Sometimes he wished, like the ancient patriarch Job had wished, that he’d never been born. Living cost too much. It hurt too much. And loving was the hardest thing of all.
His throat ached at the thought. He kicked a stone in the path off to the side, his heart heavier, if that were possible. He hated his life, the life that his had become. Where were the days of joy now, when those days had once held so much promise?
And Passover—it was a time to celebrate their delivery from Egypt when their slavery had ended. It was a time to rejoice in God’s provision. And yet all he felt was bondage to his loss. Bondage to anger and disillusionment.
“Tell me about Bethlehem,” Ruth asked each morning as they broke camp and began the journey around the Dead Sea. “I want to understand the God of your people, His laws, His ways. I want to understand the differences between Moab and Israel.”
Naomi looked up from saddling the donkey, her mood pensive. The girl would not be thwarted, and her questions only added to Naomi’s bitter memories. “I am afraid I am not much help to you, my daughter, when it comes to telling you about our God. I used to think I understood Him, but I realize now I do not understand Him at all.” And I am not sure I want to. But she kept her thoughts hidden, given the hopeful look Ruth was giving her now.
“But your God is not at all like Chemosh,” Ruth said, her tone kind. She placed a comforting hand on Naomi’s shoulder.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Our God is not like Chemosh. He may give and take life at His appointed times, but He does not require the blood of the innocents on brazen altars. In fact, He abhors it, as He proved to our father Abraham. Our God does not abide immorality and the worship of animals or stars or sun or moon. He will have no other God before Him. Even Chemosh must bow to Adonai Elohim.”
Ruth nodded as though pondering Naomi’s words. “And yet you are angry with Him for taking your men because He could have prevented their deaths.” The observation was said in a tone of acceptance, the bitterness of Naomi’s heart missing from Ruth’s quiet voice.
“I would think you would be angry as well,” she said, hating her curtness, which surely hurt the faithful girl.
When they reached a ridge that the donkey would take time to climb, Ruth took the reins from Naomi to allow her a break to walk freely. “I am not angry,” she said at last. “I am sad. I miss Mahlon and Chilion. I miss what might have been.” Her voice trailed off. “But I cannot change what has happened. I can only change how I view things.”
Naomi stopped a moment, pretending to readjust her headscarf, while Ruth continued to guide the donkey and goat up the hill. At last she gathered her courage and caught up with the woman.
“Why did you not return to your mother’s house?” She knew there was no turning back, as Bethlehem was not far now, and Ruth had made it clear that she would not leave Naomi’s side. But why should she care for an old, broken woman?
Ruth stopped the donkey at the top of the rise where Bethlehem spread out below them. Naomi took in a breath, thrilled by the sight. “Home,” she whispered, her heart feeling suddenly lighter than it had in years. Yet home was where her family resided, and her family was no more.
“I did not want to return to my mother,” Ruth interrupted Naomi’s melancholy musings, “because my mother had married Governor Aali, who would have considered himself my father and claimed a right to choose a husband for me. He might have given me to his son Te’oma, as was once his desire, as a third wife. I could not abide such a thing. My children, should I have any, would always live in the shadow of Chemosh, and I would live in fear of them being chosen as a sacrifice if I somehow upset Te’oma or the governor.” She paused, placed a hand on her heart. “Besides”—she glanced at Naomi—“I want to be where you are.”
Tears stung Naomi’s eyes at the admission of such love, but she blinked them quickly away. She didn’t deserve the affection of this woman, and yet here they were. “Come,” she said, shoving the conflicting feelings aside. “Let us hurry before the sun gets too high in the sky. Not only do we have to enter Bethlehem’s gates, but somehow I have to see if my old home is still intact and able to house us tonight.”
She picked her way down the hill with Ruth following in silence. Her heart pounded with every step, and as the gates loomed before her, she fought the sense of panic that she couldn’t do this alone. She had left these gates with her family, and now they were buried in caves in Moab.
Oh God!
