by Tessa Afshar
Dinah walked over to collect her stone. “I have many hidden talents.”
“Adin must be blind to have taken so long to marry you.”
Dinah smiled. “I’m not sure a man wants a woman with good aim. It might not always prove to his advantage. Now you try.”
It took Ruth a number of attempts to make the sling swing properly without dropping its stone. She was afraid that if she released the stone at the wrong time, she might hit herself on the head.
“Now!” Dinah instructed, and Ruth let go. She had no aim to speak of yet, but she did manage to throw the stone without harming anyone.
“Good. Again.”
As Ruth began to swing the sling over and over, Dinah laughed. “It won’t make it go more accurately if you keep swinging. You’re just making your arm tired. One round or two will suffice. Let the stone go. Or have you grown attached to it?”
“I’m just getting my rhythm.”
“You’re making me dizzy. Release.”
Ruth fumbled and the stone thumped too close, bouncing twice before coming to a stop.
“What are you two up to?”
Ruth and Dinah turned in unison to find Boaz, his hands against his hips, observing them quizzically. Dinah bent to pick up the stone and tucked it into her belt with a quick motion. “I was on my way home to my family. Shalom, my lord. May you have a blessed day.”
“Dinah.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“I asked you a question.”
Dinah scratched her head through her veil. “Did you, my lord? I thought you were addressing your wife.”
Ruth laughed and hooked her arm around Boaz’s elbow. “Dinah is teaching me how to use a sling.”
“That’s what it looked like to me. But I thought it must be a dream. Why is my wife learning how to throw a sling?”
“To defend you in case of danger, of course. There are many evil men about these days. Someone needs to look after you.”
Boaz raised a dark eyebrow. “Where did you learn to use a sling with such expertise, Dinah?”
“As a child, my lord.”
“Did you beat Adin?”
She scuffed her toe in the dirt. “And his brother.”
“No wonder the man took so long to ask you to wife. You could put the fear of God into a man’s heart.”
“I suppose you will forbid me from teaching Ruth, now.”
“Certainly not. Teach away. I like to know my wife can bring down a bandit from twenty paces. And I can’t think of a better teacher.” He turned to leave.
“Husband?”
“Yes?”
“Congratulate Dinah. She and Adin are going to have a child.”
Boaz groaned. “Not another one. Is there any woman in Bethlehem under the age of seventy not so blessed?”
Ruth pulled out the old roll of parchment that contained her story, and grabbing stylus and ink, sank on a cushion near the latticed window to write. It had been some weeks since she had taken the time to work on this particular parchment. She spent most of her days learning the accounts from Boaz. Now, with the advent of her pregnancy, she felt inspired to continue her story, recording God’s indescribable kindness to her.
“What are you working on?” Boaz grabbed a date, sucking on its sweetness as he bent over her.
Ruth bit her lip. “The last time you did that, you almost made my heart stop.”
“Do what? Read your writing? I do that every night.” He sank next to her and pulled the parchment close.
“Not this parchment.”
He frowned. “These are not the accounts. Or your practice.”
“No. I’m writing my story.”
“Are you? May I read it?”
Ruth sighed. “If you promise not to laugh. I am not very good.”
“What did you mean the last time? I’ve never seen this.”
“You have. That afternoon you came to Naomi’s house to pick up a jar of capers. Remember?”
“Yes. I saw you writing that day. You had an ink stain right there.” He leaned over and kissed her warmly on the corner of her mouth. “I remember wanting desperately to do that then.”
Ruth shook her head. “You never showed it.”
“I showed it most conspicuously in spite of my best efforts. You, my love, were too blind to see.”
“Well, you, my love, were too blind to see that!” She showed him his name, and her plaintive prayer.
“You cared for me even then?”
“Desperately. And you made me suffer endless torment with your show of indifference.”
“When did I ever show you indifference?”
“Dutiful kindness, then. Worse than indifference.”
He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her thoroughly. “I shall have to make up for it the rest of our lives. Now be still and let me read this fascinating story. If it has my name in it, it must be riveting.”
He unrolled the parchment to its beginning and began to read. “You never told me much about your grandfather,” he said after reading for some time. Come to think of it, you rarely speak of Moab.”
“There isn’t much to say. In many ways my real life did not start until I met Naomi. And yet I sometimes think even the hardness of my parents’ hearts had a role to play in my happiness, for if they had been a little more loving, I might not have found the strength to leave them and Moab. I owe them a debt you see. For bringing me to you.”
Boaz pulled his hand through her long hair for a reassuring caress. “How could they not have seen your worth? Were they blind?”
Ruth smiled and shook her head. “Too busy, too disappointed, too tired.”
“Well, I should dispatch a messenger with my thanks, if that is what brought you to me.” He gave her a kiss and turned back to his reading. She had to be patient, for he seemed to forget about her presence as he read. Once in a while he would make a small sound, a noise deep in his throat, or an exclamation of shock.
Before he came to the end of her account, he rolled the parchment closed. “How hard it must have been for you, all those years of barrenness.”
