Joni Eareckson
Tada
Joni's story is well known. The diving accident that paralyzed her from shoulders to toes, and the subsequent development of a vibrant faith and ministry, have been the focus of two books and a film. She has also personalized her experiences in hundreds of speaking engagements.
In this account, Joni describes her experiences with depression, from the severe, suicidal depressions shortly after her accident to the recurring threats of depression from the frustrations of day-to-day living with a permanent and massive loss. This material is taken from an interview recorded in June 1980, when Joni had been flat in bed for a couple of weeks and was battling with frustration, claustrophobia, and an increased sense of helplessness.
Joni's testimony to God's steadfast working in her life through her accident and subsequent depressions will confirm the principle that God's purposes are good and that He will provide a way of growth through the most devastating circumstances if we trust Him..........
I grew up in the west Baltimore suburbs in a family where depression really wasn't common. We always enjoyed good health and good family relationships. Very rarely were there severe arguments. I'm not sure if it was because of the joy
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that existed in my family or the fact that my parents are very easygoing and discipline was a structural, commonplace part of our household. In either case, I don't remember struggling with severe depression when I was a youngster.
As I went through my teenage years, however, I, like most teens, faced a time of inadequacy and struggling with my self-worth and self-esteem — a time of personal identity crisis. I found Christ as my Savior when I was a sophomore in high school, and that gave me a deep sense of belonging and alleviated many problems, at least on the surface.
But in 1967, when I was ready to graduate from high school, I suffered a traumatic and life-changing injury.
My sister Kathy and I were swimming in Chesapeake Bay on a hot July day. I dove into what turned out to be very shallow water and immediately struck bottom. The impact snapped my vertebrae, severed my spinal column, and in an instant I was left paralyzed, without the use of my hands or my legs.
In the first couple of months after my injury, I didn't have much of a problem with depression. I suppose it was because I enjoyed the novelty of what it meant to be in a hospital and have people visit, send me flowers, and what not. I also didn't realize the full nature of my injury. But as the weeks of my hospitalization slipped into months, I sank deeper and deeper into depression.
The depression became even more severe as I discovered the permanency of my paralysis. When this realization began to sink in, I discovered a deep and despairing sense of hopelessness. No hope of ever walking again. No hope of ever using my hands again. No hope of enjoying a marriage with children and all those things I had so dreamed about as a young girl. I wanted to end my life, and the frustration I felt at not even being able to do that only intensified my depression. I was so desperate, I begged one of my friends to help me end it all.
What seemed to make my depression even worse was the way I had held in my true feelings for so long during those weeks of hospitalization. Because I didn't want to drive my family or friends away with bitterness or anger about my situation, I hadn't expressed the quiet rage I was feeling.
Slowly, over the months after my hospitalization, I began to share myself with a small, intimate circle of friends. Once I saw their acceptance and love, a lot of the bitterness melted, and that helped me deal more honestly with my depression.
First I began to understand that it's okay to be depressed. In fact, it was part of the life cycle that David, Moses, and Solomon went through.
Then I began to reconstruct real hope from the Word of God. For instance
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one thing that really helped me in the middle of my hopelessness and depression was to know that at least I had the very real hope of one day having a body that worked. Of having hands that would hug and feet that would run. Not necessarily an angel costume, but a glorified body, much like the kind Christ had after His resurrection. He walked with His disciples, ate with them, and did very earthly human things. It gave me a great deal of comfort to know I hadn't been left alone in that hopelessness, that God had provided the answer by His promise of a new body.
A part of the quiet rage I experienced was anger against God. Inwardly and very quietly, I raved and ranted against Him in my spirit. I think it's better to get angry at God than to walk away from Him. It's better to honestly confront our feelings and let Him know this is how we feel — this is awful, my pillow is wet from all my tears, I'm sick and tired of this, and I can't stand it one more minute. That's better than passing on a Colgate smile, gritting your teeth, and pretending you're not hurting.
Admittedly, I felt some guilt afterward. But I was encouraged by reading examples from the Psalms. In so many, David rants and raves and just can't understand what God is doing, but nonetheless, at the end, there is invariably a ray of hope — "Yet will I trust in Thee."
