Bible?” Kevin asked.

  “Probably not in the sense in which you mean,” Jobran replied. “You probably mean, do I think the Bible is inerrant in all matters of faith and doctrine? To that, the answer is probably, ‘No.’” But before Kevin could come forth with a reply, he added, “But I am open-minded, and that’s why I want to find out the basis that a diverse group of people have, for their own beliefs.”

  “Fair enough,” Kevin said, pausing to gather his thoughts. “Let’s see how this notion strikes you: As the Bible says, ‘God is Love’ (1 John 4:16); do you agree with that first premise?”

  Jobran thought for a moment, then said, “Well…I don’t disagree with it.”

  Kevin laughed, and said, “You’re a tough nut to crack, my friend. Anyway, my second premise is, ‘God does not show favoritism.’ (Acts 10:34) In other words, he is fair. Do you agree with that one?”

  “Actually, that’s one of the ones I’m having a lot of trouble with,” Jobran said. “But I don’t mean to interrupt: this is really interesting, and you’ve obviously given this a lot of thought. What next?”

  With great confidence, Kevin said, “Then my conclusion is that there is life after death—in a place called Heaven—where God ‘will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’” (Rev 21:4) He paused for dramatic emphasis, then asked rhetorically, “Why do I believe this? Well, consider this: If there is no life after death, then blind people will never see again, the deaf will never hear, and we will never be reunited with our loved ones. Persons that were born with restricted m
obility, or with mental retardation, will never have the ‘fair chance’ that the rest of humanity had. In short, life would be totally unfair, and there would be no redress of injustices that occur during it. As St. Paul said, ‘If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men.’” (1 Corinthians 15:19) In a voice brimming with confidence, Kevin then added, “That notion is repugnant to everything that I know, and everything that I believe about God, because I know that my God loves all of his children equally.”

  Jobran looked thoughtful, and said, “That’s an interesting argument—a very interesting argument. You’ve obviously put a lot of time and thought into this presentation; I’ve never heard this approach before.”

  “I certainly have,” said Kevin, with obvious pride. “But it’s coming straight from the heart, I assure you.”

  “And you believe that in spite of…I mean…” Jobran sputtered, unable to find the right words.

  “In spite of my quadriplegia?” Kevin finished for him. “Quite the contrary, I believe in God far more now as a direct result of my condition, than I ever did— or ever would have—had I not been stricken.”

  Jobran couldn’t stop himself from asking, “How did…I mean….”

  Kevin shook his head, and said, “Don’t be embarrassed; it’s a quite natural thing to ask, from your situation. And whether or not anyone actually asks the question, I always know that it is the first question that they want to ask,” and he laughed, heartily. Then in a serious tone, he said, “I was eighteen, and some friends and I went skiing; we drank some beer before going up on the lift, of course. I was going too fast down a slope, and ran head-first into a tree.”

  Jobran grimaced, and said, “Yikes!”

  Kevin continued, “I shattered the connection between my brain and my spinal column. Plus, I nearly froze to death, before they found me; I’ve been paralyzed ever since. And let me tell you, no one every prayed more intensely than I did while I was lying there, in that freezing snow, because I knew that I wasn’t ready to die. Sure, I belonged to my church youth group, and sang in the choir sometimes, but I didn’t take it seriously; I had never really committed my life to Christ.”

  Jobran hesitated, then asked tentatively, “Did you, or do you, ever allow yourself to hope that someday God might actually heal you?”

  “I did—almost constantly, during the first years after the accident happened.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh, and said, “I used to tell myself that it would be ‘a great witness to God, if I were healed’—but of course, I was really only thinking about my own selfish needs and wants; for all I knew, God’s witness was better off by my remaining as an example of how a Christian can maintain faith through even the most extreme forms of adversity.” He paused, and continued in a voice of deep conviction, “If I had been healed, the witness of it would have been only transitory. It might have raised eyebrows here and there, but mostly it would have just been people from my church that would have even heard about it; after all, I’m not someone famous, like Joni Eareckson-Tada. The secular world would have ignored it, or else chalked it up to ‘the placebo effect,’ or something like that. And even in my own church, the ‘excitement’ of it would have worn off eventually. Can you imagine me in church now, being introduced as, ‘A person that God miraculously healed fourteen years ago’?” He laughed, and added, “Everyone would rightly think, ‘Big deal; what’s God done for you lately?’” Kevin shook his head slowly, then concluded, “Overall, I realize now that God’s decision to leave me as I am has been the wisest one—although it is not necessarily the one that is the easiest for me to bear.”

  “Why, in your estimation, does God expect you to go through life with such an additional burden?” Jobran asked, genuinely curious. “He doesn’t expect able-bodied people to show such faith, does he?”

  Quickly, Kevin said, “Actually, God does expect able-bodied people to show faith in him, just as he expects persons with disabilities to show faith: he wants all of us to have perfect faith.” Raising his eyebrows expressively, he added, “And in many respects, my ‘cross to bear’ is easier than for a lot of other disabled people: For example, I can see to read the Bible by myself, on my computer screen; I can hear to listen to glorious gospel music and inspirational sermons; I can smell the beautiful lilies of the field; and I can taste the edible glories of God’s creation. And most important, I can think, I can pray, and I can worship. What more do I need?”

