A Place of Healing: Wrestling with the Mysteries of Suffering, Pain, and God's Sovereignty

by Joni Eareckson Tada

her terrible pain. I am generally not happy with people who have never walked “through the valley of the shadow of death.” I want to hear from people who are currently walking through that valley. They offer me more encouragement and hope. And this book is filled with encouragement and hope.

She tells stories from her own life and the lives of others, and fills the book with quotations from the Bible (this is the best part of the book). This is a must-read for anyone who, like me, struggles each day and those who help and care for those who struggle.

heals when He heals remains cloaked in divine mystery, and I certainly won’t be the one unwrapping those things in these few pages.

Do I pray for miraculous healing for my chronic pain? You bet I do.

isn’t that the bottom line?

That Jesus gets the glory,

whether I continue smiling in my chair, not in spite of my pain but because of it, knowing I’ve got lessons to learn, a character to be honed, other wounded people to identify with, a hurting world to reach with the gospel, and a suffering Savior with whom I can enjoy greater intimacy. And every bit

it genuine evidence of God’s love and grace.

For the past five years I’ve been in the wrestling ring with an enemy that seems to grow larger, more fiendish and hatefully aggressive,

As you will see, writing a book about God’s healing from a platform of intense suffering gives an urgency to the subject that keeps it from becoming detached or academic.

Healing—or even a brief respite from the pain war—is certainly uppermost in my mind these days. No … let me amend that. Bringing honor to the name of my Savior and King is uppermost,

whether He chooses to give me relief now or just around the corner in His Father’s house. Either way, He will help me and save me and, yes, c...

I am recording my combat-zone observations before the smoke has cleared, before the shells have stopped falling, before the guns have gone silent, before the long grass and wildflowers have grown over the scars of war. And I am writing with great urgency. My life is changing, and I want to speak to these issues of suffering in a believer’s life—and yes, to God’s undeniable healing power—while I still can. Incessant pain, as those who have lived in its grip can attest, makes it very difficult to think, work, relate, plan, write,

In those dark, middle-of-the-night moments, I’m not physically able to free myself from a too-hot blanket, and the stiffness of lying in one position for so many hours overtakes me with a rush of pain

But with this pain, it’s—it’s as though God is reintroducing me to suffering, like … I’m brand-new

You can’t teach about suffering from a textbook. You can place yourself in front of a class, lecture, and even do a snappy PowerPoint, but how do you communicate truth so that words become a branding iron on a heart of soft wax?

mercifully, none of those sixty-five students had to break their necks that day or endure mind-bending pain. They just had to have faith that the tears were real … which proved that the Man of Sorrows really can redeem suffering.

In fact, I find myself in the fight of my life. I’m in the thick of it, as they say, and honestly have no idea how long this struggle will continue or how and when it will be resolved. As I said, it’s an unlikely time to write a book on healing.

that has intruded into my life. It manifested first as a driving lance of pain in my neck. And just as I began to “reconcile myself” to that field of battle, a new, even fiercer attack broke out on a new front—my lower back. The persistent attacks of physical agony I have experienced over the last two years are beyond anything I could have imagined. Words truly fail me.

The truth is, over this past year I’ve endured some of the most difficult days and weeks of my life—rivaling those early days

That doesn’t work anymore. Neither do muscle relaxers. Or Advil PM. Or even Vicodin. Or (and I’m sorry to say this) even stronger drugs than that.

never used to keep that kind of sleep schedule. I never used to whine. I never used to wake up wondering if I’d be able to get out of bed. Most of all, I never remember being this anxious or fearful.

