Redeeming Grace: Ruth's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Hamul nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  Melek grunted and looked away. Apparently, it would take some time for him to accept what his son had done—without his approval and to his shame. Despite the truth, which would eventually be made known when the child came too early, the man’s pride had been dealt a blow.

  Boaz drank deeply from his cup and wondered if he would have felt differently in Melek’s place.

  Dusk fell as Ruth beat the last of the stalks she had gleaned that afternoon. The last day of barley harvest had arrived, the fields bare. A feeling of celebration hung in the air among the women she worked beside, who rejoiced that the long famine was truly over and God had given them a great harvest. For the next few nights the men would winnow the threshed grain and prepare for the wheat harvest to follow.

  Ruth smiled at the thought, her heart grateful for the provision she had found in this new land. She tucked the last of the barley into the basket and glanced at the fading light. A bright moon rose as the sun dipped lower, its glow ablaze on the horizon. She must hurry lest Naomi worry about her. How had the time gotten away from her?

  She looked about, seeing a few women still beating the sheaves, and felt a measure of relief that she was not completely alone. Still, she lifted her skirts and half walked, half ran with her burden from the smaller threshing area used by the gleaners toward Bethlehem’s open gates.

  The distance had never seemed long in the past, but a sense of unease filled her this night. She glanced heavenward at the moon’s orb. Her people worshiped the moon on such nights. Was that why she felt a sense of foreboding, even fear? But she was not in Moab, and the streets of Bethlehem had never been anything but safe.

  She pulled her cloak tighter against the chill of dusk and breathed a sigh of relief as the gates drew closer. Once inside Bethlehem’s stout walls, she slowed her pace. Why on earth had she been so fearful?

  She glanced about at the closed merchant shops, saw the lamps glowing in various windows, and rounded a bend toward the section of town where most of the homes stood. The moon hid momentarily behind a cloud, and footsteps sounded behind her. Ruth picked up her pace as male voices drew nearer. Just a little farther around another bend . . .

  The voices grew louder, boisterous.

  “What do we have here?” a man said, coming up beside her. Or was it a boy? She couldn’t quite tell in the darkness.

  “It’s that foreigner, Naomi’s girl,” another said.

  “The Moabite?” This voice carried a sneer as the three surrounded her, blocking her path. “What made you think we would want a Moabite in Israel?” The young man’s breath smelled of wine, and his dark eyes seemed to glow hot.

  “I can think of some good uses for her.” This from the first man.

  “Please,” Ruth said loudly, knowing from the raucous nature of Moabite festivals that shouting was better than saying nothing. “Let me pass.”

  “Let me pass,” one mocked her, touching her shoulder.

  She flinched.

  “I don’t think you want to face my master Boaz and the town council if you don’t move on now.” She watched them, her heart thumping. Boaz wasn’t her master exactly, for she simply gleaned in his fields, but she knew his name carried weight in this town.

  “Boaz isn’t here,” the drunk one said, his words slurring slightly. He shoved her off balance until she fell into one of the other men.

  “Let me go!” This time her words were a near scream. She clutched the basket, fearful of losing a day’s work, yet more concerned about what they seemed capable of doing on what she had considered safe streets in a safe town.

  “Who goes there?” A man’s booming voice came from one of the homes where light glowed through a window.

  Ruth glanced in his direction, saw a giant of a man filling the doorway. “Help me!” she cried out, determined to get away from these three, while silently praying that she wasn’t leaving one mess for another danger.

  The man stepped into the street, his wife behind him. “What is the meaning of this?” His voice bellowed like thunder.

  The men scrambled to flee, falling and scurrying like insects avoiding the light of day.

  The woman came around her husband to Ruth’s side. “Are you all right, my dear?” She touched Ruth’s arm, and weak relief coursed through her, draining her.

  “Yes, yes. Thank you.” She glanced from the woman to the large man.

  “Did they hurt you?” the man asked. He leaned closer, peering into her face. “You’re Naomi’s daughter-in-law, the Moabite.”

