by Tessa Afshar
“Because Judith died in childbirth, you mean?”
“That, and because she had many miscarriages before she had their daughter. I doubt if Boaz has forgotten the pain of so many disappointments. They are bound to cast their shadow over him now.”
“Just because they lost their babies doesn’t mean I will lose ours.”
“Of course not. But the heart does not reason so judiciously. You can try to reassure your heart with prudent words, but the weight of old sorrows colors our perceptions beyond reason. The Lord Himself shall have to minister to Boaz and heal him of the past. In the meantime, you must be patient with him.”
“In the meantime, I might not even be with child. This might all be a storm over a piece of bad cheese.”
Naomi gave a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Are you worried too, Mother?” Ruth asked.
“No. It’s only … I sometimes miss them so. My dear boys.”
Ruth winced. “I have been thoughtless. The possibility of this pregnancy must be a sting to you.”
“Never think it. It would be all joy. That doesn’t mean that my heart doesn’t long to hold my own sons in my arms too.”
A week passed with little change. Ruth still felt queasy part of the day, though she contrived to hide it better. Much of the time she felt strong and unaffected by the strange bouts of mild dizziness and nausea that gripped her without warning. She grew hopeful that she might indeed be pregnant, for her flow had yet to come.
It proved a wavering hope, however, for whenever she remembered her barren years with Mahlon, her many unanswered prayers, and the endless, monthly disappointments, her heart would sink. Had God chosen to reverse the ineptitude of her body? Had He desired to bless Mahlon’s line when He had refused to do so while Mahlon lived? Was she pregnant or just wishful? Once barren, always barren. Then, against all reason, hope would poke its head out again, and the cycle of her thinking would start once more.
One afternoon, when the rains abated and the sun peeked weakly through the clouds to bring a modicum of warmth, she decided to visit the stables near the house. She knew Boaz would be there, and the sight of her, hale and hearty, would cheer him. To her surprise, she did not find him with the horses but inspecting four new oxen.
As she approached him, the sharp odor of fresh ox dung hit her with a pungent blow. It took her a moment to settle her heaving stomach. She wrapped her scarf firmly about her nose and forced her feet to move forward.
A couple of servants were cleaning the stalls where the oxen were usually kept, and Boaz, who seemed to find no job unpleasant enough to keep him at bay, was busy whispering to the restless oxen in an adjacent stall.
“Your stalls are ripe, my husband.”
“Ruth! You ought not to be here, beloved. It’s filthy.” He came away from the oxen, lowering a rough wooden barricade to keep them from escaping.
“I noticed. Is it always like this?”
Boaz smiled. “A pristine manger means you own no oxen. But without the strength of the oxen, you cannot have abundant crops.” He shrugged. “What’s a little dung compared to the riches of a good harvest? If you want blessing, you must accept the manure that accompanies it.”
Ruth laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that. Are these new?” She pointed to the four trembling animals, bones poking out of their shoulder blades. In spite of their apparent thinness, their brown fur gleamed and stringy muscle covered their haunches.
“Yes.”
“More dung to clean.”
“With the new land, we needed the help.”
Her eyes softened. He meant Elimelech’s land. Yet more money to be spent on Mahlon’s lineage. A lineage that might be growing within her even now. Ruth twined her hand into his, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratefulness that God had given this man to her as husband. “You are a good man, Boaz of Bethlehem.”
By the time the physician from Egypt finally arrived, brown skinned and smoothly shaven, Ruth had grown as impatient as Boaz for his arrival. She wished for an end to this torment of wavering between hope and despair. She said nothing to Boaz of her hope. What would be the point if it proved false? He would only grow more anxious. She preferred the physician to do the talking. He, at least, would have certainty on his side.
Her stomach had begun to settle down and she felt the bite of nausea less often, though she now battled an unusual weariness that had her in bed, unconscious with exhausted sleep in the middle of the afternoon. She wondered if this meant that she was truly sick.
She shared her symptoms with the physician while Naomi held her hand for support. To her surprise, the Egyptian spoke Hebrew fluently, though with a guttural accent that she sometimes found hard to understand. He told her that he had met Boaz on a caravan many years ago, and that he traveled to Israel regularly to visit wealthy patrons.
His manner was easy, but it became clear that beneath his charming demeanor lay a sharp mind that knew its business well.
“Congratulations, mistress. You are with child.” He rinsed his fingers in the bowl he had prepared earlier and dried them on a linen towel.
“Are you certain?” Ruth’s voice emerged in a feathery whisper. “I was married before for over four years and barren that whole time. I never became pregnant. Not even once.”
The Egyptian shrugged a nut-brown shoulder. “Who knows why such things happen? I can assure you that you are with child now. And since you appear as healthy as one of your husband’s horses, I predict this pregnancy shall progress well.”
Ruth’s heart soared. The Lord had blessed her. He had enabled her to become pregnant. Beyond every expectation, beyond the measure of her faith, He had given her the fulfillment of her dream. He had filled her empty womb. She would be a mother. A mother! Ruth of Moab was going to be a mother! No longer would people call her barren. They would call her blessed.