The example of Jeremiah was also an encouragement. He was terribly depressed amid the horror, the battle, the invasion, the cruelty and mockery that was going on. Yet Jeremiah says that God's lovingkindness never ceases, His mercies are new every morning, His compassions never fail, therefore I will trust Him. Jeremiah chose to believe what he knew to be true about God rather than relying on some assessment based on his current circumstances.
These examples of people in Scripture who were very real, very honest, and very human were a great encouragement. They got angry and upset and depressed. They weren't plaster saints, but real men and women who hurt and were angry and yet nonetheless held on to what they knew to be true about God from history and from His Word.
And that is essentially how I dealt with my guilt. I found I was not alone in my feelings of depression and anger. The Bible is full of people who were terribly confused and upset, yet they hung on to their God. I realized these emotions were part of what it means to be human, and that to feel guilty about feelings of depression was really to feel guilty about being human.
I had to deal with the whole matter of my helplessness, too. Here I was, a girl
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who had been very athletic, who enjoyed sports, who loved horseback riding and swimming, now being reduced to total dependency on others. I had this terrible sense of helplessness, a feeling that my life from here on out would revolve totally around other people's schedules, other people's time and attention. This contributed to my depression, of course, but in time, through sharing myself with the others in this small, intimate group, I began to understand it's okay to be dependent.
I also began to understand I was not a helpless victim of circumstances. God has declared in His Word that He is sovereign and protective, and that in His personal concern for me, all circumstances are fitted into a pattern for good. I was not the brunt of some monstrous trick conceived in heaven. I was not a pawn in a chess match or in the middle of an arm-wrestling match between God and Satan. God assured me He had reasons for this, and though I certainly couldn't understand all of them, at least I could rest on His character and nature. He promised in His Word that all this was going to work out not only for my good, but also for His glory, and I could relax in the truth and love and justice of His character — which, of course, is best explained by the cross.
It comforted me a good deal in my depression to look at Jesus and know that because He had been impaled and paralyzed on that cross, He knew exactly how I felt. I had a Savior who had been tempted and tested and tried in every way like myself.
Then, of course, my feelings of worthlessness contributed to my depression as well. Not being able to use my hands, I really grappled with a sense of inadequacy, of unproductiveness. What could I contribute to society? Was there anything I could do that would be of worth or meaning?
When I had been on my feet, I used the usual yardsticks to gauge what I considered usefulness, productivity, or achievement: material wealth, career opportunities, successful marriages. A jock will measure you by your athletic ability, a seminary student by your brains. But after my injury, all those yardsticks were shattered. I had to find a whole new way of looking at what was really productive, meaningful, and worthwhile.
Slowly I began to see that what would give me a worthwhile position in society and a sense of self-esteem was perhaps different from the values society had once placed on me. I couldn't measure up any longer. My goodness, if I went shopping, I would look at a mannequin and envy her because clothes hung better on her than they did on me sitting in a wheelchair!
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I had to set aside all those societal standards and take hold again of what I knew to be true about myself from the Word of God. And God has said that what really counts in eternity is my response to my situations. I may not have been responsible for getting myself into this wheelchair, but I am responsible for how I respond to it. Even if it means tears and boredom — or now, yes, even deep depression — God has called me to be responsible.
God knows our frame. He bottles our tears; He binds up the wounds of the brokenhearted and takes no pleasure in our pain. But nonetheless, He calls us to be responsible. My sense of worth came from knowing that what counted for eternity was the way I responded in these circumstances no matter how discouraging, irritating, or frustrating they might be. That's what was winning me a rich reward in heaven and a changed life here on earth. The cultivation of a Christlike character by responding responsibly to my injury gave me a sense of worth.
Of course, I can hear someone say, "Well, it's fine for Joni to talk that way. After all, she has an impact on millions of lives with her books, movies, art, and speaking engagements. Of course she has a sense of worth." But let me point out that I was in my wheelchair for eight years before I was even approached about that first book. I had spent most of those years working through these various struggles, long before I had any popularity.
One of the by-products of all these components of depression was strong feelings of self-pity. I worked my way through them in two ways. First, from a human perspective, I found that sitting in a corner and crying for myself wasn't making me or anyone around me happier, so I'd better get on the stick and shape up. That was one approach I took, and it certainly helped.