She grew still. “It was like a wound that never healed. I learned not to allow it to rule my life. I learned to accept. After I came to Bethlehem, God asked more of me.”
“More than acceptance?”
“Yes. He taught me to accept with joy. Accept His will, even though it meant that I could have no children of my own, not with mere resignation but with joy. The Lord taught me that even if I don’t receive the desires of my heart, in Him, I can be content. That’s why this baby is such a miracle. After accepting that I could have no children of my own, after learning contentment and even joy without the fulfillment of that dream, God gave me a child.”
Boaz caressed her face. “Acceptance with joy. That’s a lesson I wish to learn. I’m not as good a student as you seem to be. But I want you to know that I am happy God has given us this child, Ruth.”
Boaz and Ruth fell into a routine of daily prayer. Often Naomi joined them. At first, Boaz’s petitions tended toward a desperate kind of pleading. He begged for Ruth’s health, for the babe, for the birth. Ruth realized that beseeching God helped him escape the anxiety that still plagued him on occasion.
As time passed, Boaz’s prayers changed. He began to sink into an increasing assurance. The tenor of his words took on a thankful tone, as though he already counted on God’s answer. He seemed more convinced that the Lord would see his family through, and that the past would not write his future. Ruth loved when Boaz prayed over her like this. His new assurance seeped into Ruth and Naomi as well. The peace of God would settle over them like a refreshing breeze.
It was during these weeks of expectation that Naomi started to rise fully out of her grief. When they prayed, her countenance would change. Ruth noticed that once again she laughed often and with ease. The haunted look that had dogged her steps for over a year left her.
By the time Ruth was seven months pregnant, her belly stretching large enough to sh
ow her pregnancy to the world, she felt well enough to attend her normal duties as Boaz’s wife. Her nausea had long since abated, and with a little extra rest, she found herself equal to most of her usual tasks. Except for an occasional twinge in her back and belly, she found pregnancy easy. Boaz was amazed at her health and praised her as though she had accomplished some great task, even though she had no more to do with the state of her health than the color of her eyes.
In those months, their joy knew no bounds. They celebrated another bountiful crop. Barley and wheat grew thick and green, slowly turning golden, assuring the people of Judah that God’s provision would see them through another year of comfort. Ruth could not believe that last year at this time she had been gleaning in the fields to feed herself and Naomi. Those days of uncertainty and backbreaking labor seemed a lifetime ago. Her world had changed as if overnight.
As Ruth’s time grew near, however, a new fear seemed to replace the old. Boaz never spoke of it, but Ruth could sense it in him. The gloom of dread cast its long shadow over her husband once again.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say to the LORD, “My refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”
For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler
and from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with his pinions,
and under his wings you will find refuge.
PSALM 91:1–4
Naomi crooned a song under her breath as her needle flew over the edge of new swaddling cloths, hemming in neat stitches. From her seat near the window where Ruth was weaving, she joined in the song. She only knew a short snatch, and partway through the song stumbled over the words, making Naomi lose her place. They both laughed.
“You seem happy, Mother.”
“I suppose I am. I miss my sons every day. They are like an ache in the marrow of my bones. And yet the Lord has shown me that I am still capable of joy. It’s so odd, carrying so much pain inside, but carrying happiness too.”
“What made you decide to return to Bethlehem all those months ago? I try to imagine our lives if you hadn’t made that choice.”
“When I heard about the bountiful harvest here, I knew the Lord had spread His wings over His people. He had visited us. I thought that I might take refuge in His provision.”
“But you were so angry with Him then!”
“Angry or not, He is my God. Who have I in heaven but the Lord?”
“You tried so hard to prevent me from coming with you. I was terrified that you would leave me at the side of the road.”
“I believed that you would only suffer deprivation and loss if you stayed with me. I wanted to save you from more pain.”
“I know. And yet the Lord had so much good waiting for us here. You were born here, and now my child shall be born here also.”
Naomi spread the cloths over her knees and straightened. “It seems no less than a miracle to me. When I consider the past year, I grow convinced that the Lord chose to guide us every step of the way. He kept us safe as we traveled. He brought you to Boaz’s field. He shielded you from every harm that could have befallen you.”
“You do realize, Mother, that I am the least qualified of all the women in Bethlehem to be Boaz’s wife? I am a Canaanite. A nobody. And yet God chose me for him. He imported me all the way from Moab, as if I were ivory from the distant shores of Egypt, and dropped me in the man’s lap. You would think there was a shortage of women in Judah.”
“I only know that until you came, no woman took his fancy. He would have lived his life as a widower and been content with his lot. It was you he wanted. It was you God wanted for him.”
“Why do you think that is? I cannot work it out.”
Naomi pulled the fabric close to the light to adjust a stitch. “You still measure yourself by the standards of this world, daughter. God has other measures. What does He care for wealth and connections? The cattle on a thousand hills belong to Him. You have what He looks for, Ruth: Love. Faithfulness. Compassion. For such treasures, He searches the heart of man. In you, He found a treasure trove.”