  She nodded. A foreigner. Unaccepted. Unwanted. She could not speak as they gave her a curious look.

  “You have done a wonderful thing to come with Naomi in her time of grief and provide for her, young woman. Anyone who shows such devotion is welcome in this town.” The man’s words brought the sting of tears to Ruth’s eyes.

  The woman seemed to notice and pulled Ruth into a warm embrace. “Do not let the foolishness of those young men discourage you. If you are ever afraid walking home, you just come right into our courtyard, you understand? We will protect you.”

  Accepted? The sense of it filled her being. “Thank you.” She held the basket tighter. “I must get home to Naomi lest she worry.”

  The woman looked to her husband. “He will walk with you until you reach her courtyard.”

  The man nodded. As they began walking, he kept a respectable distance between them until Ruth rounded the bend and fairly flew toward home.

  Then Naomi her mother-in-law said to her, “My daughter, should I not seek rest for you, that it may be well with you? Is not Boaz our relative, with whose young women you were? See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing floor. Wash therefore and anoint yourself, and put on your cloak and go down to the threshing floor, but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. But when he lies down, observe the place where he lies. Then go and uncover his feet and lie down, and he will tell you what to do.” And she replied, “All that you say I will do.”

  Ruth 3:1–5

  35

  My daughter, you must not leave the threshing area so late again.” Naomi’s hands trembled at the news she had pulled from a reluctant Ruth the moment she rushed into the courtyard. They were seated now in the inner room, the door closed and latched, sipping watered wine. “Even in Bethlehem there is sin, and the minds of men rush to evil.” She grasped Ruth’s hand and squeezed. “You are too important to me to let anything happen to you.”

  Ruth smiled, but Naomi wondered at the faraway look in her eyes.

  “Promise me you will remember.” Naomi gently touched Ruth’s chin with two fingers, coaxing her to meet her gaze.

  “I promise.” Ruth released a sigh. “In any case, the barley gleaning has ended. We have some time before I need to go out to the fields again.”

  Naomi clasped her hands in front of her. “We have plenty of grain stored now, thanks to your hard work. In fact, I think it is time we went to market and used some to barter for other things we need.”

  Ruth lifted a brow. “What else could we possibly need, Mother? We have everything here except men underfoot.” She laughed lightly, but Naomi did not miss the wistful look that passed before her eyes.

  “I am sorry, my daughter. I have taken you for granted.”

  Ruth looked up, eyes wide until her expression changed. She nodded in apparent understanding. “No you haven’t, Mother Naomi. I am perfectly content and happy to be here with you rather than in Moab. You and your God are worth far more than anything I might have given up.”

  Naomi met Ruth’s smile, seeing the genuineness in her gaze. “Nevertheless, I will give thought to a husband for you, and soon.” She rose slowly, feeling the ache in her knees, wondering why life had gotten so difficult, so painful. “In the meantime,” she said, her mind whirling with the many things they would need to change if a husband were to be sought for Ruth, “we will go to the markets in the morning
. We will buy spices to add to our oil for a sweet-smelling perfume, and buy wool and a new spindle and distaff, and perhaps we can ask Gilah if she has an extra loom to make you a new robe, and—”

  Ruth stood and put both hands on Naomi’s bent shoulders. She laughed, a delightful sound. “Let us not get carried away yet. If we barter all of our grain, what will we eat? My robe is perfectly fine.” She felt the fabric. “See?”

  Did the girl not notice how threadbare it had become? But of course she did. This was Ruth. Always loving. Always giving.

  Naomi took Ruth’s face between her worn hands. “God blessed me more than I deserved the day He gave me you.”

  Ruth smiled and kissed Naomi’s cheek. “We are doubly blessed.”

  The next morning, true to her word, Naomi led Ruth through the same streets she had traversed fearfully the night before. What a difference daylight made. They walked, their step light, with Naomi continually glancing her way and smiling. She was planning something, a secret she would not share until she was ready. It was her way, and Ruth loved her for it.