The other approach was through the Word of God again. I remember the incident where Peter was beginning to get real upset because it seemed Jesus was showing some favoritism to John. Peter confronts Jesus and says, "Look, this is what you're doing with John, and it seems to me I'm getting the worst end of the deal."
And Jesus answers, "Peter, what is that to you? You follow Me." Your business is simply to keep your eye on Me." One might have thought Jesus would say, "There there, Peter. Everything's going to be okay," and patted him on the head or wrapped His arms around him. Maybe doing that would have fostered Peter's self-pity; I don't know. But instead Jesus uses a stern rebuke. In a sense He shakes His finger at Peter and says, "Look. What's the issue here, Peter? You should trust in Me. Don't compare your lot in life to somebody else's. Get your focus where it
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belongs — on the author and finisher of your faith."
When I took a long, hard look at that portion of Scripture in John 21, I saw I was making the same mistake as Peter. I was, in a sense, comparing my lot in life to that of everybody on their feet, even mannequins! And I'd come out losing, because from my limited, young, flesh-and-blood point of view, it seemed they were getting the better end of the deal. Others were on their feet. Others had use of their hands. Others were going to college, holding down jobs, and raising children. To my way of thinking, I was getting the raw end of it all.
But God used a few stern rebukes to get my attention off other people and put my focus back on Him, trusting that He had a purpose and plan and that through Him, I had hope and a great sense of worth. So basically, I dealt with my self-pity by getting my eyes back on Christ.
I don't mean to sound glib or irresponsible by suggesting all this was easy for me — it was not. It took many years for me to finally get a single-mindedness about my faith, because my emotions played such a large part in my early Christian faith, when I was on my feet. If I felt like trusting God one day, I did. If I didn't, I didn't. I was swayed back and forth by fickle feelings.
I believe my injury was God's way of refining my faith so it would rest not so much on my emotions but rather on His character and nature. As I dealt with each of these components of what Dr. Hart calls the "depression spiral," I began to put my loss into the perspective of God's Word and love and purpose and control, and ultimately I got out of the pit of depression.
One of the hardest things to deal with was a sense of claustrophobia, a feeling that it's never going to go away. I would be this way for ever and ever, consumed by the terrible, terrible pain. It was extremely frightening to think it would never pass. What made it so claustrophobic was that I couldn't seem to pull myself out of it. I lay in bed in the hospital, day after day, month after month, for almost two years. Sometimes the calendar seemed to fly by, and at other times to drag, but I was helpless to do anything about it. I remained the same.
It's funny, but the lives of all my friends and family seemed to go on. My friends turned 18, 19, or 20 years old, and it seemed I was forever a 17-year-old for whom time had stood still. Everything was stopped, and I couldn't escape. This claustrophobia and the desperation it created drove me into the pages of Scripture.
I still wrestle with the terrible sense of claustrophobia. It's interesting that I give this testimony while I'm lying flat in bad, where I've been for several weeks,
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trying to heal a bedsore. I still fight discouragement and depression, because that terrible sense of claustrophobia is intensified when I'm lying down. When I lie down, I have even less movement than when I'm sitting up, because gravity is working against me. Even my voice becomes weak.
Lying here day after day, not being able to read much and having only so much I can do with my time, isn't much fun. So even though books have been written, I speak to a lot of people, and a movie has been made, the paralysis doesn't go away. I have to fight these battles against discouragement and depression over and over. You don't get over them once and for all. God is still using my paralysis to teach me about myself, and through it all He's purging me of bitterness or things that never were adequately healed while I was in the hospital. And the lessons I learned from those severe bouts with depression mean a great deal even now when I have to go through milder bouts.
Looking back on my early battles with depression in the hospital, the most helpful thing my friends and family did was to visit me consistently. That seemed to alleviate the depression. Not sporadic visits here and there a little bit, but if I knew I could count on just one person coming every Friday morning to spend the afternoon with me — perhaps read some Robert Frost poetry to me, do my nails, bring a bag of donuts or a pizza for lunch, bring in a guitar or record albums, or watch a game show with me — it gave me a kind of goal.
