Last Sunday, our church began a series on Ruth, so this week,
I’ve been reading through Ruth 1 and 2 closely.
I’ve never noticed how broken and bitter Naomi is until
today. As a high schooler, I read Ruth as a beautiful love story, but in my naiveté
and innocence, I didn’t comprehend or identify with the grief these women had
faced.
To lose their husbands, and for Naomi, to lose her sons too.
To have no means for income
To travel alone as women
For Ruth, to work in dangerous fields where young, beautiful
women were often assaulted.
They had a right to feel bitter, to feel scared, to feel,
especially, that the Lord had not dealt kindly with them.
But what contrast between the two women.
Ruth, as a Moabite, converts to Judaism—taking on the
covenant of Naomi’s God. And in doing so, she believes for a better future.
She is willing to work hard—not with bitterness or
self-pity.
She is joyful and humble—not entitled.
She doesn’t demand; she doesn’t expect.
And the Lord moves on her behalf to provide: His great
providence.
It’s sadly our culture and our generation to demand, expect,
and feel entitled.
But God is moved by hearts that are willing to trust, to
risk, to do the hard work, not knowing whether it will pay off.
Ruth could have adopted Naomi’s attitude about God—that He
didn’t care, that He wasn’t doing anything on their behalf, that His hand was
against them.
And given the grief she walked through and the uncertainty
she faced, no one would blame her.
It’s in our uncertainty that we sometimes feel most
forgotten.
In the midst of grief, providence seems the least likely—God’s
goodness seems the furthest away.
Last Saturday, our three-year-old Wiemaraner discovered some
poison in the shed. Once we realized what had happened, we immediately jumped
into action. The emergency vet hospital is one hour away, so they told us how
to induce vomiting immediately.
Rizzoli threw up twice in the yard—bright chunks of green
poison—and three more times in the back seat of Howell’s truck as we rushed to the
vet hospital. We were laying
hands on her, absolutely believing and praying that God would heal her.
Unless you’re a dog person, you may not fully understand how
we felt, especially since our dogs are like children to us.
So we get to the vet hospital, and we bring the box of what
she got into, and the vet—who must have left his compassion hat at home—plainly
tells us there’s not much they can do for that type of poison; there’s no real
antidote. He said they would monitor her and give her fluids, but basically,
either she’ll live, or she’ll die.
I was choking on my tears.
Talk about uncertainty.
I felt like my legs weighed a thousand pounds as I walked to
the truck—without our dog-baby.
Once I was in the cab, I started to weep. The Lord let me
cry, let me feel, let me walk down all the worse-case scenarios and juggle my
hope with the bad news.
But when we pulled into the garage, I heard Him whisper so
gently, Trust me. I’ve got you; I’ve got
this—just trust me.
It’s always a choice, isn’t it?
We picked up Rizzoli the next day, and although it took
another day before her system was fully normal, she most certainly lived.
But it’s in that moment—where the uncertainty lives, where
the doc says she’ll live or she’ll die—that’s the moment of choice.
And to choose faith is to be brave, to dare greatly, as Brene
Brown would say.
Ruth was a courageous woman. She dared to believe contrary
to her circumstances and feelings, and in that moment:
She dares to hope.
She dares to be brave.
She dares to be seen.
What about you, dear friend? Do you feel like Naomi—hurt and
bitter, as if the Lord has turned His hand against you?
Can you trust Him with your heart today—to believe that He
has a good purpose for you, and by His providence, He will make a way?