The pain of it hit her like a mighty wind, and she nearly doubled over. She paused near the stone gates and waited for Ruth to come alongside her.
I can’t do this.
“You can do this, Mother Naomi,” Ruth said, clasping her hand. “We will go together.”
Naomi merely nodded, too overcome to speak.
They passed the guards, who gave Naomi a curious look but gazed overlong at Ruth, who had covered her head and tucked the scarf in such a way as to try to appear invisible. But her beauty peeked through from her lovely face, and Naomi did not miss the way the men looked at her.
They moved through the wide stone structure and entered the market stalls that lined the main thoroughfare. Naomi looked to the right and left, searching for a familiar face. Women paused in their haggling over wares and turned to stare at the two of them with the donkey and the lonely goat.
“Is this Naomi?” one of the women asked, drawing closer.
“Neta?” She almost didn’t recognize Melek’s second wife, now much older than she had been eleven years before.
“It is you!” Neta raced closer and pulled Naomi into her arms. “You’ve returned!”
The women crowded around her then, all asking questions at once.
“How was your trip?”
“How long you have been gone!”
“Why did you leave?”
“Who is this with you?”
“Naomi,” Neta said, interrupting the barrage of questions, “you must dine with us tonight.” As she spoke, she glanced Ruth’s way.
“Do not call me Naomi,” she said, a catch in her voice. She saw the way the women glanced beyond her as though looking for Elimelech, Mahlon, and Chilion. “Call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt very bitterly with me. I went away full, and the Lord has brought me back empty. Why call me pleasant Naomi, when the Lord has testified against me and the Almighty has brought calamity upon me?”
Neta rested a hand on Naomi’s arm and offered her a comforting smile. “We had heard the rumors of Elimelech.” She looked at Ruth. “We expected that Mahlon and Chilion were still with you.”
“They passed on only a couple of months ago,” Ruth said softly, drawing the women’s attention to her.
Naomi nodded, relieved that Ruth had spoken for her, for she was not sure she was capable of saying the words.
“And who is this with you?” Neta asked, her tone kind, though some of the other women’s faces held skeptical gazes.
“This is my daughter-in-law Ruth, a Moabitess. She was Mahlon’s wife and has come with me to comfort me, to live with me, and to become one of us.”
Silence followed her announcement. Naomi looked from one woman to the next, daring them to disagree with her or try to push Ruth out.
“I think that is wonderful.” Neta spoke first, then walked to Ruth and offered her the kiss of greeting. “Welcome to Bethlehem.”
“Thank you.” Ruth smiled at each woman in turn and put an arm around Naomi’s shoulder. “It has been a long journey,” she said, suddenly taking charge as if she sensed Naomi had lost her strength. “I know Naomi would like to return to the home she left here. Would one of you be willing to show us if it still exists and lead us there?”
“And does Ziva still live?” Naomi asked, suddenly needing to know that her old servant had been cared for in her absence.
“Ziva passed into Sheol some years back,” Neta told her as she led the two of them toward the old house. “But her daughter has tried to keep the place up for yo
ur hoped-for return.” She paused. “There is something else you should know.”
Naomi met Neta’s gaze, a sense of dread filling her already grieving heart. “Tell me.”
Neta looked at her feet. “Not long before Passover, Boaz’s wife Adi also passed into Sheol.”
Naomi stared at her sister-in-law. “Adi?”
Neta nodded. “She lost several babes in the years you were gone, but she died caring for the sheep. She fell into a ravine when the earth gave way at the edge of a cliff. Boaz has been bitter with grief ever since.”
How well she understood. But Adi! Oh Adonai, why? She glanced up at the darkening sky, feeling Ruth’s gaze resting on her. Of course, the poor girl did not know Boaz or Adi or anyone here. And Naomi realized yet again how grateful she was to have at least one person to care for in her grief. But Boaz had no one.
“Take me home,” she said, not wanting to hear more. Her heart could bear no more bitterness.
