And when they had come to Bethlehem, all the city was stirred because of them, and the women said, “Is this Naomi?” She said to them, “Do not call me Naomi; call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt very bitterly with me. Ruth 1: 19-20

When Naomi left Bethlehem, she walked away with a husband on one side and two sons on the other. When she returned, she came back empty-handed. No husband. No sons. Only a foreign woman who clung to her with fierce loyalty. The people barely recognized her. The years of loss had carved deep lines in her face. Her friends whispered, “Is this Naomi?”—as if grief had rewritten her very features. She had once been robust and full of life; now, she was hollow and broken, evidenced by her new name. “Mara.” “Bitter.”

Our faces tell our stories, too. They are quiet witnesses to all that we’ve lived through. Yesterday, I sorted through old photographs that spanned decades of captured moments. There were the familiar smiles of birthdays, Christmas mornings, and graduations. But then, I stumbled upon pictures from a darker time. My face was drawn, my smile strained, my eyes dulled by something invisible. I remembered how hard it was to keep breathing during those days. Looking at those photos, I realized how profoundly suffering reshapes us—how it changes the set of our jaw, the light in our eyes, even the way we carry ourselves.

Those who had seen Jesus preach on a hillside were taken aback, I’m sure, by the different countenance they saw as He carried His cross. The One who once held children on His lap and enjoyed their precocious antics could also be heard crying out in the night to His Father. Oh, but here’s the thing. God is sovereign, and He never leaves us in a pit if we stay on the path He designed for us. Naomi’s story took a drastic turn. Eventually, mine did, too. We know
what happened to Jesus. His darkest hour gave way to a glorious resurrection morning.

I am often burdened but I am never hopeless. When I lose perspective, remind me that hope is not a feeling—it’s a Person.  You are my hope, alive and unchanging. Amen