First, as reported by The New York Times: “For more than a decade, Jesse Ridgway has made a living posting YouTube videos, some personal, to millions of followers. It seemed natural, then, he said, to share that he and his wife, Ashley, had decided to terminate her pregnancy after a test revealed the presence of Trisomy 21, a form of Down syndrome.
‘This choice was not made lightly,’ Mr. Ridgway, 33, wrote in a lengthy post on X on Wednesday evening, two days after his wife underwent an abortion. ‘We made a difficult decision that we believe in the long run will be beneficial for our family,’ he added.”
Their announcement reached millions and quickly triggered a strong response. Much of it was harsh and unkind. I won’t add to that. But I do want to offer a perspective—one shaped by experience, and by a faith that has grown well beyond where it once was.
Years ago, halfway through the pregnancy of our third son, we were told he had a 50/50 chance of having Down syndrome. Josh had a particular heart defect that often appears alongside Trisomy 21.
I was young then—in life and in faith. I didn’t know what I didn’t know.
I remember two doctors looking at each other before asking if we wanted to consider terminating the pregnancy. The question felt clinical to them, but to me, this was already my child—fearfully and wonderfully made, known by God long before I would ever know and hold him.
For us, the answer was simple: no. But simple didn’t mean easy.
Over the next four and a half months, I prayed constantly. And if I’m honest, those prayers revealed how limited my trust really was. I asked God to let it “just” be the heart issue—something we could fix, something I could understand, and most of all, something that fit within my expectations of what was manageable.
I was trusting God… but only as far as I could see.
When Josh was born and his diagnosis was confirmed, I cried.
I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. I cried because I didn’t know what I didn’t know. I cried because I was scared. Because my expectations were gone. Because I couldn’t yet see how this could ever be “good” or beneficial for my family.
I didn’t doubt God—but I didn’t yet understand Him either.
Now, 24 years later, let me say this with complete certainty: the only regret I have is that I cried that night.
Because what I could not see then, God already knew.
He knew the joy Josh would bring. He knew the ways our family would be shaped, softened, and strengthened. He knew that what I feared would limit us would actually become one of our greatest blessings.
Josh is an imperfectly amazing, joyful, kind, loving, funny, thoughtful, faithful young man. He connects with people in a way that is genuine and disarming. He brings light into our lives and into the lives of others. He is absolutely thriving.
And through him, I have seen more clearly what it means to love as God loves—without condition, without pretense, full of joy.
I am so grateful that God did not answer my prayers the way I prayed them. In His wisdom and mercy, He gave me something far better than what I was asking for.
So when I hear the phrase “beneficial in the long run,” I understand the desire to make the best decision you can with the understanding you have.
But I also know this: sometimes our understanding is incomplete. Sometimes what we cannot yet see, God is already redeeming. Sometimes what feels like a disruption to our plans is actually an invitation into something deeper, richer, and more meaningful than we could have ever imagined.
I’m so grateful that my lack of understanding didn’t have the final say in our story.
God’s plan has been so much better than mine.
Love you, Josh… so proud of you.
Mom