“When will he come, my baby?” She loved the sound of those words—my baby. For years, she had been forbidden to make such a claim. Now, these words would be a common part of her life.
The physician rubbed the smooth skin of his cheek. “Toward the end of summer, I should think. You will be large with child in the high heat. That won’t be pleasant for you, but it can’t be helped.”
“If you want blessing, you must accept the manure that accompanies it,” Ruth said, her eyes twinkling.
“Pardon?”
“Something my husband taught me. Shall we call him in and tell him the good news? And please try to reassure him. His first wife suffered many miscarriages. I suspect he shall fear the same will happen to me.”
The Egyptian nodded, making the odd-shaped, starched linen covering his head shiver stiffly. “I remember that sad story.”
Boaz came in looking like a man about to receive a sentence of death. His skin appeared clammy and pale. “Well?”
“Congratulations, my lord. You shall welcome a child into your home at the end of summer.”
“A child?”
“We are going to have a babe,” Ruth said, her hand reaching out to hold his.
Boaz did not even notice her outstretched hand. He said nothing for a long moment. He opened his mouth several times, but no sound came out. Finally, he croaked, “But I thought you could not … And we’ve only been married a few short months. How could she already be pregnant?” He turned to face the Egyptian.
The physician, shrugged, unabashed. “What shall I say? You have potent seed, my lord. It’s cause for celebration, no?”
Ruth coughed and Naomi tried to hide her laughter behind her veil.
A wave of color flooded Boaz’s face. He threw Ruth a sideway glance and grinned. “If a physician of your stature declares it is so, who am I to argue?” The smile faded and he put his arm around Ruth’s shoulders, drawing her against his chest. “Is she in danger?”
“None that I can see. She is hale and strong. The child proceeds well.”
As soon as the physician left, Boaz prayed, giving thanks to the Lord, asking for His p
rotection. This baby was his, and yet not his. Mahlon had as much right to this child, if it should prove to be a son, as Boaz himself. Yet not by one syllable did he betray any resentment. His whole focus seemed to be Ruth’s well-being. Then Naomi blessed Ruth and the babe she carried, weeping as she prayed. Ruth felt so filled with joy and thankfulness that her own prayers emerged in a jumble of words that could only have made sense to God.
“Are you happy?” Ruth asked Boaz, when they were alone.
Boaz looked down and said nothing.
Ruth’s heart dropped. “Do you wish it were Judith? Do you wish it were her child?”
Boaz snapped up his head. “Ruth! How could you think such a thing?”
A tear trickled down her cheek, followed by another. She dashed at them. “I can see you are sad. Why else would you not rejoice at such a blessing?”
He wiped her tears. For a moment, he gazed at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. With a strangled sound in his throat, he pulled her into his arms, his movements rough with tension. His kiss was possessive, hard, like a stamp of ownership. Like a cry of desperation. He kissed her and kissed her until she forgot what she was crying about.
“You are my wife. My love. Don’t ever pull Judith between us again. She was my past. You are my today. My tomorrow.” He kissed her again, and this time he marked her with tenderness.
“Why then,” she asked, a long time later. “Why aren’t you happy?”
He rose and pulled his discarded mantle about him. “It’s hard for me to speak of this, Ruth.” With his back to her, he said, “The babes ruined Judith’s health. In the end, they were the death of her.”
He took a deep breath, and Ruth could tell from the rigidity of his back, from his harsh breathing and his gruff voice that he did not wish to speak to her about his struggles. But for her sake he forced himself to go on. “I know this child is what you have always wanted. I want to be happy for you. But to me, this pregnancy is like a bucket that has pulled up all the fear out of the well of my memories. How am I supposed to celebrate a child who might make you sick? Or take you from me altogether? I just found you. How shall I live if this child robs you from me?”
Ruth went to stand by him. She leaned against his side. Through the fine wool of his mantle she could feel the chill of his skin; it made her shiver. “The babies didn’t take Judith from you, Boaz. Death did. And you told me yourself that death did not have the last word. Aren’t they with the Lord? Didn’t He have the final victory?”
In the lengthening shadows of the room, Boaz remained mute. She held him in the darkness, trying to infuse him with the reassurance of her touch. He did not hold her back.
The rain poured as though someone had ripped a hole in the sky. Each drop, the size of a sparrow’s egg, found its way to the earth and soaked everything in its path. Boaz walked through the olive grove, unmindful of the cold and the wet. He had slept little the night before, thinking of Ruth’s words. When had he begun to confuse his babies with death itself? When had he begun to resent them?
Reject them?
Ruth was right. They had been as much victims of death as Judith herself. Fear and grief had confused his thinking. Sometime in the dark months after Judith’s death, he had begun to see those babies as the enemy. And now that Ruth carried his child, the enemy had come back to haunt him.
He had tried, in the darkness of the night, with Ruth’s breaths gently stirring against his shoulder, to simply change his feelings. Rejoice over the conception of his child.
And to his shame, he could not. He could not simply decide to love that life growing inside his wife.
