Saturday, March 3, 2012

Ruth and Naomi

Honestly, thinking about all of the Mara stuff made me rethinking what drew Ruth to Naomi with such fervor. I admit it's the backstory of which we get so little that really fascinates me about the Ruth and Naomi story. How God takes care of them is the story of the book of Ruth, but I keep wanting to get at the act of conversion. Then again, what I've written is almost more about dealing with the challenges with God rather than, well, separating yourself. Which makes Naomi's story realizing that God is still taking care of her, that she is still the beloved, sweet child of God.

And Ruth is the first step in that. In fact, Ruth is pretty much all the steps in that. She still sees the beauty in Naomi when Naomi doesn't any more. When Naomi thinks she has nothing left to offer, Ruth tries to tell her that she is still worthwhile enough in herself.

NAOMI

Return home, my daughters. Why would you come with me? Am I going to have any more sons, who could become your husbands? Return home, my daughters; I am too old to have another husband. Even if I thought there was still hope for me—even if I had a husband tonight and then gave birth to sons— would you wait until they grew up? Would you remain unmarried for them? No, my daughters. It is more bitter for me than for you, because the LORD’s hand has turned against me!

RUTH

When I first met Naomi, I suddenly understood so much about my husband. She was something light and floating about every move she made. She seemed lit from within. And when she spoke of her God, it was as if He told her every day how much He loved her. Not in some great spectacle down at the temple sacrifice, not in a blaze of fiery glory, nor with the amorous intentions of the Greek stories, but just like her husband did, a small moment before she went to sleep, a quick reminder in the morning before she rose to go about her day.

As the men in our family began to die, as everything began to fall away, I saw that light begin to dim. That light I would have followed anywhere. If there was so much as a flicker of the candle in her soul, I would follow it to the edge of the world. Because I liked her son a great deal, and in time, we might have grown to love each other, but even so, I could never imagine being loved as she was loved by her God. She felt so loved, beyond all measure, and it lit her up inside.

To hear her iterate everything she thought bound us together. All the things she thought had given her that light. I knew better. How many times had I seen that light grow stronger in prayer? In quiet moments? When she spoke of God and reached to explain her people's ways to me and Orpah? I knew where she got the light in her soul. How could she think that I would ever leave it, having found it?