A Beam of Hope: Trophies of Grace Series Book 1

By Betty J Hassler

The trauma of their young daughter’s cancer surgery leads Layton and Amy Brooks to reexamine the assumptions that drove them to divorce. To restore intimacy, they must reframe former events—with honesty, grace, and forgiveness.

When cancer strikes the young girl again, the family’s fledgling faith encounters new challenges. Will Layton and Amy have the strength to rear a disabled child? How will Brianne cope?

As Brianne navigates her unexpected path, her strength teaches others what it means to be truly whole. A Beam of Hope is a story of coming to terms with grief and loss—and embracing renewed hope and unexpected grace.

“These characters are flawed, yet loveable. I found myself rooting for them in their struggles and trials.”

—Lori Hatcher, author of Hungry for God ... Starving for Time

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781664267077

Betty J Hassler

BETTY J HASSLER is an author, speaker, dramatist, and Bible study leader. Alongside her retired pastor husband, she loves mentoring young believers and discipling Christians. An editor for a major Christian publisher for seventeen years, she’s published numerous articles and short stories for magazines and devotional publications. A Gift of Joy is her fourth book in the Trophies of Grace series. She lives close by her children and grandchildren near Pensacola, Florida.

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 Betty J Hassler.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by

any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, and dialogue in

this novel are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Unless otherwise noted, all scripture quotations are taken from the Holman Christian

Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2009 by Holman Bible

Publishers. Used by permission. Holman Christian Standard Bible®, Holman CSB®,

and HCSB® are federally registered trademarks of Holman Bible Publishers.

Scripture taken from The Voice™. Copyright © 2012 by Ecclesia

Bible Society. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-6706-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-6705-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-6707-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022909142

WestBow Press rev. date: 06/03/2022

Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

Epilogue

Reader’s Guide

Meet the Author

1

To caring, mature believers who taught me so much

about intergenerational family dynamics

and the wisdom of the elderly.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Walking my dog through my Nashville, Tennessee, neighborhood was an everyday occurrence. But on this particular day, a fictional story began forming as I traveled the familiar turf. Even the name of the main character jumped to mind. As more and more of the story unfolded, I could only assume I should begin typing.

After all, I was an editor for a Christian publisher at the time and had been writing novels since I learned to read and write. Alas, I don’t know what happened to those masterpieces of juvenile fiction. But I do know that Layton Brooks and the ensuing characters in A Beam of Hope finally found their way into print. Thank you to WestBow Press for making this reiteration of the dream come true. To my editors, a special word of gratitude. Oh, the things I would have missed if it weren’t for your careful inspection!

I would like to thank you, my readers, for your interest. May you be encouraged to share your beam of hope with others to remind you that God is up to something in your life.

Always be ready to offer a defense, humbly and respectfully, when someone asks why you live in hope. (1 Peter 3:15 The Voice New Testament)

I’d also like to thank my long-suffering husband, Sim, for reading every word of the manuscript, asking penetrating questions, telling me when he felt lost in the maze of characters and plot, and, especially, shedding a tear in all the right places.

I thank God for giving me the vision for this series, Trophies of Grace. I pray it will demonstrate through the lives of everyday people how You lavish Your children with hope, faith, mercy, and love. May His grace overflow as you read.

PROLOGUE

Fall 1993

Layton Brooks stood in the doorway of his man cave. Years ago, he’d playfully posted a commercial Keep Out sign on the door. However, a mischievous nine-year-old had scratched through it with a big red X. With large letters, she’d carefully printed, Come on In.

Now the little girl was grown and away at college. However, the invitation stood. Inside, friends and family had taken their places around the imposing trophy case on the back wall between two windows. The glass shelves contained memories that would outlive him.

On the top shelves stood his most prized possessions. Each trophy had been engraved with a person’s name, date, and quality he or she represented. He’d presented the trophies in person or, in one case, in absentia. These heroes of faith had been his spiritual mentors. People such as Myra Norwell, who demonstrated peace in her illness. How about Brianne’s endurance when she’d received a similar diagnosis?

Layton ambled toward his recliner, coffee cup in hand, eyes still on the trophy case. When the time came to unveil a new trophy, he’d presented it to those gathered to build faith muscles, as he put it. Always tears and hugs followed the brief ceremony.