But one thing is better. We are all much more dependent on God for help. And for sanity itself. Because I have never been more aware that

am a target of the Devil and his hordes.

adversary knows very well what my example

trust and confidence in God has meant to Christians throughout the years, from the time I published my first book, Joni, back in 1976 through the present. Has Satan read my books? I seriously doubt it—there’s way too much Jesus in those pages for his liking. Nevertheless, he knows my love for the Savior and hates me for it. My enemy has most probably assigned some captain in his lowerarchy of hell to harass me. My wicked adversary knows I have at least become accustomed to quadriplegia. He recognizes that total and permanent paralysis is no longer the struggle it used to be for me. He is aware that my profound disability has helped me develop the prized characteristic of needing God desperately when I wake up in the morning. And quite frankly, he despises that. He hates knowing that my trust in God resounds to the Father’s glory. He detests thinking of my increased eternal capacity for worship and joy in heaven as a reward for my perseverance these forty-plus years in my wheelchair. He loathes the way my fellowship with Christ in His sufferings turns up the wattage on the Savior’s glory. He considers it

My adversary knows that the Lord has used my personal testimony many times, in many ways, in many nations to push back dark thinking like that. He’s certainly cognizant that

ministry of Joni and Friends has been used of God to promote His grace and goodness among the suffering in some of the darkest corners of our world. He knows I’m well aware that we wrestle not against the flesh and blood of disease and disability, but against powers and principalities that rub their hands in glee as they crush the hopes of disabled people, pushing them deeper into despair and discouragement

Come on. Admit it: When your heart is being wrung out like a sponge, when you feel like Morton’s salt is being poured into your wounded soul, you don’t want a thin, pale, emotional Jesus who relates only to lambs and birds and babies. You want a warrior Jesus. You want a battlefield Jesus. You want His rigorous and robust gospel to command your sensibilities to stand at attention.

I need Jesus the rescuer, ready to wade through pain, death, and hell itself to find me, grasp my hand, and bring me safely through.

wanted to do anything—everything I was supposed to do in this fierce battle—to obey Scripture.

Little did they know they had entered a war zone. (It happens every time you want to obey Scripture.) As they opened their Bibles, I could feel dark spirits retreating—spirits of discouragement and doubt that had harassed and haunted me over the past few days. But with these Christian men—my husband, Ken, included—I felt safe for the first time. They read Scriptures, prayed,

and then pulled out a small vial of oil. When Pastor Bob approached the bed, I asked if he would give me a blessing at the close of his prayer for my healing—the sign of the cross on my forehead. Growing up as a Reformed Episcopalian, I knew this to be an outward physical symbol of, well … a seal, a kind of amen. So be it. Let it be as the Lord wills. Bob prayed: “Lord God, You can, with a thought, simply take this pain of Joni’s away, and so we pray that in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit that You would heal Joni of this long and tiring ailment.” And at that

touched my forehead with oil and sealed his prayer. That’s right. It would only take a thought toward me, Lord. Just a thought from You. The whole idea of the ease and simplicity with which God could touch me and release me from pain comforted me greatly. A fresh peace settled over the bedroom—a peace I had not sensed in days. Dark spirits of disappointment with...

me will complete it! Pastor Bob flipped his Bible open to Psalm 57:2–3 and read it as though it were a benediction: “I cry out to God Most High, to God, who fulfills [His purpose] for me. He sends from heaven and saves me, rebuking those who hotly pursue me.” I had been hotly pursued long enough by those dark spirits. And by the time my pastor and elders left, Ken and I were determined to look for God’s redemption in my pain. For pain is a bruising of a blessing; but it is a blessing nevertheless. It’s a strange, dark companion, but a companion—if only because it has passed

through God’s inspecting hand. It’s an unwelcome guest, but still a guest. I know that it drives me to a nearer, more intimate place of fellowship with Jesus, and so I take pain as though I were taking the left hand of God. (Better the left hand than no hand at all.) Perhaps the simple realization of something so redemptive is healing enough. I don’t know when this season of pain will be over. Maybe, in God’s grace and wisdom, He’ll say, “Enough!” and banish the pain within the hour. Or maybe He’ll say, “Enough!” allowing me to step out of this long-disabled, deteriorating temporary housing into my “building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands” (2 Cor. 5:1). In the meantime, these afflictions of mine—this very season of multiplied pain—is the background against which God has commanded me to show forth His praise. It’s also that thing that I am to reckon as “good and acceptable and perfect,” according to Romans 12. God bids me that I not only seek to accept it, but to embrace it, knowing full well that somewhere way down deep—in a secret place I have yet to see—lies my

