So we could see the power of God!

When he was born, doctors did not believe he would live long. Just thirty years before, his lifespan would have been estimated at nine years. As late as the 1980s, it would have been thought to be 25 years. Of course, standard treatment at the time was institutionalization. But his parents refused such a supposed solution, choosing instead to raise their son in the community of a large family. And rather than nine or 25, our family was blessed by Kenny Hatch for 57 years.

Kenny was born with Down's Syndrome, though at the time of his birth the cause of Down's was yet undiscovered. It would be about four years before scientists would find an extra chromosome that seemed to trigger the syndrome. Ironically, medicine has been unable to answer why it happens.

When he was young, Uncle James and Aunt Nell enrolled Kenny in school. It would not take them long, however, to discover that public education was not prepared to deal with a child like Kenny, and they were forced to bring him home. It is a shame that we do things like that, especially when we fear what we do not understand.

But I would not know him until several years later. You see, he was 21 years old when I was born. I guess that means I have known him for my whole life. As a child, I knew Kenny was different, though I did not really know why. I knew that he talked a little funny, and eventually realized that he was built a little differently. But I did not grow up seeing Kenny as someone with a disability or a handicap. I just knew him as my cousin. (Technically he was my "second" cousin, but in the south that "second" business doesn't mean anything)

My first memories of Kenny are as a working man. He was fortunate to be involved in a vocational center for adults with disabilities. It gave him purpose, it gave him a little money, and it became a social outlet for him. Social outlet is just code for "it was a place where he met girls that would become his girlfriend." In that environment, Kenny was not different. He was normal. Accepted.

He played the harmonica, maybe as good as Charlie McCoy. Well, that might be stretching it a little. Maybe it was just that he enjoyed it so much that, even if it was a little less-than-perfect, it sounded sweet.

And he smiled. Boy, did he ever! That's not to say that he was never in a bad mood, and the last few years brought their share of uncomfortable days. He could be stubborn as a mule. But he smiled a smile that would literally melt away the selfishness from your heart.

It could not have been easy for Uncle James and Aunt Nell, raising Kenny in the society of their day. Common thought was to just put him away somewhere and forget him. As bad as that may sound, common thought today is to find out about the Down's early in the pregnancy and just kill the baby before it is born. Some advance, huh? It is dressed up with the name "Selective Therapeutic Abortion," but statistics suggest that some 80 percent of women terminate their pregnancy when a diagnosis of Down's is discovered. Wow. I shudder to think of that. And it saddens me to think of what we would have missed without Kenny.

I feel compelled to tell you that Aunt Nell was a faithful caregiver to Kenny. What to some would seem a burden was just life for her. Well meaning people will say dumb things to her in days to come about this being a load off of her. Maybe those people's tongues will cleave to the roof of their mouths.

I don't know if she or Uncle James ever asked why this had happened to them, or to their son. I never asked her that. But it seems almost inevitable. That reminds me of a young man who was born blind. Jesus' followers wanted to know why. In that case, they  assumed that such an impairment was punishment for sin. They just couldn't figure out who had sinned. But Jesus had a different take on it. He told them, "This happened so the power of God could be seen in him" (John 9.3). I think that's the truth about Kenny, too. Our eyes look at Kenny and wonder if there was some great mistake somewhere. How can God's power be on display in someone born with physical problems and health issues that accompany Down's.  And then we are reminded that God's strength is made perfect in human weakness (2 Corinthians 12.9). And I can tell you where I saw that power in the life of Kenny Hatch.

He loved you, no matter who you were. He loved without reservation, and would hug you, kiss you, wink at you, or smile at you. And you could not be in his presence without feeling that. Such affectionate love is rare in our world. Many people we know only love you for what they can get in return. Kenny didn't ask for anything. That is the power of God who, himself, is love.

Tonight, Kenny was overcome by complications of pneumonia and died. Kenny, whose faith we all knew, was ready. I have to think that somehow, on some level, he was more connected to God than we understood. And part of me thinks that in heaven Kenny will be free from the syndrome that defined his earthly existence. But there's part of that line of thought that troubles me. Not the part about going to heaven, but the part that somehow he has to be different in the eternal presence of God. We think of God as a healer. But I have to stop and ask if Kenny was really the one who was broken. Maybe, with his child-like view of the world, he was a lot closer to what I am supposed to be. After all, I don't believe in chance. I believe in a God who is always in control. I believe in a God who has a purpose for everyone who is created. I believe that Kenny was created in God's image. So maybe, just maybe, what I thought was a disability was really just God's power being perfected in Kenny's weakness. Does he really have to be "healed" to be in heaven? Paul's thorn in the flesh was about trusting God. And in looking at Kenny, maybe he was perfect for reminding us of the same lesson. God's way of saying, "Even if you don't understand this, I am still God. I've got this."

Perhaps the lesson from Kenny's life is that normal is overrated. Maybe it's that perfect doesn't exist, so I can choose to praise God for the life I have or be miserable over what I don't have. Maybe it was my need to be happy with less, to be content. Or maybe, all of the above.

Whatever the case, I am grateful to God that my life was intersected by Kenny's. I am thankful that he helped me see others with Down's as someone to be celebrated, not pitied. I am thankful that my family treated Kenny like just another one of the cousins.  I am thankful that James and Nell didn't give up. And I am thankful to have been loved by so beautiful a soul.

Rest well, cousin Kenny.