Losing Wanda

THE LONGEST GOOD-BYE

Yes, too much time away from home was the biggest regret of my ministry. But the biggest regret of my life was that, when all the globetrotting and relentless activity was over, I was not able to spend these twilight years with my beloved wife.

   In 1990 Wanda became ill. Around that time, I had a weeklong crusade in central Wisconsin. Wanda was there with me, along with Walter Grist, my crusade director; his wife, Jeneva, (who was a wonderful soloist); our pianist Eddie Thomas; and Steve Musto (another stellar soloist).

   One morning, Wanda and Jeneva left to attend a large gathering of women. The event was an offshoot of my crusade. Wanda was the featured speaker. Since it was a "ladies only" event, I stayed at the hotel to work on my message for that evening.

   About three hours later, Wanda and Jeneva returned to the hotel, and Jeneva informed me in a calm but concerned

Page 192

voice that Wanda had not been feeling well. "What was the trouble?" I asked.

   "I don't know, Howard," Jeneva said. "Wanda delivered a great message. The women were blessed by it. But after she got through speaking, she had a vomiting spell."

   I could look at Wanda and tell she wasn't herself. I told her, "I'm glad you're back." But she seemed to be in a haze.

   I took her to the local hospital. The attending doctor examined her thoroughly then said, "There's something serious here." After consulting with other doctors, he told me, "Reverend Jones, you should get your wife back to Ohio as soon as possible."

   I couldn't just cancel the crusade, so I asked Walter if he would deliver the message for the remaining two nights. "Don't worry, Howard," he said. "We'll finish off the crusade."

   So Wanda and I got on the plane and headed home to Ohio. I prayed, "Lord, please take care of my precious wife." On the plane we were holding hands, and she looked at me. She said, "Howard, where are you?"

   "I'm right here, honey," I said.

   "I can't see you."

   "What? You can't see me?"

   "No." Then after a moment she said, "Oh, now I see you."

   Needless to say, I was getting more nervous by the minute. Something is seriously wrong here, I said to myself.

   When we finally arrived in Cleveland, Reverend Charles Mayle, our pastor at the Oberlin Alliance Church, met us and took us directly to the hospital. The doctor examined her, and came to me with a solemn expression on his face. "It looks as if she's had a stroke," he said. "We'll have to keep her

Page 193

here for a few days to monitor her condition."

   Two days later, the phone rang at our house. It was the doctor calling to inform me that Wanda would need surgery right away to stop bleeding they had discovered on her brain. I gave my consent, and alerted our family and friends. Finally, when all the calls were made, I dropped to my knees. "Oh, Lord," I said. "I know that Wanda is in Your hands. Please guide those surgeons as they operate."

   Suddenly, while I was kneeling there by the living room window, I looked up to see a big, white dove land on our porch. We saw lots of doves in our area, but none of them were ever as large as this one. He just strolled around our porch nonchalantly before taking off again into the air. Enthralled, I watched the white bird fly away.

   While I was contemplating this rather strange phenomenon, it seemed as though the Lord was saying to me, Howard, you know the dove in Scripture is a sign of peace and the Holy Spirit. And that knowledge gave me peace. "Lord," I said, "You must have sent that dove there just to quiet my nerves and let me know that Wanda would be all right."

HOLDING ON FOR LIFE

   Over the next several days, we received cards and calls from countless folks who let us know that they were praying for us. A particularly special call came right before Wanda was to go into surgery. "Howard," the caller said, "this is Billy Graham. Did I hear that Wanda is in the hospital?"

   "Yes, she's going into surgery any minute now," I told Billy. He asked about the surgeon, whether I was satisfied with his credentials. I told him he was supposed to be the

Page 194

best in the county, so we were trusting God that he'd do a great job. Then Billy asked if he could pray for me right there over the telephone lines. And we did. It felt good to know a man as busy and important as Billy took time to minister to one of his associates.

   This, of course, was not the first time Billy had gone out of his way to show his love and support for Wanda and me. When we made Liberia our permanent home in 1959, Billy made it a point to build time into his packed tour of Africa to stop by our house in Monrovia to dedicate it. Then, about thirty-four years ago, Billy made a trip to Oberlin to honor Wanda and me on the occasion of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. While in town, he made a stop at the newly renovated Murray Ridge Center, a school for the mentally challenged, where Wanda faithfully worked as a teacher for some thirteen years after we resettled in Oberlin. Billy's appearance in Ohio, though not connected with any larger crusade event, made front-page news in the area papers.

