On Betsy Thibaut Stephenson and the Power of Telling the Truth
Some people come into your life once and stay. Others show up again and again, at different times, for reasons you can’t quite explain until much later. Betsy Thibaut Stephenson is one of those people for me.
We first met in 7th grade at camp, when life was simple and summers seemed to last forever. Years later, we found ourselves working at the same PR firm in Washington, DC—young women finding our way in a fast-paced world. We even lived in Alexandria, Virginia, at the same time, unknowingly continuing to crisscross through life. And then, long after marriages and motherhood and moves, our paths intersected once again—this time as mothers of boys at rival schools, Woodberry and Episcopal.
Those threads of connection feel too intricate to be coincidence. I truly believe God weaves people into our lives with intention, even if we don’t recognize the pattern at first. And when you finally see it—when you look back and realize how often someone has reappeared—you begin to sense something sacred at work.
That’s why Betsy’s story touches me so deeply, and why I feel compelled to share it.
On April 6, she releases her book Blackbird: A Mother’s Reflections on Grief, Loss, and Life After Suicide. It’s a courageous memoir about the loss of her beloved son Charlie, and her journey through the kind of grief no parent imagines surviving. But she did survive—and not only that, she chose to share the darkest chapter of her life so others might feel less alone in theirs.
Blackbird is not a book of easy answers. It’s honest, raw, and at times, gut-wrenching. Betsy doesn’t shy away from the pain. She walks straight into it, bringing the reader with her. And in doing so, she gives voice to what so many feel but can’t express. She shows us that even in the depths of despair, there can be glimpses of grace. Even in silence, there can be the presence of God.
And that brings me to something deeper I’ve been reflecting on: Where is God when things fall apart?
It’s a question we all wrestle with in seasons of suffering. When life is going well, it’s easy to praise God, to feel like everything is unfolding just as it should. But when tragedy strikes—when a loved one dies, when dreams shatter, when answers don’t come—it can feel like God has turned away.
And yet, I believe He hasn’t.
Grief can cloud our view, but I believe God is still there—not fixing things in the way we wish, but holding space for our sorrow. Sometimes, He shows up in the form of a friend who listens without trying to fix. Sometimes, in a moment of stillness where breath returns. And sometimes, in a story like Betsy’s—a story that doesn’t end with a miracle, but continues with meaning.
God didn’t cause Betsy’s pain, but He is using it. Through Blackbird, she is helping others walk through a pain that too often isolates. She’s shedding light in a space where silence often wins. That, to me, is holy work.
Her story reminds me that the threads of our lives—both the joyful and the devastating—are being woven into something bigger than we can see. And that even when we don’t understand the pattern, we can trust the One holding the needle.
So, today, I invite you to support Betsy. Read her book. Share her story. Hold space for those in grief. And remember that sometimes the most inspiring people are the ones who don’t try to be—they just keep going, one brave step at a time.
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