When she heard in Moab that the LORD had come to the aid of his people by providing food for them, Naomi and her daughters-in-law prepared to return home from there. With her two daughters-in-law, she left the place where she had been living and set out on the road that would take them back to the land of Judah. Ruth 1:6-7

Much has been written about Naomi’s loss—her husband gone, her two sons buried, her life as a woman alone in Moab cracked open by grief. But little ink has been spilled on the two young women nearby her. Two daughters-in-law who married her sons, who were widowed while still so young, and who suddenly found themselves staring at a road they never imagined: a move to Canaan, a future without their husbands, a life stripped of anything familiar.

I wonder if they, too, once dreamed of ordinary things—of growing old with the men they loved, of raising children in the neighborhoods where they themselves had played, of a life predictable on Moabite soil. All of it disappeared. Their expectations shattered like pottery at their feet.

I know something of that shattering. My own life has been dotted with surprises—some bright, some dark. “You’ll never believe what’s happened since I last saw you,” has become the opening line to so many conversations with friends. Good news, bad news, and the kind of news that leaves you wordless—all of it has had the power to knock me off balance. No warning. No time to prepare.

And maybe that’s you, too. A mother blindsided by a doctor’s voice saying the word leukemia. A parent stunned to hear their child is marrying someone far from ideal. A father who thought his job would carry him into retirement only to be handed a pink slip. A church member watching a beloved pastor fall from grace. These moments come like such a blow. They leave us disoriented, breathless, and staggering.

But even here, there is a greater reality. We must know the One who promises to be our Anchor. Nothing ever catches Him off guard. My life is held safely in His hands, even when my footing feels uncertain. I am safe in God’s keeping. When everything around me shifts and I can’t even trace the contours of what holds me, still I know that He does. His plans were written long before my first breath, and they remain the sure ground beneath my feet.

Lord, I’m standing here without answers, without control—but not without You. I’m breathing. Amen