   As word of Wanda's illness spread, other calls came — from Cliff Barrows, Ruth Bell Graham, and many others with whom we had co-labored throughout the years. We had loads of prayer support, and it helped our family through those moments of uncertainty.

   After nearly five hours, the surgery was complete. The doctors declared it a success, and Wanda was allowed to come home after about a week of rest in the hospital.

   The surgeons had shaved off all of Wanda's beautiful black locks, so when the hair eventually started to return, it was a striking white. But even though my wife had a "new look," she was still my woman, and I was glad to have her back home.

Page 195

   Her recovery seemed to go incredibly smoothly. When I took her back to the hospital for follow-up visits, the doctors were amazed at how she seemed to be rallying after such a major operation.

   For a while, things were back to normal. Wanda returned to her speaking ministry, and the two of us worked together on the book Heritage and Hope: The Legacy and Future of the Black Family in America. Wanda also made contributions to a women's study Bible. But a year or so later, she began complaining again about not feeling well. And soon she started exhibiting signs of forgetfulness. Names of family and friends would escape her, and several times she forgot to take her medication.

   Oh, Lord, I hope this isn't too serious, I prayed thoughtfully. But deep inside, I knew things would likely never be the same again.

   The thing that drove home the reality of our new situation was how she'd frequently start cooking in the kitchen then forget how many place settings to prepare at the table. One night we were going to have steaks and it was just the two of us, but she brought three steaks from the refrigerator. "It's just you and me, Babe," I'd tell her.

   On another occasion, she was fixing supper again, and all of a sudden she said, "I want to ask you a question."

   "Yes, dear," I said. "What is it?"

   "Where's my husband?"

   "What do you mean? I'm right here."

   "No. No. Where is my husband, Howard?" she demanded again, this time with more urgency. "I haven't seen him. Where is he?"

   I said, "I'm your husband." But she would not accept it.

Page 196

   "You know you're not my husband. Clarence is my husband."

   "Wanda, Clarence has been dead for years. I'm your husband."

   She thought about this a moment, then finally shook her head. "Well, have it your way," she said, as if to appease me.

   There was no doubt in my mind: We were in serious trouble. And then it got worse. Wanda began walking off from the house by herself. I'd go outside searching but couldn't find her. So I'd get in the car and drive around town. I'd spot her walking through the college campus. I'd honk the horn. She'd come over to the car, and I'd ask her, "What are you doing?"

   "I decided to take a walk. Can't I take a walk?" Sometimes in these moments she'd get a bit feisty and argumentative, so I'd walk with her until she was ready to go home.

   Another time she left the house in the evening during a rainstorm. It was pouring outside, and all she had on was a nightgown and slippers. When these episodes occurred, I'd often get a phone call from a friend or relative who had taken Wanda into their home.

   The final straw came one day when David was home for the weekend. Wanda, who had always been a wonderful cook, was in the kitchen preparing a meal, when suddenly she called for me. When I got there, I found her on the floor, shaking in a seizure like manner. I called David, who at once telephoned for an ambulance.

   After extensive testing, the doctors came to the conclusion that Wanda was suffering from a form of dementia that would likely progress into a full-blown case of Alzheimer's disease. They told me I might eventually need to put Wanda

Page 197

into a nursing home, but I didn't want to hear that. I couldn't bring myself to accept it.

   Ultimately I did accept it. And I watched as my dear wife slowly slipped into a world that was farther and farther away from this reality.

PREACHING TO MYSELF

   From the day we admitted Wanda to the nursing home, I visited her at least once per day and often several times per day. (Coincidentally, both Wanda's sister Ruth and brother Alden were also residents at the home. Ruth passed away in 2000 at 85; Alden, 91, is still there today.) Early on, Wanda seemed to look forward to our time together. She'd wave to me out the big bay window when she'd see me arriving. But in time, her expressions grew increasingly blank. Some days were better than others. But for the most part, Wanda was losing her handle on who I was.

   Wanda had never resisted going to a nursing home. She knew something was wrong. And she told me, "Whatever you have to do, you have to do; the Lord will take care of me. I know you love me. Don't worry."

   But I did worry. And I talked to God constantly about this troubling new state of affairs. The heart of my prayers to Him was — and sometimes still is — Why?

