Godspeed, Beauty and Courage

I first met Betsy Watson about 12 years ago, when Henry and I got involved in the Youth Ministry at our church. At the time our oldest was just on the cusp of being a participant, and we wanted to "do our time" there before he got active so he could have his space later.

Betsy and her husband Tom were in charge, and I wasn't all that impressed with her. She was a teensy thing -- typical schoolteacher type, always in those outfits that matched perfectly. They usually had cutesy little things on them too, the kinds of applique and stuff that I think they only sell in a special Teacher Department at Dillards.

It didn't take me too long to change my mind and my heart, though. What it took was two long trips together as chaperones for the Youth Choir -- one to Louisiana and one to New York -- to see just how formidable "Miss Betsy" truly was. All the kids loved her. She had exactly the right balance of the things teenagers need in order to respect someone -- grace, humor, and firmness in appropriate measure.

She made me ride a roller coaster on one of those trips. Shamed me into it, actually. I'm still grateful that I can put that on my "done" list.

But it was in the last nine years of her life that she taught us all so much about what it means to be a person of faith, and if even the smallest lesson from all this finds a place in my own faith journey I'm richer for it.

Nine years ago she was told her breast cancer was back with a vengeance, into her bones. They "gave" her two years -- tops. Not good enough, she said. I have a daughter who's getting married. I'll wait until then, thank you very much.

Well, the cancer went into remission, and she saw her daughter married.

And it came back again -- this time squarely into her spine. This time, she was given less than a year. Four months after their bleak pronouncement, she requested that her covenant group and one of our pastors join her for a healing prayer, complete with anointment. This is not something we tend to do in our church, by the way -- but Betsy was persuasive and so it happened.

And in a month? No sign of cancer was found anywhere in her body. She e-mailed me the day she got that news, and said she was so grateful to be given a little more time -- she wanted to be around if her daughter were going to have a child anytime soon. She made it clear she sensed the cancer would come back, but she counted its disappearance -- however temporary -- a true miracle. I did, too.

Her daughter did, in fact, have a child two years after this, and once again, Betsy got sick. And once again, a bleak prognosis.

Not until I see my granddaughter baptised, she said.

That happened a few brief months ago. Betsy, weak as a kitten, but dressed in a coordinating outfit complete with applique, was there to see it.

Last Saturday, she asked for all treatment to cease, and to go home.

Wednesday morning, Betsy died, surrounded by her family and a few very close friends. She had asked God to take her quickly this time, and He did.

She was a bossy little thing -- with a twinkle in her eye, and sensible shoes on her feet.

And as far as I am concerned, lots of stars in the crown she's wearing today.