  They reached the markets just as they were opening. A caravan from the north had entered Bethlehem’s gates, camels draped in colorful wares, merchants already haggling with shop owners.

  “Oh, what timing,” Naomi exclaimed, as though she had come upon a houseful of gifts. “Perhaps we can find perfume already made and save us the trouble of mixing it ourselves.”

  Ruth looked at her mother-in-law, felt the sack of barley she carried, and tried not to worry. Naomi was not one to be foolish. She would not spend frivolously.

  They ducked under the shop awning of one of Naomi’s friends from days gone by, the wife of a shepherd who had rows of fine wool ready to be carded and spun into thread. Ruth touched the wool’s softness, noting the different colors, all washed and clean. How long had it been since she had woven a new garment? Not since before Mahlon’s death. She glanced at the robe she wore daily to the fields. She had one other, a newer one that she saved for special occasions. She did not need to replace anything yet.

  Naomi’s robe, on the other hand, was in dire need of replacement, but Ruth knew she would never get Naomi to agree to such a thing as long as they lived on the edge of poverty.

  “Did you hear the news about Hamul and Hava?” The merchant’s wife leaned close to Naomi, and Ruth could not help but hear. She didn’t want to listen where she shouldn’t, but she took a quiet step closer just the same.

  “What news?” Naomi clearly did not mind the gossip, whether it was true or not.

  “Hava is with child!” The woman laughed, slapping her knees.

  Naomi frowned. “Already? It has been merely a few weeks since they wed.”

  “That’s the news,” the woman said, her tone conspiratorial. She licked her lips like one tasting a sweet morsel. “The child is not Hamul’s! Apparently, the whole thing was a ruse so Hamul could marry her to hide her shame. The girl was waylaid months ago, but she didn’t know the man. Hamul knew his father would never approve, so they made up the story so he would have no choice.” She laughed as though the whole thing was humorous.

  “But the poor girl . . .” Memories of the night before, when the same thing could have happened to her, stopped Ruth’s words.

  Naomi faced Ruth, touched her arm. “Hamul did a brave thing. And nothing is going to happen to you, my daughter.”

  Ruth merely nodded, though she caught the curious stare of the merchant woman. She released a sigh when other women flooded the tent and Naomi ushered them toward the perfumer’s shop.

  “Let us see what we can find to make a sweet-smelling oil.” She looped her arm through Ruth’s as if to reassure her. “Never mind about Hava and Hamul, my dear. We are here to find a husband for you.” Her eyes twinkled. “And Hamul is not the only one who can redeem a woman he loves.”

  Ruth pondered Naomi’s words, trying to make sense of them. How had Hamul redeemed Hava? And what was her mother-in-law thinking now?

  The following day Ruth sat in the courtyard with a new spindle and basket of wool while Naomi tossed barley onto the grindstone to begin the grinding for the evening’s bread. Naomi’s oven had long ago been removed from the courtyard, but a neighbor had willingly shared hers so the widows could bake.

  “If you would rather spin, I don’t mind grinding.” Ruth hated allowing the older woman the harder task, but Naomi had insisted.

  “If I wanted to spin I would tell you.” Naomi turned the handle on the stone, and Ruth allowed the grating sound to fill the silence.

  She’d been trying to gather courage to speak since their visit to the market the day before, but every time the thoughts surfaced, she found reason to hold her tongue.

  “I am glad to hear that Hamul is not guilty of such a sin as we first thought,” Naomi said, drawing Ruth’s thoughts to the very questions that had troubled her. “While I have little use for Melek”—she tsked—“all those wives just to have a son—I will say I had hoped the son would be better than his father. It turns out that perhaps he is.” She glanced at Ruth and smiled that knowing smile that had given Ruth cause to toss and wonder in the night.

  “What did you mean yesterday,” she asked at last, “that Hamul redeemed Hava? He did not buy her back from slavery or sacrifice.”

