Joni Eareckson Tada - When God Weeps

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When God Weeps

Why Our Sufferings Matter to the Almighty

Joni Eareckson Tada
Steven Estes

To Verna

Eight kids later and still the most fun companion on earth

To Ken

You make me forget this chair and thats saying a lot

Table of Contents

S ometimes a fresh word may, in fact, be a very old one. Truths that are timeless often need only the time brushed away in order to reveal the polished patina that has gleamed all along. And so we acknowledge those fathers of theology on whose shoulders we have built this book. People like Calvin and Luther and Latimer, Jonathan Edwards and George Whitefield, Loraine Boettner and Martyn Lloyd-Jones. Not many pull the writings of Jeremiah Burroughs off the shelf for a little casual reading these days, and so When God Weeps is meant to give a fresh and contemporary treatment of doctrines hammered out by theologians of old. We give thanks to God for these men of faith who continue to shape the thinking of many.

We extend a hearty handshake to our friend, Dr. John MacArthur, who researched the Scriptures for Appendix B. (And he did so long before you could click on a computer icon andzip!have the answers!).

Our profuse gratitude goes to Scott Bolinder of Zondervan who graciously accommodated our schedule, and John Sloan, our editor, with Bob Hudson, who picked up our slack. Thanks, also, to Robert Wolgemuth of Wolgemuth & Hyatt who kept us on track. This book was a team effort and sometimes the writers (Steve and Joni) had the defense and offense scrambling. Bless you, friends.

We cant leave this page without writing a few individual acknowledgments. Joni, who cant type a key or turn a page without help, would like to thank Judy Buder and Francie Lorey for generously serving as her hands on When God Weeps. She cant miss saying an extra thank you to Ken for cheering her on through late nights and Saturday afternoons. The JAF Ministries staff was gracious in respecting Jonis closed office door and shortened administrative meetingsall to give her time to think, pray, and write. A special thanks to Bunny Warlen, Steve Jensen, Judy Butler, Francie Lorey, and a host of intercessors, including the Wednesday night group at Church in the Canyon, who lifted the manuscript, day by day, up in prayer.

Steve would like to send out his heartfelt thanks to:

Jesus Christ knows me yet still loves me. I cannot get over this.

The elders of Community Evangelical Free Church, Elverson, Pennsylvania, for granting a six-month leave that stretched into eight, and for the generous conditions of that leave. They and the staff bore the weight of additional work during that period, especially Arleigh Hegarty who so competently filled the pulpit.

My congregation who made me feel as if I were engaged in the worlds most important projectwhen they were the ones so engaged by their daily plugging away in the work of Gods kingdom. They loved me, sent me notes, had our family for dinner, and prayed, prayed, prayed.

Paul and Carolyn Montgomery. You know all you gave me. It helped this book so much.

Dave Godown for your enthusiasm about this project, backed up by a gesture of real self-sacrifice.

Merle and Dave Stoltzfus for putting at my disposal a most pleasant office and staff. What would I have done without this gestureand without your friendship which I prize beyond words? Why did God give me such brothers-in-law?

Emily, Ashley, Debbie, and Paula who were 4/5 of that helpful staff. They cheerfully helped me in a hundred and one ways.

Steve Beard whose flexibility last September helped me in this project more than he knows.

Whistling Al Marple whose weekly cleaning visits cheered me. He always inquired about the books status and prayed daily for Joni and me.

Rev. Tom Hall and the Elverson Methodist Church for access to their building where I could find quiet spots to walk and pray throughout this project.

The Wednesday Soup Kitchen members.

Verna, who listened to every whine as I wrote this but helped, loved, and fed me anyway. 5 0 of smiling selflessness.

Jeb, Gail, Leah, and Sarah Bland who hosted Verna and me for an autumn weekend in Rhode Island. How we needed and loved it!

Ben Mountz who carried tons of books and shelving up flights of stairs to my writing office. Turns out I didnt need most of it. Sorry.

Bob Hughes, who one day told me, Give me your office key, tell me when youll be out for a day, and dont ask any questions. I returned to find my old bookshelves whisked away, new ones moved in, and the thousands of books transferred. I now have the nicest bookshelves on the east coast, hand built by Bob as a labor of lovestocked with John Owen, Francis Turretin, and other books he bought me. Sherri helped him all the way. I will always remember them, now moved to Florida.

Larry Everhart for insight into thunderstorms, as background for Chapter 6. An easy-going, low pressure kind of guy.

The mother of the young man I have called Paul Ruffner in Chapter 5, for many hours of uplifting phone conversation in which she described Gods remarkable grace to her family during some heartbreaking years.

John Frame of Westminster Seminary, California, for faxed thoughts on Gods emotions as I worked on Appendix C, although he never had opportunity to see the appendix.

Vern Poythress and Sinclair Ferguson of Westminster Seminary, Philadelphia. Separate theological conversations with these men have helped my life and thinking enormously, even though their insights had only indirect impact on this book.

Laurie OConnor who re-wrote Appendix C out of sloppy senselessness into coherence when my back was against the wall for time, and who prayed for me like a trooper.

Diane Stoltzfus who cheerleadered me through Chapters 2 through 6 in some bleak moments. Thank you, thank you.

And finally, Curt Hoke, who on the countless occasions I called for help made me feel like I was doing him the favor. Nobody helped more with this book than he. I love the man.

I first met Joni in the summer of 1969 in a church parking lot. Several hundred other teenagers and I had just exploded from the building. The youth meeting was over, and everyone was scattering, engines starting, radios cranked uplaughter and good-hearted tomfoolery everywhere.

A white station wagon had pulled up to the side steps. Somehow, with my friend Diana holding the keys, it avoided looking like a middle-aged persons wheels. Diana had the worlds most carbonated personality. She stood by the front passenger door, next to an empty wheelchair she had pulled from the back seat to unfold. She wanted me to meet the paralyzed friend she had told me about. From my angle up on the steps, I couldnt see the face of the tall girl in the seat. I could see the braces on her wrists.

Steve, I want you to meet Joni.

Hi, Joni.

The face in the front seat bent down to peer out. Stylishly short blonde hair. Freckle-faced and cute. Ski-slope nose. A bright but bittersweet smilesweet because, if you know Joni, thats just her. Bitter because she looked as if that chair had taken something precious out of her.

Hi, Steve! Good to meet you. Enthusiastic but tentative.

You two have a lot to talk about, Diana effervesced. We agreed it would be fun to get together.

A week later I walked into the stone-and-timber home that Ill always think of as a vestibule into heaven. Anders over every fireplace, Indian rugs scattered about. Candles, candles. Simon and Garfunkel on the turntable, laughter in every room, and the bubbling friendliness of the parents and sisters from whom Joni had stolen that winning smile.

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