The idea had come from Meme Dyer, his daughter Brianne’s grandmother. Once, as they were saying their goodbyes at the Nashville airport, Meme had affirmed that God’s good purposes in Brianne’s illness would be a trophy of His grace.

Back home from the airport, Layton had looked again at the wooden cabinet poised against the wall of his man cave. Hmm, he’d mused, a trophy of God’s grace. A trophy case to display God’s grace! Suddenly, the piece of furniture took on a whole new meaning:

Grace is God’s way of treating us as though we are deserving of His blessings—although, of course, we’re not.

Meme’s optimism had been the inspiration for the trophy Layton had awarded her—a trophy for hope. Her daughter Amy had been the one to label her mother a beam of hope in their darkest hours.

Layton let out a long, satisfied sigh. Settling his lanky frame into his well-worn recliner, he placed the coffee cup on the end table. Memories flooded him. True, life would have been very different if Brianne’s illness had led to another conclusion. Maybe life would have been less complicated. But so much less rewarding. That had been many years ago.

Too bad the story of how it all came about had begun on such a dismal note. He frowned, recalling that foggy morning in 1979 when he’d set out for Nashville—the last place on earth he wanted to be.

1

Spring 1979

Layton Brooks turned his car off I-95 onto the Pennsylvania turnpike and headed west. Light rain peppered his windshield. He knew flying would have made more sense. A couple of hours, and he’d be in Nashville. But Layton wasn’t ready to be there, and he couldn’t think of another way to delay the inevitable.

Too soon he’d have to look into the piercing blue eyes of the woman he’d loved—probably still loved—on the arm of another man. More troubling, his precious four-year-old daughter, Brianne, would be lying in a hospital bed awaiting cancer surgery. Together, the prospect seemed overwhelming.

He hid his emotions well. Perhaps too well. At some point, his anger would no doubt boil to the surface and explode over whoever was unfortunate enough to be present.

Layton glanced at his wristwatch. The weekend traffic was light. With any luck, he could make it to Cincinnati tonight and on into Nashville tomorrow. He signaled to pass a slow-moving RV. It was going to be a long trip. Or maybe too short. He wasn’t sure yet.

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The late-afternoon sun beat on his back. Layton felt glued to the seat. He stretched his lanky frame and yawned. The drive had been uneventful except for a few speeding drivers weaving between the 18-wheelers.

Thinking about Brianne helped the hours creep forward. Always flitting around like a butterfly, Brianne was the most energetic three—oops—four-year-old girl he knew. He’d missed her fourth birthday party. At that thought, he tousled his blondish-brown hair.

In fact, he hadn’t seen her since Christmas and then only for two days. What do you do with a three-year-old when you’re living out of a motel room? he wondered for the umpteenth time. Taking her back and forth to a house he’d once owned and lived in felt too awkward.

Nothing seemed fair, least of all Brianne’s diagnosis. She’d just started gymnastics in January. Somehow the thought of her being admitted to a hospital seemed bizarre. He leaned his long frame toward the steering wheel to dry out the back of his shirt.

Since his move to New Jersey, he’d made it a point to keep up with her daily experiences as often as possible. Phone conversations with her were almost like talking to a grown-up.

Why didn’t you answer the phone, Daddy? I tried to call you.

I’ve been unloading groceries, Kitten.

Meow. Brianne often made a cat sound when he called her Kitten. He wasn’t quite sure why he did that. A habit from somewhere. He didn’t even particularly like cats.

What did you buy at the store?

Lots of frozen stuff. I had to put it in the freezer.

Oh. She paused. Mommy made cookies today, Daddy. Would you like a cookie?

Sure would. He’d made chewing sounds. That tasted yummy.

In these lighthearted moments, Brianne offered him other things to eat—a turtle, a dinosaur, a flower—whatever else she could imagine. He’d pretend to eat them all, to her amusement. She always ended their phone conversation with I miss you, Daddy.

I miss you too, he’d reply. I love you.

Remembering brought an unexpected lump to his throat. Maybe a cup of strong coffee would help. He exited I-71 and turned into the parking lot of the first restaurant he spotted. Might as well eat dinner too. Only another hour or so to Cincinnati.

