Just Like Her
By Jack Wyman
It was a trail of tears.
Too bitter and heartbreaking for words.
Three women—one older, two younger—united by the deaths of their husbands, were traveling to a new home, and a new beginning.
It hadn’t been easy, nor would it be easy now.
It had begun in Bethlehem years before. A famine had spread over the land of Judah. Elimelech, his wife Naomi, and their two sons headed for Moab, where the prospects seemed brighter. Elimelech died and Naomi was left to raise her sons as a single mother.
The boys eventually married Moabite women and settled down. Ten years later, the young men died. We don’t know how. We only know that death, in its often capricious cruelty, had swung its fateful scythe with wide abandon. Its dark specter hung with sadness over the three widows. Naomi had lost the best and dearest of her life and now she was alone.
Word came that things were better in Judah. Crops were flourishing, business was bustling, people were hustling—to new opportunities and hopeful expectations.
Naomi talked with her daughters-in law, Orpah and Ruth. They agreed to pull up their humble stakes and move to Judah. For Naomi, it would be a sojourn to familiar places and faces; friends she’d not seen in a long time.
For Orpah and Ruth, this would be something quite different—a new land, with new people, new ways of life, a whole new culture. These young women would be saying goodbye to all they’d ever known.
They quietly and solemnly packed their belongings and, with the sun rising upon the dry and dusty horizon, began their journey to Judah. Lost deep in thought about the tragedy of their past and the uncertainty of their future, they spoke little. Naomi began to think about her two daughters-in-law. What were they leaving? What was ahead for them? Why were they going?
Yes, Naomi was alone and it wasn’t easy. But should she presume upon the destinies of these two young widows, whom she loved as her own daughters? In her weary and sad mind, she went back and forth, and back again.
One evening, as they were camped, Naomi spoke to Orpah and Ruth. This wasn’t right, she explained. It wasn’t fair. Perhaps it might even be selfish.
“Go back to your mothers’ homes,” Naomi pleaded. “And may the Lord reward you for your kindness to your husbands and to me. May the Lord bless you with the security of another marriage” (Ruth 1:9).
“Back to your mothers’ homes.” Back to what you’ve known and cherished. Back to those who know and care for you. Back to the life that has defined and molded you. Back to the comfort of the familiar, and the hope of a better future.
Naomi would deny herself their companionship and help. For all her loneliness, she was prepared for more. It was for Orpah and Ruth she made this selfless plea. Here we see courage, integrity, generosity, and a profoundly moving compassion. It’s the reason mothers for centuries have named their daughters Naomi.
She stood up, walked to Orpah and Ruth, and gently kissed them on the cheek. The three women wept. Finally, Orpah spoke. “No,” she said, “we will go with you to your land and to your people.” Naomi resisted. She could offer these women no more sons in marriage. There would be nothing for them with her. They must return to where their prospects and opportunities would be greater.
“Turn back, my daughters, go . . .”
As fine a woman as she was, Naomi had been hurt. Her poignant words came from a broken and mystified heart:
“Things are far more bitter for me than for you,” she softly said, “because the Lord himself has raised his hand against me” (Ruth 1:13).
The Bible sugarcoats nothing. We may go nowhere for a more transparent portrayal of the human condition. On its sacred page, the hearts of men and women are fully exposed, in all their frailties and vulnerabilities. Their hopes are realized and also dashed; their hearts cheered but also broken; their lives both blessed and sometimes bereft.
On an open Bible have often fallen the tears of despair, remorse, confusion, and grief. Yet within its text we also read the stories of God’s love, protection, provision and guidance. His sovereignty is triumphant in every passage.
The tears of these three noble women flowed again, intermingling with the sorrow of dreams lost but not forgotten. Orpah agreed to go back. She kissed her mother-in-law goodbye—forever. The next six words are the key to our story.
“But Ruth clung tightly to Naomi” (Ruth 1:14).
In this pivotal, decisive moment character is forged, destiny determined and history made.
Naomi told Ruth, “Look, your sister in-law has gone back to her people and her gods. You should go with her.”
For comfort, we read the 23rd Psalm at funerals. At weddings, we enjoin different words. Beautiful words that thrill us with their devotion, inspire us with their courage, and reassure us with their undying loyalty.
Ruth looked into Naomi’s mournful eyes and, with tears streaming down her face, asked her not to make her go back. Then Ruth told her:
“For wherever you go, I will go; and wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God, my God. Where you die, I will die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if anything but death parts you and me” (Ruth 1:16-17).
Naomi was finished persuading. So was Ruth. There was nothing to top that. Silence was its best and only tribute. Then—and now.
They traveled on together—to Bethlehem.
Ruth married Boaz. They were the great-grandparents of King David. They were the ancestors of Jesus of Nazareth.
It has been said that the Book of Ruth is the Old Testament book for women.
Praise God for all the women—mothers, single mothers, step-mothers, single women, young women, old women, and widows—who are just like her.
To order Jack Wyman’s book, “Everything Else: Stories of Life, Faith and Our World”, go to amazon.com, Christian Book Distributors or barnesandnoble.com. It is also available on Kindle and eBooks.
WE NEED YOU! Would you consider partnering with us as a monthly donor to support the work of our nonprofit ministry? Or maybe a generous one-time donation?