For the fourth time yesterday, I had to be lifted out of my wheelchair and transferred to my office sofa. I was struggling with shallow breathing and skyrocketing blood pressure—a signal that something was pinching or gouging into my body. As my coworker shifted me, examining my hips for any telltale red spots, I stared vacantly at the ceiling. I felt utterly overcome by my paralysis.
We couldn’t find anything wrong, so I was hoisted back into my chair. That’s when I began rehearsing a passage that has always chased away sad feelings: “Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory. They are buried in weakness, but they will be raised in strength. They are buried as natural human bodies, but they will be raised as spiritual bodies. For just as there are natural bodies, there are also spiritual bodies” (1 Cor 15:43-44).
When my disability is hard to handle, I remember that heaven is the bottom line. “For the Lord himself will come down from heaven with a commanding shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God. First, the believers who have died will rise from their graves. Then, together with them, we who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Then we will be with the Lord forever. So encourage each other with these words” (1 Thes 4:16-18).
When the daily grind of your disability wears you down, comfort and encourage each other with these words. When you don’t know how you’re going to make it another day, let alone another year, comfort and encourage each other with these words. When pain and grief start to rob you of joy, comfort and encourage each other with these words.
After all, we are but blips on the eternal screen. James says, “Your life is like the morning fog—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone” (Jas 4:14). Life is so short. And the brevity of life is all the more weighty when you consider that our momentary afflictions are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all (2 Cor 4:17).
Heaven’s Reward
Just how does a disability achieve eternal glory for us? Take a moment and consider Rumpelstiltskin, the fairy tale about the old elfin who was able to weave straw into gold. You may recall the picture in fairy-tale books, showing a little man hunched over a spinning wheel with mounds of straw on one side and gold coins on the other. When I was a child, I thought it would be wonderful to do such a thing.
The fact is, we can. Your earthly problems—all the inconveniences and tiresome routines surrounding a disability—are your pile of straw. Every time you muster a gracious response to wearisome trials, your hardship is winning for you a mountain of rewards. Your response to suffering has a direct bearing on your capacity for worship, service, and joy in heaven. This is what the Bible means when it says that our light and momentary afflictions are achieving for us eternal glory. Every God-honoring response to a trial increases your capacity to praise God and enjoy him forever.
And whenever the problem-side begins to feel unbearable, focus your eyes on the glory-side. It’s as J. B. Phillips paraphrases, “These little troubles (which are really so transitory) are winning for us a permanent, glorious and solid reward out of all proportion to our pain.” It’s not merely that heaven will be wonderful in spite of our suffering; it will be wonderful because of it. You know you have come far in your disability when you can say, “Yet what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later” (Rom 8:18).
Once we’ve crossed the finish line and found ourselves walking on streets of gold, you and I will be stunned to see the vast and endless gains that our suffering has won for us. Compared to heaven, our worst earthly pains will seem like a mere nuisance. When we stand amazed at the mountain of pleasure that our response to suffering will win us, we will smack our foreheads and say, “Why, oh, why did I not trust God more!” St. Sebastian Valfre, centuries ago, wisely observed, “When it is all over you will not regret having suffered; rather you will regret having suffered so little, and suffered that little so badly.”
Will just three minutes in eternity atone for all the hurt and hardship we experienced on earth? Could heaven possibly be that good? Let’s explore a few questions most people with disabilities have concerning heaven.
Will We Have Disabilities in Heaven?
My friend Robin has lived with Down syndrome for over 60 years and, in many ways, her intellectual disability has helped foster her incredibly sweet spirit and happy countenance. Robin absolutely loves to worship, sing praise songs, and pray for people. Her disability has helped shape her into the exceptional follower of Jesus that everyone knows her to be.
But just because a disability helps Robin grow leaps and bounds spiritually, does this mean her chromosomal deficiency will accompany her into heaven? Robin would say that her intellectual disability is part of who she is; it’s what makes her Robin. When our disabilities are a significant part of who we are on earth, will they in some way continue to be a part of who we are in heaven?
Even a casual reading of the Bible will tell you, no. There is no multiple sclerosis, spinal cord injury, or Down syndrome in heaven. Infirmities and chromosomal deficiencies are a result of the Fall, but heaven will see the complete restoration of all things. Heaven will be a place where the presence of sin and all its results will be eradicated—and disease and disability are results of the Fall.
So does this mean that Robin can’t be who she is and still be part of eternity? What will her body be like? A clue is found in Philippians 3:21: “He [Jesus] will take our weak mortal bodies and change them into glorious bodies like his own, using the same power with which he will bring everything under his control.” This verse seems to indicate that Christ’s resurrected body is analogous to the resurrected bodies we will have in eternity.