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Back in the car, Layton continued replaying past conversations with Brianne. Strange, he mused. Most of her life, he’d spent weekdays traveling on business. Their brief early-evening visits occurred by phone from a motel room.

After he filed for divorce, Layton accepted a position in his company’s New York City home office. Although the commute to and from his condo in New Jersey left little time in his day, at least he was home at night. Now that he didn’t travel much, he had no family to come home to.

At least he could still call her. Because of the change from eastern to central time zone in Nashville, he had an extra hour to catch his daughter before bedtime. Brianne would report on her day as if she were keeping a diary. Taylor came to my house. Mommy kept her so her daddy could go to work.

You and Taylor are getting to be good friends. How old is she?

She’s five, Daddy. She can count to a hundred and swing way up high. We played picnic.

Who came to the picnic, Kitten?

Meow. You, Daddy. Don’t you remember? You sat right by me.

What did I have to eat?

A hot dog with mus-ter and relish. The way you like it.

Mustard, huh?

Yes, and tomorrow we’re going to the zoo.

Painful memories consumed his review of Brianne’s musings. Who’s that in the background?

Oh, that’s Mr. Stephen, Taylor’s dad. They ate dinner with us. Taylor threw up.

Your mom’s not that bad a cook, Layton teased.

No, no. Mommy says she’s coming down with something.

Where’s her mom?

She died, Daddy. Don’t you remember?

At the thought of that last conversation, Layton had no interest in remembering phone calls.

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The motel room looked serviceable, if not up to his usual business expense trip standards. Layton unpacked the few things he required for the night and stretched out on the bed to call his ex-wife, Amy. As if everything isn’t already hard enough, he thought.

Amy answered on the first ring. Layton, where are you?

Hello to you too.

I’m sorry. I’m just so ready for you to get here.

I wish you’d been ready a year ago, he answered testily, immediately sorry for his words.

Please, not now. Not when Brianne needs us so much.

After a long pause, he managed to say, I’m in Cincinnati. I should be in Nashville by midafternoon tomorrow. Is Brianne asleep?

Unfortunately, no. Layton could hear the tension in her voice. He’d better tread lightly.

How is she? he asked reluctantly, hoping Amy wouldn’t tell him more than he was prepared to hear.

Actually, she’s excited about going into the hospital. That’s why I can’t get her to sleep. She wants to take the doctor’s kit you sent with her tomorrow.

Layton chuckled. So like Brianne to think she’d be in charge of the operation. I’ll check in at my hotel and then come straight to the hospital.

Okay. Call me when you’re ready to leave tomorrow.

Why? I’ll see you—

Something might come up, she interrupted. I just want to know you’re on your way.

No problem.

Talk to you then. And thanks for coming.

After she hung up, Layton sat the phone on its hook and stretched out on the bed. Tears welled in his eyes. Fighting to keep them back, he almost uttered a prayer for his Kitten—before he remembered he didn’t believe in prayer anymore.

2

Layton stood outside the hospital room for what seemed an eternity. He’d probably still be standing there if a nurse hadn’t brushed by him on her way into Brianne’s room. The motion caught Amy’s attention. She ran to him and threw her arms around him. Layton stood there woodenly. Finally, he let his arms drop like an umbrella around his ex-wife. Not quite a hug but an acknowledgment of their mutual pain.

Brianne’s been asking for you. Amy led him inside the room.

Layton stood there, looking bewildered, not sure what to do next. Brianne napped peacefully. She looked so small in that big bed. Sensing his confusion, Amy guided him to the chair by the bed.

She just dropped off to sleep. The doctor came by this morning. We’ve got one of the best pediatric cancer specialists in the country, and Vanderbilt Hospital is among the top. Brianne is very fortunate.

Layton couldn’t quite figure how his tiny daughter with a cancerous tumor ranked among the fortunate. He let the comment pass. We can talk about all of that later. Right now, why don’t you take a break? You look tired, he concluded, without much tact.

True, Amy had swollen eyes and smudged eye makeup—had she been crying?—and tousled red hair. But nothing could make her look less than breathtakingly beautiful. In her blue jeans and sweater, she looked like the college coed he’d fallen in love with years ago. He shifted his eyes away from her brilliant blue ones. Go on now. Get some lunch.

She agreed reluctantly and grabbed her purse. "I’ll run home for a while if you don’t mind. I left the place in