On Monday morning, I would start thinking about how on Friday morning my sister Jay would come. I knew that when she came, she would always bring a surprise. Whether it was a different nail color or a new magazine or book I'd heard about but hadn't read yet, she'd surprise me somehow. And I'll tell you, when the week began, what gave me the hope that maybe I could make it through Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday was the knowledge that my sister was going to come in on Friday morning, and we would have fun together.
That's why I think just being there consistently is the best way to minister to one who is either depressed or going through a severe trauma. It doesn't have to be all that often. My sister came just once a week. But it was a time set aside, and I knew she sacrificed other responsibilities and things to come and be with me in the middle of my hurt. And invariably she would bring lots of Kleenex, because she knew I would cry. But I felt safe in her arms, knowing my crying would not drive her away. She'd be there next Friday as I had anticipated.
This idea of ministering in tangible, concrete ways — not always with grocery lists of Bible verses but in regular, realistic ways — wins you the right to be heard so
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that eventually, when you want to bring some guidance or advice, it will be more readily received because you've proved yourself a friend.
Those who go to people in depression, pat them on the back, and say, "Listen, you've got to praise the Lord anyway. Put a smile on your face," are really going against Scripture. The Bible says we're to weep with those who weep. You need to get down into the pit with them, put your arm around them, and grieve with them rather than present some pie-in-the-sky ideal that for the moment, at least, you have no realistic way of achieving.
You don't have to have experienced the same trauma to be able to do this, either. Certainly an able-bodied person couldn't walk in here and say, "Gee, Joni, you've been lying in that bed for three weeks with that bedsore. I'm really sorry, and I can understand how you feel." But that person can sit here with me for a while and hold my hand, or maybe just talk or read poetry or something like that. It's so comforting just to know there's somebody who doesn't mind getting down here on this bed with me, so to speak, and spending several hours with me. You don't have to be in a wheelchair to give me that kind of comfort. There are many levels of suffering, and God uses each of us on that scale, no matter where we are, to comfort others at different places on the scale.
Some of you who read this are depressed. You need to realize there are many different kinds of depression and many different reasons people become depressed. Some of it is because of sin. Some has nothing to do with sin. Some of it is because of the chemical makeup of your body. Some of it is simply the Monday morning blues.
I can't speak to depression as a whole, but I can speak about depression that comes as a result of injury, illness, or other negative circumstances. You need to grieve, to cry, perhaps even to express you anger to God. As I said earlier, better to get angry at Him than to walk away from Him.
Give yourself time to work through your feelings so you can begin to see your way clearly through the insanity of your pain. Then share yourself with a small intimate group of friends, begin to reconstruct your faith from the pages of Scripture. Let it be your light and guide, and especially your hope and comfort.
You also need to understand that your experiences of suffering are not out of keeping with the Christian life. The Bible makes it clear that when we sign up in
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the army of Christ, it's going to mean a few bumps and bruises along the way. The writers of the New Testament make it abundantly clear that trials and tribulations are going to figure largely in what it means to grow in the grace and knowledge of the Lord. When we come to Christ, we don't have a guarantee He is going to erase all our pain and problems. He does guarantee He will see us through them and the depression that comes as a natural part of facing them.
This assurance didn't come quickly for me. I remember being shocked at what God was allowing me to go through. I thought, If God is allowing me to go through all this at such a young age, what in the world is He going to do next? And I really wrestled with that lack of trust. But I began to see that what I suffered is what the whole human race collectively has to go through. Christians and non-Christians suffer alike. The real difference is that as those who are part of the family of God, we have the assurance that all of this is part of a good plan, a perfect will, a higher mind. But we need to be clear that the cost of discipleship for some will mean the intimate fellowship of suffering.
The greatest thing for anybody who's struggling with depression as a result of injury is that we have hope. We have the assurance that things won't always be this way. We won't always feel this terribly, terribly low. There's a light at the end of the tunnel. Joy does come in the morning after weeping during the night. Ultimately, even in facing a permanent and severe disability or a terminal illness, we have the hope of heaven. We have the assurance that God will make sense out of our most senseless suffering and that one day, there will be a healing of all things. There will be a perfection and glorification of our bodies, and the pain will be wiped away.
For me, the struggles with depression, both in the past and in the present, haven't been easy. But like Job, I want to trust God in the face of my unanswered questions. And I believe, on the basis of His Word, that there is a place and a purpose for my struggles.
