Daughters of promise

“Instead, he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a servant and was born as a human being.” Philippians 2:7

Parents of missionaries who serve in dangerous places carry a unique ache. They live with the possibility of loss and the knowledge that obedience sometimes leads their children into the very heart of spiritual conflict. They wonder if they will see their sons and daughters again, and they wrestle with the fear that faithfulness may cost more than they feel prepared to give.

Does God understand their agony? Yes. He felt it first.

From eternity, the Trinity moved in perfect unity—a communion so deep that human language has a hard time capturing it. Scripture hints at the mystery of the Three-in-One, a love so integrated that Jesus could say, “I am in the Father and the Father is in Me.” Their fellowship was dynamic, like a slow, synchronised dance, each One freely and joyfully yielding to the other.

Then came the moment when the Son stepped forward into His mission.

Imagine the holy disruption. The rhythm of heaven shifted when Jesus crossed the threshold into time. The Father watched Him go with omniscient grief. He knew the malice of Satan, who would unleash every weapon in his arsenal. He foresaw the ambushes, the murderous crowds, the sleepless nights, and the sorrow that would carve itself into His beloved Son’s face.

And the Father planned every escape, every delay, every divine “not yet” that would preserve the Lamb until Calvary’s appointed hour. God tasted what human parents feel when their children step into danger for the sake of the Gospel.

He also saw the outcome of His sacrifice. He saw the disciples who would rise in courage. He saw the nations receiving light. He saw the Church that would be pressed down but never destroyed.

Father, You also gave everything. You saw the suffering, the danger, the heartbreak, and chose love anyway. Thank you. Amen

Then the elders and all those at the gate said, “We are witnesses. May the LORD make the woman who is coming into your home like Rachel and Leah, who together built up the house of Israel. May you have standing in Ephrathah and be famous in Bethlehem. Ruth 4:11

If I truly grasped the weight of my words, I would handle them with far greater reverence. I would strip away careless speech, choosing instead to let every word sow something holy. A blessing is never lost; it doesn’t evaporate into the air or dissolve with time. It roots itself in the soil of a person’s life and bears fruit according to God’s own laws of sowing and reaping. The elders who blessed Boaz that day could not see beyond the moment, but they understood the power of covenant language. Their culture knew that blessings and curses shaped destinies. They spoke boldly, invoking the legacy of Rachel and Leah over Ruth. What they could not have imagined was that Ruth’s son would become the grandfather of King David, and that centuries later, another King—Jesus—would rise from that very lineage in Bethlehem. Their blessing reached farther than their understanding.

There’s a beautiful tradition practiced in many churches. At the end of the service, the congregation stands and grows quiet while the pastor lifts his hand to speak a blessing over the people. It isn’t a formality. It isn’t a polite way to dismiss the crowd. It reflects something far older and far deeper. In the Old Testament, words spoken in blessing carried real spiritual weight. A blessing was viewed as an act that set something in motion. Isaac’s blessing over Jacob shaped a nation. Moses’ blessing over the tribes carried God’s intentions forward. When a blessing was spoken, it was believed that God Himself would honor and act upon those words.

On a more personal note ~ I realize that I have the power today to bless another. What I speak may be the catalyst for profound change. And conversely, what I spew in anger has the potential to become their prison. May my language leave a taste of the divine.

So I offer this blessing now: “Father, I bless each person who reads these words. Draw them gently beyond their comfort zones and into deeper communion with You. Let them discover the riches of Your love and grace. Surround their homes with Your warring angels and make Your presence the glory in their midst. Keep them from evil and strengthen them to stand firm against the enemy. Prosper their children spiritually. Sit with them at their tables and surprise them with holy conversation. Amen.”

Meanwhile Boaz went up to the town gate and sat there. When the kinsman-redeemer he had mentioned came along, Boaz said, “Come over here, my friend, and sit down.” So he went over and sat down. Ruth 4:1

Boaz prepared the moment with care. He knew he needed to speak with the man who held the legal right to redeem Naomi’s land and marry Ruth. It was a delicate conversation—one that could have easily turned adversarial. Boaz could have approached him with charm, rivalry, or manipulation. But he didn’t. He chose the path of friendship. He also chose integrity over strategy. A heart rooted in God does not need to fear the strength, status, or possessions of another. In God’s kingdom, no one is diminished by another person’s blessing.

But I recognize my own insecurities here. I know what it is to glance sideways and feel the sting of envy and to see someone living the very life I longed for.  I can interpret their abundance as evidence of God’s favor and my lack as evidence of His neglect.  In those moments, authenticity becomes nearly impossible. My words sound kind, but my heart is conflicted. Internally, I fear they will see straight through me.

I’ve been guilty of believing that God was withholding good from me. I feared He played favorites.  I chose to forget that He was still writing my story and that I’d not yet reached the chapters where redemption unfolds in full.  Taking those lessons into the future, I know now that I cannot judge His faithfulness midstream. He has not finished healing the ashes of my past. He has not finished rewarding the seeds of obedience I’ve planted through the years.

I also cannot know the full truth of others’ lives behind closed doors, either. I may be impressed by their public story yet know nothing of the private ache behind closed doors. Pain is universal. No life is as flawless as it appears from afar.

