This reflection explores the moment that inspired both “Betrayed by Blood: Rebekah” and “Betrayed by Blood: Esau.” Though these two paintings depict different perspectives, they were born of the same sorrow—a family broken by betrayal, faith, and love.
During a deep dive into the Old Testament, I was shocked to find a seemingly modern story hidden in the pages of an ancient text.
Here was a family, torn apart by religious difference— a story I knew all too well.
For years, I have listened to heartbroken parents, devastated as their children walk away from the beliefs they hold sacred. To these parents, it feels like their children are lost, wandering on strange and dangerous paths.
But I’ve also heard the grief of those children—desperate for understanding, crushed by what feels like conditional love, rejection, and betrayal from the very people who raised them.
And then I read how Rebekah questioned the value of her own life after Esau after Esau married a Canaanite woman. In modern-day Latter-day Saint terms, it’s as if he had chosen to marry outside of the temple covenant—outside of the faith.
Meanwhile, Esau is filled with wrath—his blessing and birthright stolen through deception by the very parents who now judge his choices. And honestly? His anger is understandable.
This family becomes estranged for years. The rift is deep.
Their story captured me. It symbolically clothed the stories of so many modern families—families I’ve known, families I love.
In quieter, smaller ways, I’ve navigated this tension in my own life, too. It is so, so hard. We have grieved, too.
I know the weight of these choices—the sorrow of distance, the longing for reconciliation, the ache of not being understood.
This painting was born out of that ache.
And so I painted Rebekah in a moment of gut-wrenching sorrow, her heart unraveling as she learns of her son’s covenant-breaking marriage.
And I painted Esau in his moment of shock and fury, having just discovered that his blessing was secretly given away. He has lost both his spiritual and material inheritance—and in his rage, he resolves to kill his brother.
Through these paintings, I hope to give voice to the shattered. To honor the pain. To encourage compassion and wisdom in families who are navigating similar rifts.
Each person’s perspective carries weight. And I believe healing begins when we truly see one another.
Because how we respond to religious differences within our families matters. Our choices have lasting consequences.
If this resonates with you, I invite you to explore more:
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