  Jobran nodded his agreement, and said, “You’re certainly right there.”

  Encouraged by this response, Kevin continued, “To me, the greatest disability to bear would be a mental disability; the notion of getting Alzheimer’s Disease or some kind of dementia just terrifies me. In my case, I feel that by having my mental faculties in full working order, I am able to at least comprehend the whole of life, even if I can’t climb up a ramp by myself. And some people have crosses to bear that have nothing at all to do with physical challenges: Some people are born to quite famous and eminent parents, and the children are naturally expected to also accomplish great things in life, and they are a disappointment if they merely turn out to be ‘average.’ Other persons show a great deal of early promise in some area, are expected by their parents to be great scholars, or tremendous athletes, and there is great pressure on them to excel and succeed—and they are viewed as bitter disappointments if they don’t achieve at this ‘exceptionally’ high level.” Then, with a gentle laugh, he added, “Whereas for me, the mere fact that I’m able to make it through each day is considered to be rather remarkable, by many people. And the fact that I’m able to basically support myself as a gospel music producer is considered phenomenal, by almost everyone. How many able-bodied people achieve praise just for being able to support themselves?”

  “What you say is all very true,” Jobran said. “But still, aren’t there aspects of your situation that you don’t like?”

  “Millions of them,” Kevin groaned, although he winked at Jobran as he did so. “I’m a very ‘do-it-yourself’ kind of person; or at least, I used to be. Now, having to be dependent on others for even the most basic of life’s functions—feeding myself, taking care of my daily hygienic needs, etc.—is something that an independent-minded person such as myself would rather not have had to experience. But even in this, it has made me much more appreciative of what we are given by God: We are all dependent upon him for our every need, in the same way that I am dependent upon my family and friends.”

  “Have your accident and disability given you any really unique insights about things?” Jobran asked.

  Kevin thought for a moment, then said, “I think the major benefit I have achieved as a direct result of my disability is that it has given me is the ability to be alone with myself, and the ability to really think about things—deeply.” He chuckled, and said, “Before my accident, although I was supposedly a Christian, I was certainly no ‘deep thinker’; I just went to church about every other Sunday, sang in the choir when I felt like it, partied on the weekends with my friends, and that was about it. Questions about theology, doctrine, and Biblical studies held no interest for me; what difference did it make to me how many ‘persons’ made up the Godhead, or what ‘sanctification’ meant?” Looking satisfied, he added, “Now I try to memorize ten Bible verses a day, one per hour; and while I’m memorizing them, I can just think and think, and ponder over them again and again, for literally hours at a time.” With a hearty laugh, he said, “Not even preachers can give that kind of intense, concentrated attention to a single verse—particularly since they have so many other distractions.”

  Jobran thought for a moment before asking, “Do you ever get…well, angry with able-bodied persons, as a ‘class’? I mean, you surely encounter people—like me—who say and do stupid and insensitive things.”

  “Actually, you’d be surprised how rarely I encounter someone that truly says or does somet
hing rude or crude. My family can leave me sitting by myself for hours at a time in a public place, and no one has ever struck me physically, robbed me, or directly made fun of or insulted me to my face. In some respects, people are almost on their ‘best behavior’ around me—which is why I can usually count on relative strangers such as yourself to be willing to ask me if they can do anything to make me comfortable.”

  “Do you ever feel envy, for what able-bodied persons can do?”

  In a reasonable tone, Kevin said, “I’ll admit that there are times—like today— when it would be most convenient to me able to move out of the sun by myself; I just hate having to call out, ‘Hey, can somebody come over here and help me?’” His face wrinkled, as if he was deep in thought, and he said quietly, “Yet in a sense, I feel like my disability has given me some positive perspectives on life, that I would never have had if I hadn’t had my disability; for instance, I truly appreciate the ‘little’ things more. Non-disabled people, I think, cannot truly appreciate how wondrous are such things as the ability to move about, to be able to walk, or run, or skip; to be able to bend, crouch, lay down, or jump; to be able to move in or out of the sun or shade when you wish, to feel the sun and wind and rain on one’s face, to be able to turn or tilt your head away from it, or towards it, and feel it from a different angle.” He added, thoughtfully, “There are times when, if there were a miraculous operation that could give me back the use of my legs and arms, I’m not sure if I would be willing to have the operation; I’d almost be too afraid of what I’d lose.” With his eyebrows lowered in deadly earnestness, he said, “I see the superficiality in the culture and attitudes of so many able-bodied people, and I’d be afraid that I’d become like them, if I were to be able-bodied myself: the lack of gratitude, lack of appreciation for the many good things they have; the selfcenteredness, and lack of consideration for others.” He chuckled softly, and said, “Seeing and hearing some yuppie couple at a restaurant—absolutely incensed over the fact that their steak isn’t exactly at the proper degree of tenderness, or the salad dressing has just a shade too much vinegar, or the wine is just a few degrees too cold—well, it makes me glad that I’m not like them.”