I have the great privilege of writing with a group of women. We call ourselves Quill Haven. And just in case you don’t get the not-so-obvious pun, we are a group of women who find refuge in writing.

Last month’s assignment was to write a piece we would consider posting as a blog. We spent our monthly meeting providing feedback on one another’s work, made a few edits, and now I want to share their musings with you. Enjoy!

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From Betrayal to Beloved

By Jackie Williams (Jackie can be followed at http://www.icebabyministries.com/)

I am so honored to be a guest writer on this Beloved blog.  I can think of no better way to compliment my mentor’s invite than to incorporate her BELOVED theme into my piece, (albeit in a very unusual way). I am making beloved the hero of my piece, in honor of the impact Allison has made in my writing journey.  (If you like this piece, you can find more at: www.icebabyministries.com)

Where once I was beloved, I now found myself thrust on a new path.  Before this sudden uprooting, I did not know what real betrayal felt like.  Sure, I have had my share of life moments where I felt wronged, but not to this soul-crushing level.  My once healthy connection to my betrayer was forever blackened and dead; my trust was completely cauterized.  

Sadly, I have also learned that betrayal does not just happen from person to person. It can be person to employer, person to church, person to government. It can happen with any entity that holds our trust.  No space here is sacred. 

Naively, I didn’t realize my new path would send me spiraling through the infamous stages of grief. I was like a tornado on steroids spinning uncontrollably in grief’s wrestling ring. The first opponent to cross the ropes was anger. Betrayal had me angrier than I have ever been in my whole life.  This was such an odd feeling for a happy person. Once my anger subsided, next to cross the ropes, was denial. How could they do this to me? This was so calculated, cruel, and intentional.  I cried a decade’s worth of tears in a single day. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed, yet I was the victim. As for right now, bargaining and I are taking a breather in our separate corners of the wrestling ring. 

This new path remains fresh and raw but I share my circumstance to offer HOPE.  In my path from beloved to betrayal, I have uncovered a silver lining. I realized, early on, I was not walking this new path alone; I had a companion. This is when my jaded outlook brightened, and not because I was miraculously healed, or no longer felt wronged. I just feel relief when I see someone who has it worse than me. It offers me much-needed perspective.

Jesus was betrayed by people, too numerous to count. The trusted people in his life; his closest friends, his family, the clergy, and the government; they all stood in the betrayal line, waiting for their turn.   Jesus knows firsthand what ultimate betrayal feels like.

The Latin word for betrayal is ‘TRADERE which means ‘to hand over’. Jesus was literally ‘handed over’ to His betrayers multiple times.  Judas infamously handed Him over to an angry mob at the Garden of Gethsemane. That mob then handed Him over to the high priest Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin, (the local religious order). He was then handed over to Pilate, the head of government in that region. 

Despite Jesus’ betrayal and inevitable crucifixion and death, TRADERE no longer holds power over Him.  His betrayal ended when he uttered his last words: “It is finished” (John 19:30). With that, Jesus found the path back to His beloved. 

So what solace does all this bring me? This simple truth: Jesus is the only relationship where betrayal will never happen. This is a sacred promise, never to be broken. So as I navigate this new, temporary, betrayal path, I know that I too will end up with my beloved. Where I belong.

Have you found your path from betrayal to your beloved? 

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JUNIPER, JUNIPER

By Janine Toomey

There had already been whispering among them. Saddened by the passing of their lady, the lovely one that hung chimes and feeders on them, they wondered what would become of the friendly man. No indication could be detected as they do not use words like you and me. They speak through the ground on an as-needed basis – passing news of invasion or threats. In this case, they were observing the comings and goings of the house people.

The Juniper trees live in the vast plain that stretches northwest of the Deschutes River as it passes through the little town of Tumalo, Oregon. They were formed from berries long ago, a wonderful design of the Creator. Here are the lucky ones who took hold of solid ground despite the rocky, dry dirt of Central Oregon. They feast their eyes on South Sister, and her sister pals off in the West and strain their ears to hear the tumble and rush of the river following the curve of the canyon just south across Johnson Road.

Western Juniper can live up to 500 years, but this young family is likely less than 100. We know from photographs that they were of full height forty years ago when Carl built the house among them. He left most of them, not even removing the low-lying branches.  I observed that it did not bother Carl one bit to gaze out between the arms of the Junipers at the full view of Cascade mountains from his dining room table.

Maybe Carl and Elaine left the trees as shelter from the sun pouring in through the windows. The evergreen buffer tempered the sound of cars rolling down the grade on Johnson Road. The birds made their homes in the shelter of the prickly foliage. Deer found safety and shade, likely indulging themselves to rest from foraging.

Gone are the years of Carl and Elaine dwelling here in their private Eden. The business of how to proceed with Elaine gone and Carl in a care facility was underway. Steve and I were asked years ago to do for Carl and Elaine what they could no longer do for themselves. We were carrying out our promise to them to do what needed to be done. 

Our trusty realtor arrived at the house prepared to do her part. She had familiarized herself with the area and entered the house, her keen, experienced eyes scanning the inside and peering out the windows. Captain Obvious did jumping jacks off the back deck, illuminating the tall hills behind him. The mountains waved from afar. We all agreed that the view would sell the house. What could be better than the view we saw? The view without trees – and clean windows.

My chest tightened as thoughts succumbed to the spin cycle in my mind. “Not the trees,” I said to myself. “Can’t we keep the trees – maybe do some trimming? A buyer might want them as a buffer,” I reasoned with Steve and Trusty. “They take a long time to grow – at least fifty years.”