He could not bring himself to rejoice over the tiny creature being nourished inside her womb, drinking up her life and strength with a hungry greed that cared nothing for her well-being. He had walked the valley of death too long and knew it too well not to fear its all-consuming power. He had lost one wife to death’s grip at a time that should have brought joy. He could not overcome the possibility that death might visit him again when he was least prepared for its hungry jaws.
He could not accept this child as a blessing from God.
When had he given so much ground to lies?
He pressed his palm into the gnarly bark of an olive tree. “God, help me!” His cry ripped into the silence like the roar of a madman.
Your child is a boy. A little boy, Boaz. I have plans for his welfare. Plans to give him a future and a hope. He will give rise to a great lineage. And from him shall flow rivers of living water down into the generations. Through him, the nations shall rejoice.
Boaz froze, sensing the presence of God. Sensing divine power and holiness about him. He fell to his knees, and then on his face. “Lord!” he croaked.
Open your eyes to Me, My child. See Me. Let My love cover the darkness within you. Let it wipe away the memory of grief. Set your mind on Me, not on death.
Boaz grappled with that command. Had he set his mind more on death than on God? Had he ascribed more power to death than to God? “Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me for fearing death more than I trust You.”
I never left you. I never left Judith or your children. I remained near them every step of their journey. They are safe in My presence. I never abandoned you, Boaz. Death is your enemy. Not I. Not your babies. Death is your enemy and Mine. Fear not, for I have set My heart on overcoming Death forever.
A shower of warmth unlike anything Boaz had ever experienced covered him. He knew, without being able to explain, that the Lord had washed him of his sin. Later, he resolved, he would offer an unblemished lamb as a sacrifice to God. But even now, before the blood of that sacrifice covered him, he experienced a peace unlike anything he had ever tasted.
He realized that he had turned his experience with Judith into an expectation. As if God only had this one plan in mind for him. As if the past was the measure of the future. What he needed to learn was that God’s plans were always a mystery. He could not predict God’s intention for the future by His actions in the past. The Lord had allowed Judith and his children to die. That did not mean that He intended Ruth and her baby to suffer the same destiny.
Boaz returned home soaked through with rain and tears. For the first time in weeks he felt tranquil. He knew that he would have to fight in order to keep the peace God had offered. Fear and anxiety were not done with him.
He sensed that God was not finished with this lesson. He had more to learn about the plans and providence of God. That thought made him smile and shiver at the same time. But for now he could rest in the lingering sweetness of God’s presence.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
The joy of the LORD is your strength.
NEHEMIAH 8:10
Dinah came to visit Ruth one sunny afternoon. Since her marriage, Ruth had invited the young bride a number of times to her house. Because of Boaz’s status, Dinah never felt quite at home, but she came swallowing her awkwardness. Ruth treasured each visit, knowing what it cost Dinah to come.
When they had partaken of Naomi’s mouthwatering spiced honey cakes, Dinah collapsed against the cushions. “These pillows are so soft, I’m likely to fall asleep on you. Mind you, I fall asleep all the time these days. You might as well hear it from me: I’m going to have a baby.”
Ruth’s eyes widened. “No! Is it true?” She laughed. “I’m so happy for you.”
Dinah’s smile sparkled with pleasure. She reached for another honey cake and stuffed it in her mouth. “This one’s for the baby.”
Ruth picked a second cake. “In that case, I should also eat another.”
“Wait. Does that mean …?”
“I am expecting a babe also.”
Dinah jumped up and pulled Ruth to her feet for an exuberant embrace. “We are going to be mothers together. I am so happy!”
“How does Adin feel about your news?”
“He went a bit green and mumbled something about more mouths to feed. Then he laughed and kissed me and said God had blessed him with a goo
d wife. Ruth, I don’t mean to be rude. But I thought you were barren.”
“So did I. Apparently God didn’t agree.”
Dinah smiled. “Lord Boaz must be speechless with delight.”
“Speechless. Yes.” Ruth looked down. “So, did you bring your sling? You haven’t forgotten your promise to teach me how to use it?”
“Do you really want to learn?”
“More than ever. I’ll teach the baby when he is older.”
“What if she is a girl?”
“Then I hope she will have your aim. Let’s go out and try your sling. The sun is out; we can’t ask for a better day.”
The two women made their way to the back of the house, beyond the barn, where a small field sat empty of animals or people.
“This will do. You won’t accidentally throw a stone at some poor creature’s head and injure it.” Dinah pulled out a leather sling and showed Ruth how to hold it.
Ruth discovered that even holding the weapon correctly was more challenging than it seemed. A leather pouch in the center had to be balanced by the two long strings at either end. Fingers and thumbs had to hold the contraption with enough balance and flexibility to allow the sling its swinging motion without releasing the projectile too early.
From inside her belt Dinah pulled out a rounded stone the size of a pigeon egg. “You want to start collecting smooth stones about this size for your sling. You can have one of lord Boaz’s men file down some of the rough edges. The best stones are found in a river.”
She placed the stone in the pouch, wrapped the ends of the long strings about the fingers of one hand and swung once. Pointing to a broken branch lying on the ground twenty paces away, she released the stone. It hit the branch dead-on, making it fly into the air.
Ruth clapped. “You are incredible. As good as the young men in my caravan on the way to Bethlehem.”