Ruth was large with child and Boaz was large with worry. Every day, as the size of her girth increased, Boaz’s heart shrank a bit further. He realized that the second portion of God’s lesson had arrived at the door of his heart.
When he had first found out that Ruth was pregnant, he had to contend with the fear that she might lose the child. Lose her grip on joy and hope and all the good things of life. Now he had to face the birth itself.
Twice, he had sat next to a woman who had travailed through the pangs of childbirth. He did not know how women bore such suffering. The first time, Judith had almost bled to death. The second time, she had succumbed to the incomprehensible affliction of birthing.
Boaz had to see Ruth through that agony! Every day brought it closer. It hung over him like a claw, ready to rip into his flesh.
This time, God offered him no gentle murmur. He extended no assurance. No promise. No words of mercy. The Lord withheld Himself. And Boaz knew this was part of his lesson. He had to hold on to faith without the great mercies of God’s conspicuous presence. He had to hold on in utter darkness.
One early morning as he was riding Khaymah with a speed that would have turned Ruth white, a word came to him.
Surrender.
That was the lesson God wanted him to learn. He knew now, bone deep, that his son—Mahlon’s son—would live. Thrive. Have children of his own. But it was Ruth’s fate that tormented him.
That morning as he rode with the sun on his back and the wind ripping into his tunic, he understood finally that he had to surrender Ruth to God. She was the one thing in his life that he had held back from the Lord. Everything else God could have. His riches. His land. His cattle. His very life, even. But not Ruth. Not his wife, whom he loved with every fiber of his being. He had held Ruth back. She had become the prize God was not allowed to snatch.
The thought made his muscles clench until he ached. He pushed the horse to the limits of its strength. Flattening his torso forward, Boaz leaned into the neck-breaking speed, as if he could outrun the whirl of his thoughts. The thoughts kept steady pace with him no matter how fast he galloped.
Surrender Ruth! Let God have her.
And trust His will.
The horse’s body moved beneath him, the muscles of its shoulders and back roiling. Boaz adjusted his crouch, his body suspended in midair as he leaned his weight on his toes and ankles, gripping the sides of the powerful beast beneath him. At this speed, his balance was precarious at best, like trying to walk a line the width of a thread. One false move and he would pitch forward or flip back off the beast.
Surrender Ruth.
Lord, can’t I have this little bit of my life for myself? Can’t I have something just for me? Why do You want everything?
The horse began to sag beneath him, its steps faltering. He had driven the beast hard and long. For all its power, a horse could be a delicate animal. Pushed too far, it could sicken. Die even. Boaz knew it was time to stop.
He had to slow the beast down with gradual intention. Sudden halts after a strenuous run could lead to excruciating muscle spasms and colic. From run to trot, he pulled back the horse, until they finally slowed to a lazy walk. When they came to a stop, he grabbed a rag out of the saddlebag and rubbed the animal down with steady, firm strokes. The horse stood still under his ministrations, trusting its master.
Boaz’s legs shook from the long ride, the exercise having pushed him to his physical limit as much as it had pushed the horse. He laid his head against the horse’s side.
God had offered him a choice. Surrender Ruth. Or continue to walk in the agony of fear. Before he returned home, Boaz made his decision.
When he came to Ruth, he was calm.
“You are soaked through
with perspiration,” Ruth exclaimed. “How fast did you ride that creature?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“You must promise me not to ride at such speeds again.”
He smiled as he stripped out of his stained tunic. “No.”
“No? You are about to be a father. I think you should take greater care of your safety.”
“If I can live with you being pregnant and giving birth, I think you can learn to tolerate my occasional brisk rides.”
Ruth’s eyes rounded. “Those are not the same at all.”
“Perhaps not. But they both require that we surrender one another to God’s care.”
“I wouldn’t have to surrender anything if you would only be reasonable about the speed with which you ride.”
“Think of my riding as a wonderful opportunity to draw you nearer to God.” He patted her belly and grabbed the washcloth.
The birth was taking too long. The Egyptian physician, whom Boaz had brought back two weeks before in preparation for this very day, sat next to the old Jewish midwife, his pate shining with sweat and his mouth sealed with tension. The midwife had stopped speaking ten minutes before. Ruth was peripherally aware of the ominous silence that surrounded her.
Pains came upon Ruth with cruel frequency, taking most of her focus. The child would not come. She had little knowledge of childbirth. But in the midst of her misery and growing weakness, she could sense the concern that had settled in the room like a heavy shroud.
“What’s amiss?” she panted between one wave of pain and the next.
“You are doing well, mistress. The child is large. He lingers. In time, he shall come,” the Egyptian whispered.
Ruth rode out another pang, swallowing her screams, not wanting to fill the household servants and Boaz with dread. The midwife stood and examined Ruth. Her intrusive fingers made Ruth groan. “This child is coming sideways. I’m sure that is what delays the birth.”
The Egyptian pushed and prodded the dome of Ruth’s belly. “It’s likely.”