The resurrected Christ is recognized in part by having visible wounds on his hands, feet, and side. For all of eternity, these wounds will be the cause of much praise to our Savior for his great mercy and loving-kindness. And although the wounds of Christ are utterly unique, I believe they point us to a mystery about our wounds. For instance, I have always called my quadriplegia a strange, dark companion. It is strange and dark in that it causes me many difficult challenges and extreme pain. Yet this same companion has consistently escorted me every day to the throne of God’s grace, where I find spiritual help for the day. It has also served as God’s primary agent in shaping Christ’s character within me.
In this regard, the strange, dark companion of my quadriplegia is a precious gift because of every good thing God has done in it and through it. It has been given to me by God (Phil 1:29).
And if God has given my disability as a gift, it’s fair to say that its giftedness will be remembered in heaven. Philippians 3:21 says that everything about me that is weak and mortal will be changed—that is, transformed—in heaven. Will the ugly aspects of my disability also be transformed? Since my physical impairment is the tool that has mainly fit me for heaven by exposing sin, resentment, and bitterness, I believe I will forever be connected to its merits and virtues (like wearing a badge of courage). No, I will not be a quadriplegic. And there will be no wheelchairs in heaven. Yet somehow, someway, my disability will forever point to the glorious outcomes of the Spirit’s sanctifying work through my earthly suffering.
Still, what will we look like or be like? Trying to understand what our bodies will be like in heaven is much like expecting an acorn to understand its future roots, bark, branches, and leaves. Or asking a caterpillar to appreciate flying. Or a peach pit to fathom what it means to be fragrant. Our eternal bodies will be so grand and so glorious that we can only catch a fleeting glimpse of the splendor to come. C. S. Lewis once said, “It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship.”1
However, we do know this about our bodies in heaven: “Earthly people are like the earthly man, and heavenly people are like the heavenly man. Just as we are now like the earthly man, we will someday be like the heavenly man” (1 Cor 15:48-49).
We will one day bear the likeness of Jesus, the man from heaven. Like his, mine will be an actual, literal body, perfectly suited for the new earth and heaven. Somewhere in my broken, paralyzed body is the seed of what I shall become. If there are mirrors in heaven, the image I will see will be unmistakably Joni, although a much brighter and more perfect Joni.
What about Babies or Children with Disabilities Who Die?
It happens every summer at our Joni and Friends’ Family Retreats. A family who was registered to come suddenly cancels—their disabled child has unexpectedly passed away. Usually the child succumbs to complications related to their disabling condition.
The parents of these children not only grieve the loss of their child; they grieve over the enormous hardship that little one endured while alive. Is there redemption for such young ones and their suffering? What about older children with severe brain damage who were not able to comprehend the plan of salvation?
Dr. John Piper says, “The way I see it is that God ordains, for his own wise purposes, that at the judgment day all the children who died in infancy will be covered by the blood of Jesus. And they will come to faith, either in heaven immediately or later in the resurrection. And God will not condemn them because he wants to manifest openly and publicly that he does not condemn those who did not have the mental capacities to put their faith in him. I don’t think [the intellectually impaired] have that capacity, and I don’t think babies do. Therefore I hold out hope to parents that the loss of an infant is not their eternal loss.”2
Remember in the Old Testament when God would not allow the nation of Israel to enter the Promised Land because their hearts were hardened? God did not hold their children accountable because they were too young to understand. Listen to what God says about these children, “I will give the land to your little ones—your innocent children. You were afraid they would be captured, but they will be the ones who occupy it” (Deut 1:39, italics mine).
Infants and children with significant cognitive losses will have a home in heaven. So will adults who have intellectual disabilities and are not able to make judgments between good and evil. “For the Lamb on the throne will be their Shepherd. He will lead them to springs of life-giving water. And God will wipe every tear from their eyes” (Rev 7:17).
Why Doesn’t God Heal My Disabled Child?
It’s a question I’ve asked God many times. I prayed and pleaded that God would heal me of my quadriplegia. I attended countless healing services. I was anointed with oil and followed every other scriptural injunction. But my fingers and my feet never got the message. As a result, I have chalked up five decades in this wheelchair.
At first, I was troubled that God said no to my request. But then I read an insightful passage in the Gospel of Mark. In the first chapter, Jesus is healing many sick people in Capernaum. The next day, the townspeople again brought their sick to Jesus early in the morning. Simon and his companions went to look for the Lord. “When they found him, they said, ‘Everyone is looking for you.’ But Jesus replied, ‘We must go on to other towns as well, and I will preach to them, too. That is why I came’” (Mark 1:37-38, italics mine).
