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of the previous perfect day, riding on my horse Tumbleweed under a beautiful summer sky. But inwardly I knew it was an elaborate form of escape. I didn’t want to face the real issues. I wondered— Lord, what am I going to do? I’m happy and content, grateful for the good things You supply—but deep down, I know something is wrong. I think I’m at the place where I need You to really work in my life.
    As I traced my spiritual progress over the last couple years, I realized I had not come far. Jason and I had broken up, true; and Dick was better for me in that regard. But I was still enslaved. Instead of “sins of the flesh,” I was trapped by my “sins of the emotions”—anger,jealousy, resentment, and possessiveness. I had drifted through my last years of school. My grades had dropped and, as a result, I began to fight with my parents. I lacked goals or the motivation to do well. It was obvious to me that I had not made much spiritual progress in the two years I’d been a Christian. It seemed no matter how hard I tried to improve, I was always a slave of my desires.
    Now I was insistent with God. “Lord, if You’re really there, do something in my life that will change me and turn me around. You know how weak I was with Jason. You know how possessive and jealous I am with Dick. I’m sick of the hypocrisy! I want You to work in my life for real. I don’t know how—I don’t even know, at this point, if You can. But I’m begging You—please do something in my life to turn it around!”
    I had prayed that prayer just a short time before my accident. Now, lying encased in my Stryker frame, I wondered if somehow God was answering my prayer.

CHAPTER 3
    T he Bible says, ‘Everything works together for good,’ even your accident, Joni.” Dick was trying to comfort me, but I wasn’t listening too intently.
    “I’ve already been in this stupid hospital a month,” I complained, “and I haven’t seen very much good!
    “I can’t sleep at night because of nightmares and hallucinations caused by the drugs. I can’t move—I’m stuck in this dumb Stryker frame! What’s good? Tell me, Dickie, what’s good about that?”
    “I—I don’t know, Joni. But I think we should claim God’s promise. Let’s trust Him that it will work out for good,” Dick said quietly, patiently. “Want me to read something else?”
    “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump on you like that. I guess I’m not really trusting the Lord, am I?”
    “It’s all right—” Dick was on the floor beneath my Stryker frame looking up into my eyes. Incredible sadness and pity made his expressive eyes well with tears. He blinked and looked away. “Well,” he said finally, “I gotta go now. See ya later, okay?”
    Dick’s faithfulness in visiting was one thing I clung to during those first grim weeks, along with mom, dad, Jackie, and Jay. Others, like Jason, came when they could too. The hospital personnel joked about all my “cousins,” and the “five minutes per hour for family members” regulation was bent many times.
    When mom and dad came, I always asked to be flipped if I was facing the floor. While they joked and got down on the floor if I was facedown, I was deeply hurt that they had to go through the indignity of crawling around on the floor in order to visit with me.
    I tried hard to kindle their hope and faith too. As I thought about my problems, it was easy to find others around me in the hospital who were worse off than I. With that in mind, I tried to cheer my folks and others who came to visit. I even began to be pleasant to the hospital staff.
    It wasn’t that my personality had become sweeter. Rather, I was afraid people would stop coming to see me if I got bitter and complained, so I worked at cheerfulness.
    “My, you’re in a good mood today,” observed Anita, one of the nurses from the day shift.
    “Sure, why not? It’s a gorgeous day.”
    “It’s raining!”
    “Not on me. I’m snug as a bug,” I