In the Field of Grace (10 page)

Ruth examined her wrinkled, travel-stained tunic in the pale rays of the early morning sun and sighed. Rummaging through the baskets, she found a fresh tunic, and dampening a cloth with the last few drops of water, she did her best to wash. Unbraiding her hair, she combed it, bringing order back to the thick chestnut mane. Her eyes pricked as she remembered Mahlon running his fingers through her hair, calling it soft like silk.

“How would you know?” she had asked and laughed. “You’ve never touched silk in your life.”

She brushed the tears off and straightened, pulling her scarf over her head. Today, she would meet her Israelite neighbors for the first time. They would judge her deficient, she knew. A barren, widowed, Moabite woman. Was there a greater failure in the sight of Judah? All the combing in the world could not fix that. Tangle-free hair and a clean tunic could not help her avoid their harsh judgment.

She would just have to change their minds one day at a time. And if she couldn’t, she would learn to live with their rejection.

As she walked outside, she spied a clump of several plants, growing knee length in what used to be the garden. Gasping, she strode forward to examine them. They were wheat. The plants were healthy, bearing fat kernels, which were several weeks from maturity. They would not yield enough grain for two suppers. Still, their incongruent presence seemed strangely reassuring. Like a sign. No one had planted the wheat. The wind must have blown the seeds from nearby fields, and they had taken root in Naomi’s desolate garden just in time to welcome her back to Bethlehem. They sat there waving in the breeze like a welcome flag, like a reassuring promise. Ruth drew a caressing hand over the stalks and turned to fetch Naomi for their walk into town.

Many women had gathered by the city well. As Naomi and Ruth approached, they felt the weight of curious gazes. Then a few audible gasps came from the crowd.

“That’s Naomi!” one woman exclaimed.

Another cried, “It looks like her!”

A third woman said, “Is it really Naomi? She’s been gone ten years, if not more. Could this be the same Naomi who lived among us?”

Naomi, silent since the night before, turned on them, her lips thin, her jaw clenched. “Don’t call me Naomi!” Her voice came out husky, as if she had a cold. “That woman is gone. Lost. Buried in Moab. Call me Mara. That’s who I am now.
Bitter
.”

Ruth winced. It was one thing to witness Naomi slide down into an abyss of desolation, but to hear her describe her life with such bleak hopelessness tore at Ruth.

A short, curvaceous woman about the same age as Naomi approached and laid a hand on her shoulder. “But, Naomi, why? What has happened to you?”

“The Almighty has dealt bitterly with me. I went from this place full. But the Lord has brought me back empty. My husband is gone. My sons are buried beside him in Moab. Why call me
Naomi
? What is
pleasant
about my life? The Lord has spoken against me. Look at
the calamity He has sent upon me.”

Ruth could not bite back the gasp that escaped her mouth. Never had she heard her mother-in-law speak so resentfully against God. She had come to see Him as her enemy, the one who sentenced her to irredeemable pain. His hand was the hammer that crushed her with no mercy. No hope. She had lost her sons. But worse, she had lost her Lord. The realization appalled Ruth. But she knew she could not talk Naomi out of this conclusion. She could not advise or admonish her. She needed to remain silent and pray. Let God deal with Naomi’s heart.

Let Your presence heal what Naomi’s disappointments have harmed, Lord.

The curvaceous woman embraced Naomi. “I share your sorrow. May the Lord restore your crushed spirit.”

Naomi seemed to notice the woman for the first time. “Are you Miriam?”

“That’s me. Have I changed?”

“Not so much as I. A broken heart reflects on a woman’s body. I never thought my skin would shrivel with my heart.”

“You’re still lovely, Naomi. And most welcome in your home and among your people. Now tell us, who is this young woman you have with you?”

“This is Ruth, the wife of my son Mahlon. I told her to stay in Kir-hareseth among her own folk, and to find herself a new husband. See how young and beautiful she is? But she would not leave me.”

“A Moabite?” Miriam asked, with a wince. Ruth did not miss the murmurs that rose up around them.

“A loyal daughter. She is kin to me now,” Naomi spoke stiffly before hefting her jar and approaching the well. In silence, she and Ruth filled four jars with cool, clear water.

Before heading back to Naomi’s house, Ruth turned to Miriam and gave her a sweet smile and a respectful nod—a mute indication that she held no grudges against the woman for her obvious
disapproval. The woman’s eyes opened wide and she blinked. Ruth’s smile grew wider.

“Thank you for defending me,” she told her mother-in-law as they ambled home.

“I spoke the truth, child. I am only sorry that you will pay a high price for your decision. You will suffer for loving me.”

“I would suffer more without you.”

For seven days, Ruth labored in the house, washing everything with lye. She traveled several times each day to the well, for the work of cleaning required much water. She went alone since Naomi had sunk back to her earlier paralysis and seemed incapable of doing much beyond staring into space. The women of Bethlehem left Ruth alone. They gave her curious stares, as if she were a strange animal they had never seen. But no one came close. No one offered polite conversation. No one offered hospitality.

Once, Ruth noticed an older woman struggling to shift her heavy jar, and without thinking, reached forward to lend a hand. The woman scampered away from her touch with such haste that she dropped the jar, spilling the precious water within.

“Stay away from me, Moabite,” she screeched. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

Ruth apologized, her words mumbled in her embarrassment, mindful of the hostile stares trained her way. After that, she tried to visit the well later in the day, when few women came to fetch water.

