The Woman in a Wheelchair — Carol McLeod Ministries
Sometimes, God uses a single moment to change the trajectory of a life—and this story is one of those moments.
Many of us are familiar with Joni Eareckson Tada—her courage, her gifts, her radiant testimony—but what you are about to experience is something more personal. It is a glimpse of how one life, fully yielded to Christ, can ripple into thousands…even tens of thousands…of other lives in ways that only eternity will reveal.
As you read Ruth Schleppi-Verboom’s words today, you’ll encounter more than a memory; you’ll witness the quiet power of a life transformed by Jesus. Joni Eareckson Tada has impacted countless lives, and this personal glimpse reminds us that even one encounter with authentic joy can awaken something eternal within us.
I first met Joni Eareckson Tada in 1986. Joni was thirty-six; I was seventeen. It was the summer I had graduated high school. And in all fairness, when I say “met” her, it was not exactly that. Far from it. It was me and 20,000 other people in a crowded stadium who all came to see her and hear her speak. I like to think that she noticed me—this tall seventeen-year-old girl in the front row, but she probably didn’t.
Joni was once seventeen too. A confident, athletic, tall girl, who, like me, had just graduated high school. She was enrolled in college for the fall and was enjoying her summer break at home. When I look at her pictures from those days, she sparkled. Living life to the fullest. Horses, sports, music, friends—all of that. One sunny day, she and her sister decided to go for a swim in the Chesapeake Bay, not far from their home. Both Joni and Jackie were good swimmers and had been there hundreds of times. The warm day was perfect for a dip in the crisp, cool waters of the bay. Jackie was already in the water, swimming away, while Joni was getting ready to jump in. The girls and their world seemed careless and light.
Until it wasn’t.
Joni misjudged the depth of the water when she dove off a raft, thinking it was deep enough, but it was actually shallow. A tragic miscalculation and the next thing she knew was that she couldn’t move her body. Joni lay in the water, still, with her face down. In a split second, after her dive, she’d broken her neck and her world was never the same. The minutes that followed must have felt like ages, when Joni could not turn herself around and when she felt as if she was slowly drowning.
Meanwhile, Jackie had swum a good distance away from Joni and had no idea what happened. By a blessing in disguise, she was pinched by a crawfish and turned around to warn Joni. While scanning the horizon, she knew something was wrong when she saw Joni floating on her stomach.
Bless that snappy, little crawfish!
Jackie quickly swam back to Joni and turned her over.
I can only imagine the big gulp of fresh air Joni took—the first breath of a whole new life. Joni eventually wrote down her story in a book, which I’d read three times by the time I was seventeen. (The book later became a movie.) Joni had traveled from California to the Netherlands to “meet” me (and the other 20,000 fans) at a Christian festival, called the EO Jongerendag—a huge gathering of young people who wanted to learn more about God and see the woman from California, who could sing, paint, and speak of Jesus as you’d never heard before.
The morning of the festival featured music, speakers, announcements, and all the things that make a good event, but it seemed that everyone in the stadium was there for one thing—to hear Joni speak. The anticipation was tangible. Finally, it was time. Around two in the afternoon, Jan van den Bosh—a longtime friend of Joni and the emcee of the event—said the words we’d eagerly awaited . . .
“Ladies and gentlemen, a warm welcome. Here she is! Joni Eareckson Tada, all the way from California!”
The crowd applauded in unison when Joni, ever so smoothly, rolled and twirled her chair onto the big stage, followed by Ken, her husband.
Joni was stunning. Just beautiful! With a bright smile and clear voice, she greeted us. Ken, standing next to Joni, looked handsome and strong, letting her talk and shine.
I was awestruck. She was all I had hoped for: confident, and fun, and oh-so-Californian—something coveted by the Dutch because California was far away and synonymous with beachy, glamorous, and sun-kissed film stars. Coolness, strength, and happiness obviously came with it, we figured.
California was the dream, and Joni and Ken were pretty much our Barbie and Ken! I still remember what they wore: knitted sweaters with cables and colors and patterns; the sweaters you hope to find in trendy thrift stores today, if you are lucky.
All 20,000 of us hung on every word they said, mesmerized. And in the evening, we would watch it again on national television, when Joni’s performance was aired. I can’t even remember what she said, or which songs she sang, but I remember how she made me feel.
So good.
There was something different about her. Not her wheelchair, her beauty, her flawless presentation, or her fame. No, not even the matching sweaters. It was her happiness that beamed forth. It was authentic.
I knew about Jesus and was brought up in a Christian home, but that summer day in 1986 was the first time I truly understood the source of such happiness: a beautiful and true relationship with Jesus.
And I wanted what she had.