  Naomi stopped grinding and looked up. “But he did buy her back from shame. Once word got out of Hava’s pregnancy, and she a supposed virgin with no husband . . . the town could have stoned her. It would have been too late to say she was violated since she did not tell anyone in the beginning when it happened. She should have. The men might have found the man who did such a thing. But I suspect Hava feared her father and took a chance on trusting her childhood friend instead.” Naomi looked down and began grinding again. “Turns out she made the right choice, I think.”

  Ruth continued to twirl the spindle and distaff, an action she had done many times in her life, a habit that needed little thought. “So a person can be redeemed from slavery or shame . . .”

  “Or poverty.” Naomi stopped again, her gaze on Ruth. “Which brings up something I have wanted to say to you, to do for you, for quite some time. I have simply been too selfish, wanting to keep you to myself.”

  “You could never be selfish.”

  Naomi waved off the compliment, and Ruth said no more. But Naomi wasn’t finished. “My daughter, should I not seek rest for you, that it may be well with you?”

  “Rest for me?” She knew now what Naomi was planning to say, for only a husband could give rest and security to a widow—the kind of rest a woman wanted, needed.

  “Yes,” Naomi said, extending a hand toward Ruth. “You have gleaned now among the young women in Boaz’s field for many weeks.”

  Ruth nodded, her heart skipping a beat as Boaz’s image came into her thoughts.

  “Is not Boaz our relative?”

  Ruth nodded again, her gaze holding Naomi’s.

  “He is a redeemer, my daughter. He can purchase Elimelech’s land and take you as his wife and raise up a son for Mahlon. He can redeem us from poverty and despair.”

  Ruth heard the urgency in Naomi’s voice, saw the sheen of tears in the woman’s eyes. Naomi needed her to do this, to allow herself to be part of this redeeming. Just as Hava had needed Hamul to save her, Naomi needed Ruth to save her son’s heritage in Israel.

  And Ruth would gain a husband in Boaz in the process, a thought that caused her pulse to quicken and the spindle to slowly cease turning.

  Naomi continued, interrupting her wild thoughts. “Boaz is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing floor. I want you to wash and anoint yourself, and put on your cloak and go down to the threshing floor, but do not make yourself known to him until he has finished eating and drinking. When he lies down, observe that place. Then go and uncover his feet and lie down, and he will tell you what to do.”

  “You wish for me to ask him to marry me,” she said softly, holding Naomi’s gaze.

  “Yes.” Naomi smil
ed. “It is a good plan.”

  “You have given this much thought.”

  “An old woman has little to do but think.”

  Ruth chuckled despite her pounding heart. “All that you say I will do.”

  36

  Ruth removed her better robe from a peg on the wall and pulled it over her freshly washed body. The perfumed ointment sat in a small clay jar on a low table. She lifted it, opened the jar, and touched the perfume to her neck, behind her ears, and to her wrists. The scent wafted upward, a pleasing aroma. She inhaled and smiled. How good it felt to be clean.

  She capped the jar with a rag plug and left the room where she and Naomi slept, then met Naomi in the larger sitting room. “I am ready,” she said, though her hands trembled the slightest bit at what she was about to do. What if Boaz refused her? Her heart tripped at the thought, for she had met no other man as kind in Bethlehem.

  “You are beautiful, my daughter.” Naomi stepped closer, looking her up and down, at last taking her face in her hands. “The man will surely be taken with you. You wait and see.”

  Ruth nodded. “I hope so.” She hoped so for Naomi’s sake, so at least the words were partially true. She glanced through the window at the darkening sky. Would she make it through Bethlehem’s streets in peace? A shudder worked through her. “I should go.”

  Naomi nodded. “Do not be afraid, my daughter. The Lord will be with you. Did He not protect you every moment until now?”

  Ruth looked at Naomi, held her gaze. “Yes, He has.” And suddenly, she realized the truth of her statement. Adonai had led her to Boaz’s fields, where she was safe. The man who lived along the path she took had protected her from those rowdy youths. Could Naomi’s God not be trusted with this as well? If she was going to trust Him as Naomi did, must she not trust Him with all?