Paul: Remembering Thomas Boenisch

As a member of the Lutheran Church- MO Synod growing up we always heard about and had people visit to talk about it and the work that was done, but until I met my husband, I didn’t fully understand. His brother, Thomas Boenisch, lived there until his death. It was very hard for my in-laws to send him there from Sheboygan, WI. at the age of 8. They made many visits and brought him home for visits. He was a special groomsman for our wedding. He seemed to like it there most of the time. The school had a hard time placing him in the right section at times. He had a very low IQ, but mimicked everything he saw. He was VERY observant. Bethesda’s staff for the most was excellent at helping him to improve. They were cutting edge at the time Tom joined the school. You are still one of the leaders in teaching special education techniques. We still miss Tom and want to thank you for all the work that you do.

Pam: Bethesda inspired me!

In 1968- when I was a college student – I took a summer job at Bethesda. My provided recreation for non-ambulatory residents. I enjoyed it so much that I changed my college major so I could become a Special Ed teacher. I met many wonderfully special children during my career – thanks to Bethesda!

Gary: Teaching others to give thanks

I lost my dad when I was only 9 yrs old when I was 27 I joined Lutheran Brotherhood to help others with Life Insurance and investments I learned about Good Shepherd Home and did some fund raising and loved the mission

Dan: Son Philip Goes to Bethesda By Elsie Lillian Kunert

Son Philip Goes to Bethesda
By Elsie Lillian Kunert

In 1947 our seventh of eight children arrived. Two years later, our 3rd child, Philip, was 12 years old and by now the Lord was making me see that my steadfast refusal to even consider an institution for Philip (“How could anyone love my little boy the way I do?”) was not fair to him. He would stand at the window and cry when the other children left for school. “Why can’t I go to school, Mama?” “Well, honey, we’re asking the Lord to find a nice one for you.” At the time Detroit had no facilities for children with developmental and intellectual disabilities with the exception of an expensive private day school on the west side. Even if we’d been able to afford it, he could not have attended. They tested him and refused our application. “Too distractible”, they wrote.

Philip would go out to play and would come in crying, “They call me crazy, Mama!”. The older children – how cruel some can be – would laugh and jeer. The little ones, blissfully unaware, gladly accepted him, but their parents were understandably apprehensive. In the house Philip played boisterously with Danny, Gracie, Mark and Chuckie, his younger siblings, but sometimes it was disastrous. Always good-humoredly, he would coax them to the top of the stairs leading to the second floor, and then gleefully push them down. Once, outside, he pulled his little red wagon up to Harper Avenue and calmly walked into the busy traffic, narrowly escaping injury. Another time he was struck by a car in front of our home. The result was that we felt he could no longer be left outside alone, so he was confined to our yard, with the gates secured with rope. Then he would shake the gates forcibly and cry in a loud voice, “They lock me up!”

A reverse incident – working in the kitchen one day I heard Grace and Philip up in the bathroom directly above and connected by a sort of inter-com provided by a clothes chute. They were evidently “playing house” and their giggling ricocheted down the metal lining of the chute. Gracie, a very tiny four year old was always “Mama” and Philip her little boy. How she loved to pretend. She even mothered me. If she thought I was working too hard, she would push me into a big easy chair and say. “Now just wewax, Mama, just wewax!”

But I was concerned about their playing in the bathroom. There were too many possibilities of danger there. I knocked on the “inter-com”, “Grace and Philip, come down and play in the sun-room!” Suddenly a blood curdling scream propelled me up the stairs – to find the bathroom door locked! The screams – Philip’s, I knew – continued as I tried to coax Grace to unlock the door. Frightened, too, it took her a few moments. I found Philip sitting in the tub in scalding water (Grace could only reach the hot water handle) – his little buttocks and feet so badly burned that for weeks he lay naked on his stomach on a bed in the sun-room, an improvised “tent” from which a light bulb hung his only covering. Large 12-inch square pads spread thickly with ointment were applied at intervals after the pitifully burned area was delicately sponged with a disinfectant. The deep scars never disappeared.

But God was working and, having heard of the fine facilities for children (with disabilities) at Bethesda Lutheran Home in Watertown, Wisconsin, we made application for Philip’s entrance. It was strange that despite our life-long connection with the Lutheran Church we had never heard of Bethesda. Evidently their waiting list was so long that they shunned publicity. And the same waiting list dampened our hopes. “Yes, we will consider taking Philip, but it will be at least 2 or 3 years”.