26
Ruth held on to Naomi’s arm as they followed Neta in silence through Bethlehem’s city streets around several bends, until at last they came to a broken-down courtyard and a house that had seen better days. Naomi had sagged against Ruth from the moment Neta mentioned the woman Adi, God rest her soul. But this house—the sight was clearly troubling.
“Is this the place?” Ruth asked softly, for lack of something else to say.
Naomi nodded.
Neta carefully picked her way through the broken stones of the courtyard and led them to the door, which hung crooked on frayed leather hinges. Ruth tied the donkey’s reins to a post she hoped would not crumble if the animal chose to tug against it, and helped Naomi, guiding her steps.
“It has fallen into much disrepair since Ziva passed into Sheol. The old woman did her best to keep it up, and Adi came to help now and then, until Boaz told her she was too weak—the poor girl lost too many babies—and Ziva grew too frail herself to attend to it after a few years. Her daughter comes by now and then, but she has a large family of her own, and, well . . .” Neta paused, glancing at Ruth, then settled her gaze on Naomi’s. “I’m sorry no one else has had time to keep things in order, but we did not know if you would ever return.”
Neta looked away and walked into the house. The floor was bare earth with only a few boards still visible. Someone must have taken things from the place.
Naomi sucked in a breath, and Ruth’s grip tightened on her arm. “They have destroyed everything. God has left me nothing.”
“I am still with you, Mother Naomi.” Ruth spoke in a whisper, for she wondered if perhaps she really was nothing in her mother-in-law’s eyes. She looked around the place, a sinking feeling of loss and weariness threatening to engulf her. Was she wrong to have come? To this?
A broken basket, old and weathered, looked as though someone had tossed it to the side. Some clay jars, cracked or chipped, rested against what once must have been bright, whitewashed limestone walls.
“I’m afraid the food you left ran out long ago, and once Ziva grew ill, thieves broke in and took anything of value that you left behind.” Neta’s explanation was accompanied by a look of genuine sorrow. “I’m sorry, Naomi.”
Naomi looked over the immediate area, then slowly walked into the adjoining spaces. Ruth followed but said nothing. The sleeping rooms and cooking area were no better than the sitting room they had first entered. At last Naomi returned to Neta.
“It is not your fault, Neta. God is the one who has turned against me. My husband chose to leave this place. What was I to expect? To return to prosperity? No. I am destitute with no men to care for me. My life is worth nothing.”
“That’s not true,” Neta said, her voice growing stronger, more confident now. “You are here. God preserved your life to bring you back.” She reached for Naomi’s hand and squeezed it. “Things will improve. I promise.”
“You cannot promise something you do not know and cannot control.” The bitter tone in Naomi’s voice matched the pain in Ruth’s heart. Perhaps they should not have come. If she had found a kind man in Moab, perhaps he would have cared for Naomi too. But she knew without a doubt that no such man existed. Naomi would have returned here in any case, with or without her. They must simply learn to live with little and work to improve what they had.
“She cannot promise,” Ruth said, placing an arm around Naomi’s shoulders, “but if all of the things you have told me about your God are true, then He will care for us, won’t He?”
“If He cared for us, He would have allowed our men to live.”
Neta touched Ruth’s arm and smiled. “Bring Naomi to Melek’s house to dine with us tonight. I will send a servant to show you the way.”
She left them in the broken-down house with nothing except what they had brought with them. But Ruth determined that what they had camped with along the way they could camp with inside the house.
She kissed Naomi’s cheek and went to retrieve their belongings from the animal’s back. Then she would make a plan for what to do next.
Naomi stood in the empty sitting room and stared at the dark interior. Memories of happier days flooded over her in waves. Mahlon chasing Chilion from room to room until Naomi shooed them into the courtyard or out to the fields to find their father. Mahlon and Chilion arguing or pretending to fight enemy invaders, or begging their father to accompany him to the fields once they were barely old enough to carry a sack of seed.
Mahlon and Chilion sick in bed, too achy and feverish to move.