highest good. Yes, I pray that my pain might be removed, that it might cease; but more so, I pray for the strength to bear it, the grace to benefit from it, and the devotion to offer it up to God as a sacrifice of praise. My strength in prayer these days is scant—I’ll confess that. So for all the concentration I can muster in prayer, I must not dissipate it in seeking physical blessings only. Rather, I must spend a good portion of it seeking spiritual growth and praying for Christ’s kingdom to go forth into this dark world. For such prayers are a way for me to know God and to know Him deeper, higher, richer, wider, and fuller—much fuller than if I comfortably cruised through life in my wheelchair. To this point, as I pen this cha...

Mary Jane Iron quote, but it comes pretty close to my take on “normal”: Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are.… Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in my pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.

desires have settled in on heaven and the immediate presence of my Lord Jesus. And why not? The Bible says I’m already a citizen of heaven; I don’t need to update my passport or fill out any forms or change of address cards. The Bible says I’m already raised with Christ, seated with Him in heaven; I won’t have to “find my place” when I get there because my place has already been reserved. It’s “an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—kept in heaven for [me].” Hooray for 1 Peter 1:4!

No, miracles did not suddenly disappear after the apostolic age. However, we need to remember that miracles also were God’s way of “authenticating” the true ministry of genuine apostles during the early days of the church. (There really were an awful lot of phony apostles running around back then!) The apostle Paul claimed that the church was able to know he was for real, and not phony, because of his lifestyle and “the things that mark an apostle—signs, wonders and miracles” (2 Cor. 12:12). So I have to bring a little balance to this point about miracles happening whole-scale nowadays. Wonders of healing were God’s way of spotlighting those men that He raised up to begin and lead the church. And those men healed the sick big time!

suffering people around this world. Here is what I believe: God reserves the right to heal or not … as He sees fit.

Did these suffering people all pray in assurance? Yes, Frost noted, but it wasn’t so much an assurance that their specific prayer would be answered. It was rather an assurance of the power, love, and wisdom of God.

He wrote: “The general attitude of those who prayed, and hence, of those who exercised faith, was this: They believed that God could heal; that He would heal if it was for His glory and for the good of the person who was sick; and finally, that He could be trusted implicitly to do what was right and best.” Frost went on to add: “Those who prayed left the issue of their prayers with the heavenly Father in child-like confidence, repeating the prayer for healing until His will was known, and accepting the answer when it came, whatever it was, with submissive and trustful praise.”

“God gave me the desires of my heart!” I said. Lloyd looked at my wheelchair, then back at my face. He was listening very intently. “It’s true,” I said. “He really did. The thing was, because I had delighted myself in God, He miraculously replaced my little private lists of wants and wishes with a list of His own. His desires became mine. And what are His desires? That the gospel go forth, that the kingdom be advanced, that the earth be reclaimed as rightfully His, that the lost get saved, that His glories be made known. “That’s when it hit me, Lloyd. My wheelchair was the key to seeing all this happen—especially since God’s power always shows up best in weakness. So here I sit … glad that I have not been healed on the outside, but glad that I have been healed on the inside. Healed from my own self-centered wants and wishes.”

So why do we still doubt? We know God is always shifting and pulling and pushing and making things happen behind the scenes. Why do we agonize? Why can’t we trust Him? Why can’t we rest in His “good, acceptable,

experience a thousand miracles in our lives every day!

Friend, our inability to comprehend something doesn’t make it untrue or any less miraculous. Count

You pray for souls to be settled and for God’s people to experience peace that is profound. You pray for lives to have intensity and depth; you pray for joy and peace in the church without a lot of parade and noise.

Henry Frost concurred with this point of view. In his study of people in his own sphere who had prayed for healing but not received it, he noted that “special spiritual blessings were given to the persons who were permitted to be sick, and that most of the persons, if not all of them, were finally constrained to testify that they believed that the sickness had proved to be even better than health could have been.”

forced me to depend on grace, bound me with other believers, produced discernment, fostered sensitivity, disciplined my mind, taught me to spend my time wisely … and widened my world beyond what I would have ever dreamed