   There were times when I wept uncontrollably. There are times even now that I look at her picture and think about what we've lost. I think about the marriage we had. She was the greatest wife any man could have. And many times I sit here in this lovely home the Lord has provided and say, "Lord, why have You allowed me to be here by myself at this

Page 198

stage in my life?" Or, in other words, "Why have You forsaken me? Did I do something? Was there something I did or didn't do that You're punishing me for, taking my wife away from me?"

   But then I go to the Word and open up a lot of passages that I read aloud to myself. Almost anything in the Psalms brings comfort and peace. I also run to 2 Corinthians 4, where Paul says: "Therefore, since through God's mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart . . . We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not destroyed" (vv. 1, 8-9). And of course, Romans 8:28 — "In all things God works for the good of those who love him" — has brought many moments of understanding and relief.

   God also reminded me of the numerous sermons I have preached on death, loss, grief, and the hope of the resurrection. It was akin to the time when I was in Ghana in 1957. I was so nervous and worried, and the Lord said, "You just closed a great crusade, and you preached to these people about trusting Me. Now go back and preach some of your sermons to yourself. You've given stuff out; now you take it." And that is what I've striven to do.

   As Christians, we often want everything smooth. But the Christian life is not an easy one. When we get saved, in that moment, we're enrolled in the School of the Cross; family problems, financial problems, the loss of loved ones. Contrary to what some preachers have been peddling lately, Christians are not immune to any of these things. We are, however, promised grace and strength to walk through the conflict.

   At times, I've been able to look at the bright side of Wanda's illness. Going to the nursing home every day gave

Page 199

me the opportunity to reach out to several nurses and even some of the other residents. Often a warm smile, or a quick hello is all it takes to bless someone's day at the home. I also had the opportunity to hand out copies of Wanda's inspiring autobiography, Living in Two Worlds. First published in 1988, the book describes the miraculous ways that God worked in her life — not to mention the life of the Jones family — to help us take the gospel to the entire world. Though Wanda's mind and voice had been silenced, her ministry lived on through her book.

   Seeing Wanda's condition worsen was more difficult than watching my mother's decline. Here again a once-energetic, strong-willed woman was stripped of all the vigor and passion that had made her an indomitable force for God. Yet I knew the soul of my beloved Wanda was still there, trapped in a broken and feeble shell of flesh.

   In the mornings, before I set out to see her at the nursing home, I would pray that God would continue to fill her with His life and love. One morning, I said, "Now, Lord, I'm praying for her. Even though she cannot physically pray anymore, You still know all the prayers that Wanda has prayed during her lifetime — all the prayers she prayed before I met her and all the prayers we prayed together; the times we fasted and prayed, and I took my turn praying and then she chimed in; the times we'd pray together before going out on the road; the prayers she would send up to You during personal devotion time — all those prayers have gone up before You. Now she can't pray, but You just reactivate those prayers. Just reactivate that lifetime of prayers." Wanda was a praying woman, and I imagine that, even though I couldn't see it, she was still offering up prayers in her incapacitated state.

Page 200

   Many wonderful friends and family members came by to visit on those long days prior to Wanda's passing. Ruth's daughter, Sondra Hodge, who lives in Oberlin, was a frequent visitor. Alden's son Danny Young and his wife, Susan, and their two children also dropped in regularly. My sister-in-law Helen Jones (Charence's widow) was always a great encouragement, as was her daughter (and my niece) Diane "Pepper" Poyer. The two of them drove in from Wheaton, Illinois, on several occasions to see "Aunt Wanda."

   Though she was usually lost in the fog of Alzheimer's, there were many wonderful moments of lucidity when we saw flashes of our beloved Wanda. From time to time, I would bring her home for a change of scenery. In 2000, Wanda was sitting at home with Cheryl, Gail, and Lisa by her side. Cheryl and Gail began to sing the hymn "Give Me Jesus," one of Wanda's favorites. But it was too much for precious Lisa. She began to cry. As her eyes moistened, Wanda suddenly reached over and, with a smile, lovingly wiped away her daughter's tears.

   On another occasion, as she sat with David, she gently pointed to her head and said, "David, I'm not wired right anymore." The message was unmistakable: she wanted to communicate but couldn't.

   Patricia Young, a local poet and friend of our family, made regular visits to the nursing home. Wanda always seemed to be buoyed by her presence. About a month before Wanda's passing, Patricia popped in for a visit. But this time, Patricia recalls, Wanda seemed distant. Patricia read to her as usual, but Wanda just stared out the window. She seemed preoccupied by the sunlight. Looking back on that day, Patricia believes Wanda was simply preparing for her imminent journey. Soon

Page 201

she would be in the light of God's everlasting presence.