No. She blinked, forced back the emotions that joined the memories. She glanced down at what was once a floor made of shaved boards that Elimelech had painstakingly crafted from an oak tree. Why would someone tear up the floor?
Looking for a jar of gold or grain, no doubt. But Elimelech had left nothing hidden when they moved.
She shook herself, taking in the broken remains of what once was. Oh, to have life the way it used to be! This time the tears did fill her eyes. She had been so blessed and had taken it for granted. She never dreamed she could lose so much.
The sound of Ruth’s footsteps caused her to look up. The girl held a flaxen broom in one hand. “I borrowed it from a neighbor,” she said, her cheeks showing a hint of a blush as though the admission embarrassed her. But of course she would have to borrow such a thing. They did not think to bring every household item from Moab.
“I will sweep up the floor in this room and then move on to the others.” She met Naomi’s gaze with a smile and began to sweep in the far right corner and worked her way toward the door to the courtyard.
Naomi stared. Why had this young woman, who could have married into a wealthy noble family in Moab long ago, chosen her son and now her? Chosen poverty over riches and an old woman over love? It made no sense.
Perhaps God has not left you as completely as you think.
The thought felt like an arrow to her heart, filled with accompanying guilt. Naomi turned away from the sight of Ruth’s sweeping and moved into the courtyard. She could take an accounting of what they had left from the small store of food they’d brought with them. Perhaps Melek could be persuaded to buy her as a slave until she could earn enough food for Ruth to live.
But at the thought of her brother-in-law and his greedy ways and his many wives, she felt a sudden protectiveness of Ruth. If she asked Melek to purchase her, Ruth could end up in the bargain. Naomi would not allow Ruth to come all this way to become a slave in her new land.
By the time evening shadows lengthened, Neta proved true to her word and sent a young servant girl who appeared outside the courtyard and called out to Naomi. Ruth, who had finished sweeping the rooms, laid out their sleeping mats, and managed to make a saddlebag into a cushion for Naomi, stood from the quick respite she had taken on the floor and joined Naomi at the door.
“Mistress Neta said to tell you to follow me.” The young girl, possibly an Ammonite or from another Canaanite tribe, waited a moment for Naomi to close the door to the house, where the goat was se
cured in the back room. Then Naomi rode the donkey with Ruth walking beside her.
The child led them through winding streets and through the gates to an area outside of Bethlehem’s walls but surrounded by a high wall of its own. Barley fields high with uncut grain waved in the distance beyond the house. To the right of the village gate not far from the fields stood a large stone structure Ruth guessed to be the place the men would thresh the grain once the harvest was completed.
“I did not realize your relative had so much wealth.” Ruth leaned closer to Naomi as they approached the gate to the outer courtyard, where women lit torches and servants stood waiting to wash their feet.
“Melek thinks himself a king,” Naomi said softly, her tone derisive. “He has long considered himself an important man in Bethlehem.”
“Then why does he not live within the protection of its walls?” Ruth gazed over the vast estate. “Though I see he has built his own protection.”
Naomi dismounted the donkey, handed the reins to a servant, and waited to respond until the man was out of hearing distance. “Melek is Elimelech’s older brother. Both men’s lives started differently than where they ended up. That is, Elimelech did not think the protection of Dibon necessary for us, and Melek appears to have made a similar decision. But Melek has wealth enough to hire plenty of guards and servants, so I daresay he could defend against most foes. If an army came against us, he could flee into Bethlehem, for he still keeps a home there.”
“He is a powerful man then.” Ruth sat on the bench a servant indicated, Naomi beside her, and waited while the servant proceeded to wash their feet.
“He thinks he is.” Naomi said no more, and Ruth did not press her.
At last they were ushered into the women’s dining area and seated with Neta and Melek’s two other wives—Chanah, who had borne Melek’s only son, Hamul, and Elke, his first wife who had given him only daughters.
Redeeming Grace: Ruth's Story Page 15