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My phone blinked, reminding me that someone had left a message on a sunny Sunday afternoon, April 2016. My heart sank when I listened. “This is Jane,” my friend stated. “Call me when you get this.” Normally gracious and happy, she sounded flat and strained. I immediately knew what had happened. Only two weeks earlier, I’d spent the weekend with Jane and her husband, Tom. I presented a seminar on widowhood at their church in North Carolina where Tom served on the pastoral staff. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Not to Jane; not now.
I braced myself, called, and wept with her over the phone. They’d gone out for their usual exercise run at 6 o’clock that morning before church started. During the run, Tom collapsed. He died before Jane could call 911, start CPR, or say goodbye.
Ironically, when Tom had seen his cardiologist weeks earlier, the doctor had told him, “You’re easily ten years physically younger than your biological age. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” But the autopsy showed 100% blockage in the major artery—some call it “the widow-maker.”
With over four decades in ministry, Tom and Jane Zempel had walked through many crises with other families. They’d seen their own, too: Tom had major heart surgery in 2000, and Jane was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2003. In 1974, their son Ben was born with Down syndrome. October is National Down Syndrome Awareness Month, so I asked Jane about her experience with widowhood and Down syndrome together.
The Shock
Fifty years ago, childbirth was quite different. Parents did not know their baby’s gender or possible health concerns beforehand. Ultrasounds and prenatal tests were not routine. A father attending the birth was a new thing. So, Tom felt privileged to hold their first son, Jonathan, immediately at birth and to share the joyous moment with Jane. The same happened when daughter Amy, their youngest, was born. But when Ben was born, Tom was whisked out of the delivery room. Two nurses attended to Ben with concerned looks, whispers, and nods between them. The doctor quickly exited. And Jane, herself a medical technician who’d seen many newborns, read what was going on. Frightened, she sat up and asked, “What’s wrong?” The nurses hesitated and then rolled Benjamin’s Isolette® closer to her. She recognized that Ben’s features, especially his eyes, indicated Down syndrome. They’d have to wait several excruciating hours for the official diagnosis.
“I’ve got to talk to Tom,” she blurted out. She was cautioned not to upset him. At the news, Tom’s face registered shock and heartbreak. “We took turns handling it really well—or crashing. We cried together, prayed, and reminded each other of Romans 8:28.” …All things work together for good to those who love God…
The Struggle
Although they took turns supporting each other through the initial adjustments, Jane credits Tom with the steadier understanding that God would help them. He often reassured her with his faith that God was in control. But Jane felt herself pull back. “Dreams died and questions crashed in,” she told me. An admitted perfectionist and impatient person, she wondered if God had made a mistake. “God, I thought You knew me better than this!” was her honest cry. “You know I don’t have any patience. Why would you give me this child?”
But now, she can say with deep gratitude, “I needed Ben in my life.”
A Turning Point
A turning point came when Ben was several months old. Jane realized that she needed to be thankful for how God had made her baby—not in spite of the disability, but because of it. Struggling with that, upstairs in her bedroom, her heart broke. “I don’t feel like saying this,” she prayed, “but thank You for making Ben just the way You did.”
When she got up from her knees, something had changed in her. “Not that it was settled forever, but when I exercised faith that God does all things well, the thankful feelings followed. If I had waited until I felt like being thankful, I don’t know when, or if, it would have happened.”
Jane explained that in Exodus 4:11, God asked Moses, “Who has made man’s mouth? Or who makes the mute, the deaf, the seeing, or the blind? Have not I, the Lord?” She said, “Those words came alive off the page and into my heart. Like a salve—and such a relief! God actually took credit for making Ben just the way He did!”
Living With Disabilities
Tom and Jane were able to choose to keep Ben at home, humbly realizing that not all parents have a choice for their child. In the various places they lived, they were able to enroll him in infant stimulation programs and other special needs education. And with hours of practice and persistence many years ago, Jonathan taught his younger brother how to ride a two-wheel bike; Ben used his bicycle for a newspaper route, his first job. Ben now flourishes working at the local Costco. He rides a bus to and from the store and has worked there for sixteen years.
“We need to remember that people with disabilities are still made in the image of God,” Jane said. “It’s a broken image, but it’s still an image, and the fact is this: WE ARE ALL BROKEN. We bear the image of God by virtue of God’s grace, not because of our good works or abilities. Our worth, because we’re made in God’s image, is inestimable.”
Ben became aware of his inestimable worth when he was ten years old. His Sunday School teacher told him how much Jesus loved him. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved,” so Ben believed! He loves to share his faith and his perspective on Down syndrome.
At his first adult doctor appointment (being too old to go to his pediatrician anymore), the doctor spoke to him directly, even though Tom was there and might have answered for him. As the doctor looked at Ben’s medical records, he noted, “I see you have Down syndrome. How do you feel about that?”
“Oh, it’s been a real blessing,” Ben sincerely replied.
When Ben found out about this article, he said, “I praise the Lord for how He made me to glorify Him.”
When visiting overnight in Jane’s home, I overheard Ben singing hymns early in the morning. He reads his Bible and prays every morning, too, like clockwork. Jane once asked him about this daily habit, curious to know if he was trying to work his way to heaven. “Do you think you have to do that so God will love you and accept you?” With a surprised look on his face, he assured her, “God loves me just the way I am.” For Ben, if God said it, it’s true. Why would anyone not love God back in return?
Grieving With Hope
A father’s death brings sadness at any age, and Ben was not immune to grief. Jane didn’t know, but he told people at Tom’s funeral, “I’m going to take care of Mom.” She gently relieved him of that responsibility as soon as she found out, but he delayed his grief so he could be strong for her. He even sang at the funeral. Months later, though, the grief hit, and he admitted, “I wish Dad was still here.”
Two years ago, he told me the same. “I miss my dad,” he said. When recently asked about the loss, he said, “It’s painful. I do miss him. But I know he’s with our Father, and I look forward to seeing him again.”
Ben once sang for the funeral of another man with Down syndrome. The song was “God Makes No Mistakes,” (version by Kim Moore) and as you can imagine, there was not a dry eye in the crowd. Jane still tears up when she recalls it. But she agrees — God makes no mistakes.
“If we’d known on April 2, 1974, what we know now, my first response—instead of shock and fear—would have been, “Oh, thank you God; You gave us Ben!” //
Next month we'll continue with more of her story...
ferree
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Ferree Hardy has helped thousands of widows through her book, “Postcards from the Widows’ Path,” small groups, speaking, and personal coaching, but touching one life at a time is what matters most to her. She holds a BA from Moody Bible Institute, and was a pastor’s wife in Ohio for over twenty years before her first husband died. She’s happily remarried now, and her readers know that moving seems to have become a hobby for her. But she also enjoys backyard chickens, aims to read fifty books a year, and loves to bake. Learn more by visiting her blog.