It’s not that Jesus did not care about the cancer-ridden or the paraplegics, it’s just that their illnesses were not his main focus, the gospel was. Whenever people missed this—whenever they started coming to him only to have their pains and problems removed—the Savior backed away.
The Bible specifically says that all who follow Jesus can expect hardship. Paul told the new believers in Galatia that “we must suffer many hardships to enter the Kingdom of God” (Acts 14:22). After calling Christians heirs with God and coheirs with Christ, Paul adds, “But if we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering” (Rom 8:17). No one goes to heaven who does not first share in Christ’s sufferings. Peter says to hurting people, “For God called you to do good, even if it means suffering, just as Christ suffered for you. He is your example, and you must follow in his steps” (1 Pet 2:21).
Suffering can raise so many other challenging questions for our faith. Here are some basic answers to a few common questions about healing.
• Does God want us to pray for healing? Yes! Just as we cannot box God in and say he always heals, we cannot box him in and say he never heals. This is why the Bible encourages us to pray for healing (Jas 5:14).
• Should we fully expect God to heal? All healing from every affliction always comes from God’s hand. But in view of the fact that the Kingdom of Christ has not yet come in its fullness, we should not automatically expect complete healing. Why should we arbitrarily single out disease—which is just one of sin’s many results—and treat it in a special way as something that Christians shouldn’t have to put up with? And the emphasis on earthly problems in the New Testament tells us we’re going to have to put up with plenty! (Mark 10:30; John 16:33).
• Does it show a lack of faith if people are not healed? No! The focus of our faith should always be Jesus. Although Jesus wants what’s best for his followers, “best” will not be an easy life with no sickness or pain. God’s idea of best may include physical hardships that drive us closer to him.
• Why does God heal some people and not others? We cannot know what God has not revealed. God may occasionally grant miraculous healing as a gracious glimpse and sneak preview of the coming age when the eyes of all blind people will be opened, all deaf will hear, and every lame person will walk (Isa 35:3-6). When people are healed miraculously, it should encourage us to look forward to the time when healing will be for everyone.
• What should our response be when God doesn’t heal us? When bedsores afflict me as boils did Job, I will say with him, “Should we accept only good things from the hand of God and never anything bad?” (Job 2:10). And when I feel bound to my wheelchair as Paul was to his chains, I will say with him, “For you have been given not only the privilege of trusting in Christ but also the privilege of suffering for him” (Phil 1:29).
Joy Craves a Crowd
Misery may love company, but joy craves a crowd. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit long to fill the hearts of thirsty people who are spiritually dehydrated from a lack of joy. The Father is gathering an inheritance who will join him in the river of joy that is heaven. He is heaven-bent on gathering glad souls who will make it their eternal ambition to worship his Son in the joy of the Holy Spirit. God is love, and the wish of love is to drench with delight those who have stepped into the fellowship of sharing in his Son’s suffering.
And soon, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are going to get their wish. Perhaps sooner than we think, God will close the curtain on sin, suffering, disease, and death, and we will step under a veritable Niagara Falls of thunderous joy.
I may have suffered with Christ on earth, but one day in heaven I’m going to reign with him. I may have tasted the pains of living on this planet, but one day I’m going to eat from the tree of life in the pleasure of heaven. There we will feel utterly at home, as though it were always this way, as though we were born for such a place—and we were!
In a way, I hope I can bring my wheelchair to heaven. I know that’s not theologically correct, but I hope I can wheel it up to Jesus, hold his nail-pierced hands, and say, “Jesus, see this wheelchair? You were right when you said that in this world we would have trouble. This wheelchair was a lot of trouble. But the weaker I was in it, the harder I leaned on you. And the harder I leaned on you, the stronger I discovered you to be. Thank you for giving me this bruising-of-a-blessing. My wheelchair showed me a side of your grace that I never would have seen otherwise.”
Then the real ticker-tape parade of praise will begin. And all of earth’s redeemed will join in the party. Christ will open up our eyes to the great fountain of joy in his heart for us that is beyond all that we ever experienced on earth. And when we’re able to stop laughing and crying, the Lord Jesus really will wipe away our tears. I find it so poignant that at the point when I finally do have the use of my arms to wipe away my own tears, I won’t even have to. God will wipe them away for me. And he will do the same for you.
1 C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory (HarperOne, 2001), pp. 45-46.
2 Interview with Dr. John Piper, “Why Do You Believe That Infants Who Die Go to Heaven?” desiringGod, January 30, 2008, http://www.desiringgod.org/interviews/why-do-you-believe-that-infants-who-die-go-to-heaven.