That’s life. You’re flying along at a good clip, then plans change. A heart attack sidelines your brother or AIDS infects your son. God may part the heavens with a miracle, but more than likely, you will have to accept the obvious. You will bear the pain and hang on. You will spend weekends helping your brother’s family. You will push aside prejudice and change the sheets on your son’s bed. Or you will change the diapers of your twelve-year-old who is mentally handicapped. You will hold on to marriage vows despite a cold shoulder and an empty bed. Stick to a budget and forestall the vacation. Clamp the lid on raging hormones and make a date with the TV and dinner-for-one. You resign yourself to the way things are. Once in awhile you wonder what it would be like—or was like—to live without the dull ache of constant pain. But most of the time, you block it out. You cope with a new language, different ways of doing things—not the ways you prefer—and you learn to survive in a world you’d never choose. I can’t live, really live that way. I don’t believe you can either. Maybe pets who are trained for the leash can, and horses who are schooled for the bit, but not humans. Animals submit, like horses yielding to the heavy harness and resigning themselves to the plow. But we are not animals. God weeps when he sees us put the blinders on, like horses with spirits broken. He weeps because he never intended for us to live lives of solemn resignation. First, stoics, knowingly or unwittingly, place themselves at the center of things. Secondly, our souls are too significant. Even in the desperation of silence, inside the shell of a hardened heart, passion pulsates like a dying ember. A warm breeze revives a distant memory. A song stirs a faraway hope. A hand on the shoulder awakens desire. We long to be fully human. We ache, we taste bitterness and gall. We taste tears. Animals don’t cry; or, when they do, they don’t wonder, “Where am I? What’s going on?” finding strength and contentment in the hard places “God weeps when he sees us put the blinders on, like horses with spirits broken. He weeps because he never intended for us to live lives of solemn resignation.” the secret place that one. Why does the secret involve such hard work? Because “approaching the throne of grace with confidence” is not our natural bent. “Finding grace to help in time of need” doesn’t come automatically. Just take a look at a few of Paul’s well-chosen words in Philippians: “I press on...I strive...I stand firm...”
*We Must Learn, Also* In a small way, I understand making choices like these. I got tired of being fed at our dinner table. But when I tried to feed myself with paralyzed arms, I wanted to give up. A bent spoon was inserted into a pocket on my leather arm splint. With weak shoulder muscles, I had to scoop food on the spoon, then balance and lift it to my mouth. It was humiliating to wear a bib, smear applesauce all over my clothes, and have it land more times on my lap than in my mouth. I could have surrendered—it would have been easy and many wouldn’t have blamed me for quitting. But I had to make a choice. A series of choices in fact. Was I going to let embarrassment over my food-smeared face dissuade me? Was I going to let disappointing failures overwhelm me? I decided the awkwardness of feeding myself outweighed the fleeting satisfaction of self-pity. It was the push I needed. Oh God, help me with this spoon! My secret was learning to lean on the Lord for help. Today I manage a spoon with my arm splint quite well. I didn’t get back use of my arms or hands. But I did learn to be quietness of heart, supernaturally given, that gladly submits to God in all circumstances. When I say “quietness of heart,” I’m not ruling out the physical stuff like prison bars, wheelchairs, unjust treatment, and disease. What I am ruling out is the internal stuff—peevish thoughts, plotting ways of escape, and vexing and fretting which only lead to a flurry of frantic activity. Contentment is a sedate spirit that is able to keep quiet as it bears up under suffering. Paul understood how to live this way. He learned it. It meant acquiring skills. Understanding something and then practicing it. What did he understand? “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want” (Philippians 4:12). What was the secret Paul learned? Greek scholars tell me that the New Testament word which is rendered as “contentment” in our English Bibles has the meaning of sufficiency. Paul uses the same Greek root in his comments in Philippians 4 as he does in II Corinthians 12:9a, “...“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”” Paul’s secret was simply learning to lean on the Lord of grace for help. “Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need” (Hebrews 4:16). Paul had to master this. It meant making tough choices—deciding this, not that; going in this direction, not Maybe we can survive, but it can’t stop there. “Will I ever be happy, really happy again?” Yes and no. You can be “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing everything” (II Corinthians 6:10). *The Learned Secret* Paul was talking about an internal Christ is not a magic wand that can be waved over our heartaches and headaches to make them disappear . Christ is not a magic wand that can be waved over our heartaches and headaches to make them disappear . content. Christ is not a magic wand that can be waved over our heartaches and headaches to make them disappear. “In [him] are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge” (Col.2:3). Wisdom and knowledge—including knowing how to be content—are hidden in him, like a treasure that needs to be searched for. To search for something concealed requires hard work: “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart” (Jer. 29:12-13).
*‘I Will Never Leave You’* God doesn’t leave us on our own. “I have learned the secret of being content... I can do everything through him who gives me strength” (Phil. 4:13). As we wrap our hands around a task and, in faith, begin to exert force, Eureka! Divine energy surges through us. God’s strength works in us at the moment we exercise faith for the task. “I have strength for all things in Christ who empowers me—I am ready for anything and equal to anything through Him who infuses inner strength into me, [that is, I am selfsufficient in Christ’s sufficiency].” 1 You make the choices and God gives you the strength. He gives you the strength to hold your tongue when you feel you have cause for complaining—even when your husband hasn’t attended his fair share of PTA meetings. He imparts the strength to look out for another’s interest before your own—even when it’s the co-worker in your office who uses you as a stepladder to the top. He infuses the strength to choose a bright attitude when you wake up in the morning—even though it’s another day of the same old routine as you care for your disabled child. You still have an irresponsible husband, a greedy co-worker, and a handicapped kid, but you have quietness of heart. Your heart is quiet because, like Paul, you have learned the secret of contentment—being in, remaining with, and fiercely holding onto Christ.  1Philippians 4:13 The Amplified Bible (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House, 1965), 309.
Joni Eareckson Tada is a bestselling author and is Founder and President of Joni and Friends, an international disability advocacy ministry.