There is no competition in the kingdom of God. Boaz knew this, and he rested. He trusted that God would safeguard his love for Ruth.  Maturity allows me to sit at the table with the very person who once stirred my envy. Not because I have risen above them, but because Christ has rooted me deeper in Himself.

When I am content in Your love, whom shall I fear? Amen

When Ruth came to her mother-in-law, Naomi asked, “How did it go, my daughter?” Then she told her everything Boaz had done for her and added, “He gave me these six measures of barley, saying, `Don’t go back to your mother-in-law empty-handed.’ ” Ruth 3:16-17

Ruth must have been deeply moved by Boaz’s generosity. His kindness didn’t seem to be self-serving. His heart was generous enough to honor not only Ruth but also Naomi. In his world, redemption was woven into the fabric of family and legacy. This instinct mirrored the very heart of God.

Nearly every time God spoke to the patriarchs, His promises stretched beyond individuals and wrapped themselves around their children, their children’s children, and even generations yet to be born. God thinks in lineage. His Father-heart beats within every covenant He makes. And here’s what comforts me today.  My family legacy is important to Him today because it’s essential to me.

My own heart carries the weight of my family; those who have not yet awakened to Jesus, who live unalarmed by their need for Him. Perhaps their lives have not yet cracked deep enough to search for a Savior. But life eventually delivers its blows. Sorrow knocks on every door. Job said, “Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward.” Pain is inevitable and often serves as a tutor that leads a stubborn soul toward God’s mercy.

God may already be scattering gifts across the paths of my loved ones; mercies they do not yet recognize, protections they do not thank Him for, kindnesses they attribute to chance. Their spirits may sleep now, but the Giver does not stop giving.  God’s mercy is patient, persistent, and creative.  He does not withdraw. They are my family, and they are on His radar.  As long as I love and pray for them, He moves toward them.  Covenant love stretches farther than rebellion. 

Thank you for caring about my family. I entrust every name, every story, every wound, every wandering heart into Your hands. Amen

“Stay here for the night, and in the morning if he wants to redeem, good; let him redeem. But if he is not willing, as surely as the LORD lives I will do it. Lie here until morning.” Ruth 3:13

Scripture gives us no window into Ruth’s thoughts, but we can imagine the long hours that stretched before her. Perhaps she slept little. Perhaps she turned from side to side, rehearsing possibilities, battling anxious thoughts. Perhaps silent tears traced her cheeks as she wondered what her life would look like come morning.

There was nothing left to do now but wait. Morning would carry the verdict and the final decision about who would redeem Naomi’s land and take Ruth as his wife. Boaz was more than willing, yet another man stood first in line. And so this night, suspended between hope and uncertainty, could only be called the night of waiting.

Waiting can be excruciating. Our minds tend to invent the worst-case scenarios, as if anticipating disaster could somehow shield us from it. Someone once wrote, “If God is not worried, why should I?” A comforting sentiment, yes, but difficult to swallow when emotions churn louder than the truth. My heart is far noisier than the quiet reality where Christ actually dwells. But feelings, for all their volume, can be illusions.

Spiritual truth must be my compass in the fog.  When fear threatens to undo me, I return to what is immovable: I am engraved on the palm of His hand. I am the apple of His eye. He saves those crushed in spirit. He rescues because He delights. He is sovereign over both the present moment and the unfolding future.

Do these truths make any real difference to a trembling heart? They do. They reorient me. They steady me. A waiting room is exactly that—a place between what has been and what will be. The chairs are uncomfortable, the atmosphere tense. But it is temporary. Morning is on its way, and the One who carves out the dawn is the same One shaping my destiny.

I don’t want to just mark time in the waiting room. I want to remember it as time spent with You, time that formed me and quieted me.  Amen

“The LORD bless you, my daughter,” he replied. “You have not run after the younger men, whether rich or poor.” Ruth 3:10

Ruth had moved the heart of Boaz long before she ever laid herself at his feet. Her reputation was not built overnight; it was the slow, steady accumulation of a life governed by honor. When he discovered her in the quiet darkness of his threshing floor, he was not offended, alarmed, or suspicious. Her history had already spoken for her.

“You have not run after younger men,” he told her. In other words, she did not seize the first opportunity that promised relief. She refused false rescue. She resisted the easy answers that would have soothed for a moment and shattered for a lifetime. She bore her sorrow with steadfast trust, allowing God to script the redemption she could not manufacture.  Her faith was expressed through integrity.

I wish I could say the same of myself. But I know what it is to run after substitutes. I know how appealing they feel in the moment — how they offer the illusion of relief while quietly hollowing out the soul.

Sometimes my counterfeit was a person. When I encountered someone radiant with God’s presence, I mistook their nearness for His.  It felt easier to pursue a human reflection than to carve out the time and quiet needed to pursue Christ Himself. It was second-hand spirituality.  It was warm, accessible, and dangerously cheap.

I’ve learned not to take the quick way out. Pain has been a stern teacher, but it has shaped a stronger obedience in me. I know now, deeply and soulfully, that Jesus is the treasure. No human substitute can hold a candle to His presence. No shortcut can rival His wisdom. No counterfeit can satisfy what only redemption can restore.

I am done running after lesser loves.  I run toward You alone.  Amen