In my mind, I prepared my dialogue of apology to the trees, looking at their big round trunks and long extended branches. Big change happens so quickly. Our neighbors had recently cut down a few gentle giants. They said they were too close to their houses – too much fire risk. My heart broke for the trees. What a difference two men with chainsaws and ropes can make in a few hours.

 Carl did not exactly light up when I mentioned Juniper trees. He thought he might have cut down a few when he built the house. “I’ve got dementia, you know. That’s the problem. I don’t remember.” My mind cycled the questions of why these gnarly old nags persisted on the property. What would Carl and Elaine have wanted? More than once, I brought it up with Steve. The mountain view out loud and proud would set the hook for a buyer.

The tree service man was out a few days later. He and Steve walked the house perimeter, choosing candidates for cutting. It was the unhappy version of picking kids for the ball team – that one is too close to the house, this tree, and the one over there are in the way of the view. I realized I was holding my breath when I heard some would only be limbed up. Whew. The Estimate and Proposal for the Work to be Performed were emailed a few days later.

The price for tree work was pricey. We agreed to the work and scheduled the date, weather permitting. One day followed another, and with the suddenness of tripping over the seam in the sidewalk, we received a text from Trusty, the realtor. “The house is not listed, and the trees are not down, but an associate would like to show the house. Is that okay?” We could set the price higher than we planned. What did we have to lose? Not. One. Thing.

Would you believe the house sold and the trees stayed? God does for us (and the trees) what we cannot do for ourselves. The Bible child in my mind is strutted around with her chest out proud, churning on about God and trees. Those big weeds are important don’t you know! She counted them off with her fingers: “There’s the Tree of Knowledge, Tree of Good and Evil, the Burning Bush/Tree, Trees on both sides of the river with fruit every month and leaves for healing…” I can’t make this stuff up.

Juniper, her brothers and sisters, and the little one, Junie, are quiet now, probably wringing their roots over what the new owners of the house will be like. They had quite the worry, speculating about life after death, separation from one another, and whether or not they truly believed in Heaven. The bratty one quipped, “Don’t worry about tomorrow, for today has enough trouble of its own.” The others rolled their eyes.

Did the drama over the thirty-foot wonders with the bunchy brown-green growth and bark that looks like the skin of an old woman with an excessive sunbathing habit surprise you? It did me. That Bible snob in my mind was not the only one counting things. I was unconsciously counting also. We said goodbye to Elaine in January; Carl’s mental capacity ran away from home; the essence of youth runs through our fingers like water; the country is losing its mind, and God only knows what will be next. The choice to cut trees was a loss within our control, and I balked. Things are not always as they seem. I know God will not spare me from loss, but He will always be with me. He is the One I can count on for sure.

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Why Gratitude, You Ask?

By Marlys Lawry (Marlys can be followed at https://marlysjohnsonlawry.com)

My daughter gifted me with an Ann Voskamp book, titled One Thousand Gifts, for Mother’s Day in the year her father was dying of cancer.

Ann’s poetic style was a little challenging to read at first. But I kept on. And I saw through to her heart. Her story is one of grief and pain, and then a friend challenged her to list one thousand things she was thankful for.

As time passed, Ann’s perspective shifted to seeing more clearly how God sees—one blessing gift at a time. She wrote, “Thanks is what multiplies the joy and makes any life large … but I had never practiced until it became second nature.” 

This challenged me to start practicing gratitude and to start my list in the year my husband was slowly dying.

17. First snow falling

18. One more day with hubby

19. Delicious curry dish delivered by a co-worker

20. Soft fuzzy yarn and knitting needles—some would call it therapy

In time, my husband occupied a hospital bed that dominated our living room. And still, I wrote gratitude. It kept me settled and filled with peace at a time when there should have been no peace.

82. The Porch Fairy* dropping off chai latte

83. Every conversation with my husband, even the ones that make no sense

84. All three grandkids on one boisterous FaceTime call

And then my husband’s physical needs were more than I could manage at home. He entered Hospice House, and our daughter and I were by his side when he took his final, rasping breath.

Still, I counted.

165. Our daughter here with me

166. Son, daughter-in-law, son-in-law, and the grands on their way

167. The love pouring out of so many cards

168. A beautiful Celebration of Life service

I continued listing gifts through the six years of widowhood, through the angst of dating again, and into a budding love relationship with a man who fits me perfectly—because what’s not to be grateful about that?!

There’s a well-loved passage from a letter Paul wrote to new believers in the ancient city of Philippi. He includes a directive from God’s heart—not to be mistaken as a suggestion: 

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 4:6-7, emphasis mine

It’s that simple. A) Kick anxiety out and—hurry!—lock the door. B) Consider the priceless gifts that grace you as you tell God your needs. C) Enjoy peace.

I love how Anne Lamott put it:

“Gratitude begins in our hearts and then dovetails into behavior. It almost always makes you willing to be of service, which is where the joy resides. It means you are willing to stop being such a jerk. When you are aware of all that has been given to you, in your lifetime and in the past few days, it is hard not to be humbled and pleased to give back.” 

Today, I’m on my fifth gratitude journal, each filled with one thousand ways God loves me. Why count all the gifts God has given us, you ask? Why gratitude?

Because it helps alleviate fear and anxiety. It inspires service, and service produces joy. It shifts our perspective toward what remains after the dust settles from our losses. And it ushers in an un-understandable peace.

*A Porch Fairy is someone who leaves hot chai lattes on your porch at 7:00 am—for days and weeks—so as not to disturb your husband in the hospital bed in the living room. 

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