While Ruth worked on bringing order to the house, Miriam came to visit Naomi several times. At least her care for Naomi was greater than her disapproval of the Moabite in her house.

“The Lord has given me the bread of adversity and the water of affliction,” Naomi told her old friend. “I trusted Him. Why did He turn His back on me?”

Naomi’s bitterness lay heavy on Ruth’s heart though she could do nothing to allay her suffering. Ruth tried to show her love
through the ordinary things of life—cooking, cleaning, fetching water, combing Naomi’s tangled hair. Sometimes she feared Naomi had disappeared so far down the dark, cavernous pits of despair that she wasn’t even aware of Ruth. At other times, Naomi seemed to rise up and see a tiny glimpse of her.

Once, when Miriam had come to visit, Ruth served both women bean stew with fresh rosemary, a welcome change from the stale bread, cheese, dried fruit, and nuts that had sustained them for two weeks. She had only made enough for two, not expecting a visitor, and made an excuse for not partaking of the food. She did not wish the women to realize that she had given up her share. As she cleaned the pot, she overheard Naomi singing her praises to Miriam, speaking of her kindness to Mahlon and her steadfastness after he was gone from them.

“She gave you her own share of stew, did you notice? She is always generous like that,” Naomi said to her friend.

Miriam dipped her bread into the bowl. “You are worthy of great kindness, Naomi.”

No one had ever taken Naomi’s plaintive demand to call her
Mara
seriously. The residents of Bethlehem continued to call her by her given name. They refused to make
bitterness
her new identity, and Naomi did not insist that they heed her demand. In truth, she insisted on little. She showed no interest in the world around her, except, on occasion, to rise up in her daughter-in-law’s defense.

Ruth smiled, her heart lifting, not because of Naomi’s praise of her negligible sacrifice but because Naomi’s words showed that she had been alive enough to notice. She doubted that Naomi’s efforts to make her acceptable in Miriam’s eyes would go far. But she appreciated her mother-in-law’s care. Even in her broken state, she was trying to carve out a chance for Ruth to settle peacefully in this new land.

By the seventh day, the house shone, and their meager belongings had been arranged neatly, giving the once abandoned place a welcoming aspect. Ruth had managed to build a fire in the hearth
and was busy making a lentil stew. After a week of traveling and another spent restoring Naomi’s house, they would finally eat something besides stale bread, old cheese, and dried fruit.

As she went through their stores, she could no longer deny how desperate they were for food and income. They would starve if she could not earn a living. How had they become so destitute in the seven months since the death of Naomi’s sons? They had never been wealthy. But they had been frugal and hardworking. And still it wasn’t enough.

They hovered on the edge of starvation.

That evening, as they shared the meal she had cooked in the hearth, Ruth said, “I saw workers in the fields today. The barley harvest has begun.”

“Yes.”

“There were some men and women in the field, following the harvesters and gatherers. They were picking the leftovers from the ground. No one seemed distressed by their actions.”

“Those are the gleaners,” Naomi said. “According to our law, the widow, the orphan, and all who are struck down with poverty can have a share of every field. That’s God’s provision for them, though they work hard for it. But it is an act of His protection.”

“How does it work?”

“The Lord says that no one should reap his land to the very border, nor should his workers pick up the leftover grain after the reapers have gone through. If a laborer forgets a sheaf and leaves it in the field, he is forbidden to go back for it. So the gleaners gather what they can. Not every landowner is generous. Even the most liberal of masters cannot provide more than a meager share. Gleaning is for the truly desperate.”

Truly
desperate
. That’s what they were. They could not afford pride.

At long last, here was a glimmer of hope. Hope that they would not starve. Instead of sitting at home and worrying, she could
do
something.

“Let me go to the field and glean, Mother. I will pray that the Lord may give me favor. Perhaps someone will be kind enough to allow me to glean, even though I am a Moabite.”

Naomi waved a distracted hand in assent. “Go, my daughter.”

Ruth lingered, hoping Naomi would suggest a particular field. A special landowner whose honesty and generosity could be relied upon. But other than her consent, Naomi gave no other information. Ruth had never gleaned and did not know the rules. What if she offended the foreman of the field out of ignorance? Would she anger the others with her mistakes? Would she be in their way? The questions kept her wakeful late into the night.

Early the next morning Ruth arose, drained and bleary-eyed, her muscles already aching with fatigue. She changed into her oldest tunic and covered her hair in a light veil, which she knotted at the nape of her neck in order to have more freedom of movement. She set out for the fields outside the walls of the city, not knowing which one she should approach.
Please Lord, help me find favor with the right master. Guide my steps to the field of Your choosing.

Unbidden, the memory of the frog-eyed caravan leader’s unwelcome groping sprang to mind. Would she have to contend with others like him in the field? She was a foreigner, without a father or husband’s protection. If a man set his mind on violating her, who would gainsay him? Anxiety made the contents of her stomach curdle like sour goat’s milk.

Almighty God, please keep me safe from evil men and evil intentions.

Fear rose up like a mighty storm until her steps faltered. How could she do this? Face this danger? Bear this burden?

How could she not? Would Naomi not starve if she refused to glean? She must harden herself to these fears and go. She must trust the Lord to be her Father and her Husband. She was not alone. He watched over her. With determination, she put one foot in front of the other and walked.