Little by little, in God’s dealings with us, we come to lean harder on His promises. “My grace is sufficient”. . . . “He will not suffer you to be tested above that you are able to bear it but will . . . . make a way of escape. . . ”

My “way of escape” came several weeks later when another letter arrived from Bethesda. “We have reviewed Philip’s case”, it stated, “and because of all the little children in the family we have reconsidered. As soon as you are able to submit complete physical and dental records to us, Philip will be accepted.”

And so in April of 1949, Dad and Philip and I drove to Watertown. We took Philip directly to the office of the large complex of buildings bordering the Rock River on the outskirts of town. To make sure that Bethesda could be trusted with the life and nurture of our precious little boy, Al and I stayed at a small hotel in town for 3 days and spent part of each day observing Philip’s reactions, inspecting the facilities, and getting acquainted with the staff. Our first tour through the wards was a shaking experience for me. The tears ran down my face uncontrollably, partly I suppose at the prospect of leaving Philip, partly because I had never seen such a great number of people with developmental and intellectual disabilities. In my many successive visits I learned that for the most part they were very happy people.

In recent years, a number of NBC documentaries have documented the excellent care, high standards and happy atmosphere at Bethesda, and that was certainly our impression. But just then my senses were numb at the sight of so many with such disabilities. And now the trauma of having to leave Philip was an agony I felt I couldn’t bear. But how good God is! I’ve used the phrase before, “He tempers the wind to the shorn lamb”, but nothing else so aptly expresses His mercy to the vulnerable. Instead of our leave taking being unbearable, it took an almost humorous twist. Philip had arrived at Bethesda three days before, and the boys in his ward had been primed for his coming, and so instead of the rejection he had felt at home, he was surrounded by eager faces and welcoming gestures; “Hi Philip!, we’re really glad you’re here! We’ll be your buddies!”. This was a wonderful new adventure for Philip, and he was reveling in it. They were not abnormal to him, and he was not abnormal to them. And so, while I was tremulously trying to formulate a suitable farewell speech without breaking down, Philip’s attitude was almost, “Let’s get this over with, Mama, you’re cramping my style!”. It certainly changed the atmosphere and I left with a lighter heart than I had thought possible earlier, and confident that our loving Heavenly Father was again proving Romans 8:28 a reality.

(Submitted by Daniel Kunert, Member of the Bethesda Lutheran Communities Auxiliary Board)

Donna: For Mom

Donna Hedin knew at the tender age of three that she wanted to be a nurse when she grew up. And for an astounding 50 years, she did just that, caring for people of all ages at Children’s Minnesota Hospital in St. Paul. During her career, she personally helped the smallest and most vulnerable of babies.

Over the years, Donna observed how advances in technology gave more preemie babies than ever the chance to survive. Yet many go on to have special challenges, including intellectual and developmental disabilities that last a lifetime. While people with these disabilities may receive support as children, when they become adults they can be left to fend for themselves – and their needs can go unmet.

“I saw a lot of babies that would need the help of Bethesda,” said Donna. This is why Donna has chosen Bethesda as a place she has entrusted her charitable dollars.

It turns out Donna is not the only person in her family who has had a special place in her heart for Bethesda. “I was really close with my mom – she was very important to me,” Donna shared. “I didn’t have any idea she liked Bethesda!”

And like Bethesda she did. Lynora Hedin gave many gifts to her favorite charity, dating all the way back to 1975. “I’m really proud of my mom for doing that,” Donna said.

Today, in retirement, Donna continues that tradition of giving in honor of her mom, and is involved with Bethesda in many ways. Her gifts have helped many important projects and have enhanced the supports we provide. Donna has visited the Watertown campus, including the original chapel, as well as Camp Matz. Naturally, Donna also talks to her friends about Bethesda whenever she can.

Dennis Vanden Heuvel, development director for Bethesda, has known Donna for years and greatly appreciates her commitment to Bethesda. “Donna is so generous, but in the end she wants to know that her generosity has a purpose,” he said.

Through her ongoing engagement with Bethesda, Donna is adding to her 50 years of caring, and continuing to impact lives along the way. “Bethesda services aren’t going away because the needs aren’t going away,” she said