LEGACY OF FAITH

   Wanda died at the Allen Memorial Hospital in Oberlin on November 8, 2001. A beautiful and devoted wife and mother, she left behind a deep and immeasurable legacy of faith that has impacted countless souls for eternity — including this one.

   For several days prior to her passing, Wanda hadn't been feeling well. The doctors admitted her to the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital and began administering oxygen. Gail, Reverend and Mrs. Mayle, Maurice Shave, and a few others gathered with me at the hospital. We would learn later that Wanda had suffered a mild heart attack. In one disturbing moment, the doctors asked the family whether we wanted them to take heroic measures to preserve Wanda's life. Trusting that God would take care of Wanda in His own way, we refused.

   As it turns out, heroic measures were not necessary. Wanda pulled through, and the next day she enjoyed a wonderful time of fellowship with family and friends.

   Wanda flashed a warm smile as she saw everyone surrounding her. I asked her if she knew these people, and she said, "Yes, I know them." She beamed when she saw Gail and Pastor Mayle's wife, Mary.

   We stayed at the hospital for the entire morning, laughing, reminiscing, and praying. Soon, however, we decided to leave for a while and allow Wanda to get some needed rest. I said a quiet prayer and kissed her goodbye. "I'll be back a little later," I told her.

Page 202

   But a few hours later, a call came from the hospital. "Reverend Jones," the doctor said, "I'm sorry to inform you that Mrs. Jones died a few minutes ago. She passed away peacefully in her sleep."

   I hung up the phone and immediately went to pieces. Right then and there, the Lord and I had it out. "Why God?" I cried. "Why didn't you let me see her a last time?" I was especially grieved that I wasn't at Wanda's bedside, holding her hand when the Lord called her home. But Gail helped me put things in perspective. "Dad," she said, "you need to remember the happy times. We should be thankful that we got to spend the morning with her, that she was so happy."

   People came from all over town — and across the nation — to attend Wanda's memorial services. At the conclusion of the wake, David called the members of the immediate family together for one last look at the body that once held our dear wife and mother. We prayed, thanking God for the gift of her life and imploring Him to keep her legacy alive in our hearts and various ministries.

   The next day, at the funeral, Ralph Bell offered the invocation and shared some personal remarks; Cheryl and David offered poignant reflections; Reverend Mayle delivered the eulogy; and Cheryl's husband, Norman Sanders, closed in prayer. One of the hymns we sang that morning was "All the Way My Savior Leads Me," which was a song we used to sing as a duet. It was one of the themes of our life together.

   At a graveside service, conducted by Norman, we assembled to say one final good-bye. The November air was bitterly cold that day — cemeteries are cold anyway — but the warmth of my love for my dear wife made me oblivious to the morning chill. Wanda was absent from the body, but her

Page 203

soul was with the Lord. She had just changed addresses. I knew in my heart that I would see her again. As the tears fell that morning, they were not so much from the burden of grief as from thankful hearts for a life well lived.

   I still weep sometimes. The kids weep, too. But we know there was a purpose in Wanda's suffering. There is purpose and meaning in all of our sufferings when we know the Lord.

   One positive thing that has come out of this ordeal is my participation in the Alzheimer's disease movement. When Wanda was diagnosed with this dreadful disorder, I immediately set out to educate myself on it. I subscribed to the national magazine and plugged into a local support group. Consequently, I've been able to minister to numerous families and individuals that have been affected by this terrible illness. In fact, I now receive letters from people seeking encouragement or insight about how to cope when a loved one is stricken with Alzheimer's.

   Suddenly, I have been given another vehicle by which to share the good news of God's grace, healing, and salvation. From the ashes of tragedy, God has again given birth to something redemptive. I hope to volunteer more of my time to reach out to people who have been touched by this disease.

   It's impossible to sum up fifty-seven years of marriage in a few words — or even in a whole book — but I'm blessed to have spent so many beautiful and dynamic years with Wanda Jones, my wife, lover, and co-laborer for Christ.

   Because she had the courage and faith to tell me, "I love you, but I love Christ more," she helped lead me to a true relationship with Jesus Christ. And beyond that, she helped set into motion the incredible journey that would take us

Page 204

around the world and that would help change the face — and complexion — of American evangelism.

   I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.

Chapter Seventeen  ||  Table of Contents