Vicky Olivas stared into space as she dressed for a job interview. It was spring of 1976, and her husband had just left her and their two-year-old son for someone else. Facing an uncertain future, she had to start somewhere.
Vicky had problems finding the address the employment agency gave her. A passerby pointed her down an alley, the last door on the right. She stepped into a front office that smelled damp and closed in. “Is anyone here?” she called, making her way down a hallway that opened into a warehouse. She found two men sitting at a desk.
After introductions, the boss leaned back and looked Vicky over. She felt uneasy under his stare. He directed her to a room to fill out forms, and as she wrote, she kept thinking, I shouldn’t be here. Something’s not right. Then the man shut the door and clicked the lock. Suddenly, he grabbed her chest and threw her against the wall. “I asked them to send someone like you,” he hissed, ripping her blouse. Vicky fought to push him away, and then — bang! The room spiraled as she slumped to the floor. She had been shot in the neck.
Panicking, the man dragged her limp body into a bathroom. She felt something warm trickle down her neck: blood. Is he going to kill me? In a crazy turnabout, he lugged her to his car, dumped her off at a nearby hospital, and fled. An ER team worked on Vicky while she tried to explain what happened. Nobody believed her until the police went to the warehouse and found her purse, her blood, and the gun in the trash can.
The man was arrested. Although he had three other convictions of attempted rape, he was released after three years in jail. Vicky was handed a lifetime sentence of quadriplegia.
Our Greatest Mercy
I met Vicky in the summer of 1979, a few years after the assault. She was sitting slumped in her wheelchair, as if still recounting her losses. I parked my chair next to hers and struck up a conversation, and as we talked I recognized another loss, far greater than the others: Vicky was dead spiritually.
Hidden mercies lurk in tragedies like hers. By tasting suffering in this life — like a splash from hell — people are often driven to ponder what may face them in the next life. Vicky and I talked about this during the summer, and God awakened in her an interest in the Bible. By the season’s end, she knew she had an eternal soul and that something cosmic was at stake — a heaven to be reached and a hell to be avoided.
Vicky eventually experienced inner healing in Christ, and she wasted no time in getting involved in a Bible study with me and a few friends. With two quadriplegics in the room, it was inevitable that we’d turn to Romans 8, perhaps the greatest charter of gospel comforts for God’s people.
We know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. (Romans 8:28–29)
Light sparkled in the eyes of my friend. In Romans 8:28, she found meaning to her pain, for had she not been paralyzed, Vicky might never have come to know Jesus Christ. God was working even that dreadful day for her good.
God’s Idea of ‘Good’
When God lobs a hand grenade into life and rattles our faith to the core, we wonder how he’ll work the pieces of shrapnel together for our good. What does good mean, anyway?
Jesus says in Matthew 7:11, “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!” Then there is Jeremiah 32:41: “I [the Lord] will rejoice in doing them good . . . with all my heart and with all my soul.” And Psalm 84:11: “No good thing does he withhold from those who walk uprightly.”
We may read such verses and think that as long as we keep our nose clean and stick close to God, he will bring back the dead, as it were; he’ll turn tragedy into triumph, defeat autoimmune disorders, keep our kids safe, provide medical coverage, get us into a top-rated college, or land us a job that rewards our efforts. Or in Vicky’s case, he will make her walk. And indeed, these are all good things.
But they are not necessarily the best things. There are more important gifts in life than walking, being healed of cancer, or finding the perfect spouse. In God’s matrix, good lasts for eternity, so “we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:18). The Holy Spirit is constantly trying to get us to look at life this way, for we are but a fading vapor here on earth.
How, then, should we read Psalm 84:11? If we walk uprightly, God will not withhold peace or guidance. He will not withhold faith, courage, or grace to help in time of need. And Matthew 7:11? God will bestow the good gifts of endurance through pain and precious insights into his word. He will lavish good opportunities to sow his seed and shine his light. He will shower you with the gift of his nearness and sweetness. And how about Jeremiah 32:41? With all his heart, the Lord will rejoice in preserving your soul against your vicious adversary. He’ll happily guard your faith and fan the flames of hope when all seems hopeless.
What Suffering Works
So, whether you remain single, get torn apart by lions, or sit vigil over a dying child — whether you are burned at the stake, overwhelmed by Lyme’s disease, or shot in the neck — the Spirit-inspired writers of the Bible had an end-time view that gave them an understanding into Romans 8:28. They knew that earthly suffering
makes us feel our need for God (2 Corinthians 1:9),
opens the way to participate in Christ’s afflictions (2 Corinthians 1:5),
teaches us that God is more concerned with character than with comfort (Romans 5:3–4),
secures a rich reward in heaven (2 Corinthians 4:17),
spurs obedience (Hebrews 5:8), and
reminds us how frail, fragile, and fleeting life really is (Psalm 90:1–12).
“Working all things together for our good” is a long, arduous process toward God’s goal in Romans 8:29: “For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.” Suffering teaches us that the greatest good of the Christian life is not the absence of pain or the presence of comfort but Christlikeness.
Does It Cost Too Much?
Perhaps, however, you believe conformity to Christ is too costly. Rather than be battered by a lifetime of trials, you’d like to stroll into heaven. So you don’t take the Bible too seriously. You settle for a little holiness, a bit of obedience. You don’t care to be sanctified; you just want to be satisfied here and now.
Think twice about that. “This light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen” (2 Corinthians 4:17–18). Friend, I beg you to put some weight of glory in your earthly life! Something so astounding will happen at the world’s finale that it will suffice for every one of your struggles.
The bottom line? Stop concentrating so much on what God is asking of you; start focusing on what he’s already given you. When Christ endured the brutal whip, the jeering and fist-striking — when he suffered more than any of us have, he was standing in your place. You and I deserved the bloodlust torture Christ endured, for he was bearing your sins. Your condemnation became his, and his righteousness became yours. God intends for you every good imaginable. “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:31–32) — things like utter satisfaction in him, here and for eternity.
I once heard John Piper say, “If God has done the hardest, most painful thing imaginable in order to make us happy, then beyond a doubt, he will do the rest — whatever it takes — to make us consummately happy in him forever.”
In the End, Mercy and Justice
Vicky understands that the value of a soul — anyone’s soul — far outweighs the inconvenience of total paralysis. She feels she’s no better than a convicted thief on a cross or a criminal unfairly released from jail. The courtroom into which she has wheeled is called “mercy.” The closest she’ll ever get to hell are her present sufferings. And if her assailant refuses Christ? The closest he’ll get to heaven are his piddly pleasures in Las Vegas.
Vicky’s story is a beautiful illustration of Romans 8:28. You see it in the way Christians look at her and are emboldened to trust God more. Unbelievers think, How great her God must be to inspire that kind of loyalty! When it comes to eternity, I will stand in the shadows of Vicky’s rich reward. I was reminded of this when I recently received a note from her:
I am being prepared to touch the wonderful, scarred hands of our Lord. I can truly say that my wheelchair is a gift from God and that earth can never meet my longings; only Christ can. I want to throw off all that hinders my path to heaven. When I meet Jesus face to face, I want to have as much tangible proof as possible of my love for him. Our journey has been a difficult one, Joni. As long as the Lord has us here on this Earth, it will continue to be hard; but knowing Jesus is worth it. Your sister in Christ, Vicky.
Desiring God