Daughters of promise

Is not Boaz, with whose servant girls you have been, a kinsman of ours? Ruth 3:2

I can almost hear the gasp of joy that escaped Naomi’s lips. Ruth, breathless from the day’s labor, recounted the story of an unexpected kindness—a wealthy landowner who had noticed her, protected her, and filled her hands with grain. Then came the revelation: he was not a stranger at all, but a relative, a kinsman. In that moment, Naomi’s despair cracked open, and light filtered in. She knew what this meant.

If an Israelite were in desperate financial straits, he would sell his field, or even himself, into slavery. The responsibility for redemption fell to his kinsman. God intended that the ransom be paid by those who had the greatest personal interest in redemption, the man’s own flesh and blood.

In Israel, when poverty drove a man to sell his inheritance, or even himself into slavery, the mantle of redemption would fall upon a kinsman. It was not a transaction between strangers; it was redemption that was written into the family’s very bloodline. God designed it so that rescue would come from within, from one who shared both the burden and the blood.

What a picture of Christ this is. Every thread of Ruth’s story glows with His glory. Boaz, the man of Bethlehem, became Ruth’s kinsman-redeemer. Jesus, born in that same Bethlehem, became mine. Since redemption had to be a family affair, the Son of God clothed Himself in humanity’s garment. He stepped into our brokenness, our hunger and our heartbreak. No angel could have done it. Only a Brother could pay the price.

What once seemed utterly hopeless for Naomi and Ruth—their futures desolate, their names nearly erased—was instantly transformed by the whisper of a redeemer’s name. Hope took root where grief had lived. I know that story intimately. I, too, once stood in the field of my own failures, unsure what to do with the ruins of my sin. But then Jesus appeared, as He always does, and spread before me new choices:  mercy for condemnation, grace for guilt, and second chances for failure.

The word “trapped” should never be in my vocabulary. You can redeem absolutely anything. Amen

Ruth told her mother-in-law about the one at whose place she had been working. “The name of the man I worked with today is Boaz,” she said.” The LORD bless him!” Naomi said to her daughter-in-law. “He has not stopped showing his kindness to the living and the dead.” Ruth 2:19-20

When Boaz honored Ruth, his kindness rippled backward through time. It touched not only Naomi’s heart but also the memory of Elimelech and the husband Ruth had lost. In blessing the living, he honored the dead. Love never dies.

We are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. “Since we are,” the writer of Hebrews reminds us, “let us lay aside every weight and the sin that so easily entangles.”  Each of us lives before a unique audience, a gathering of souls whose love has shaped us. Yours may include family members who taught you faith, mentors whose wisdom shaped your choices, and the, now unseen, saints who prayed you through storms.  They are not distant spectators but quiet companions.  Their presence reminds me that I don’t live in isolation; I’m part of a far greater story.

There are days I feel their prayers. I discern the reality that I do not make the smallest decision without the watchful eyes of those already with Jesus. My father and mother are cheering me on. Two older prayer partners, Rose and Iris, are smiling over my shoulder. In fact, our church is currently experiencing a tender move on God on our women. The heavens are not silent; they are alive with prayer.

The kingdom of God transcends separation. There is always a connection between the living and the dead. Death cannot sever the bonds of covenant love. The communion of saints is not poetry—it is reality. Their legacy shapes my next steps and reminds me that my choices ripple beyond this calendar day. Unseen faces are watching, cheering me on to make a righteous decision.

The grave has never stopped the advancement of Your Kingdom, Jesus. Amen

Boaz gave orders to his men, “Even if she gathers among the sheaves, don’t embarrass her. Rather, pull out some stalks for her from the bundles and leave them for her to pick up, and don’t rebuke her.” Ruth 2:15-16

The rules for the poor were clear: they could gather only what fell to the ground. The sheaves, bundled and heavy with grain, were forbidden. Imagine how tempting it must have been for those hungry and impoverished to steal when no one was looking. A rich supply of grain was just within their grasp, yet they couldn’t touch it. It seems Boaz understood the quiet torment of the needy heart, the tension between reverence and desperation.

Quietly, behind the scenes, he made provision for Ruth to touch what was previously forbidden. He opened his heart to her need and gave her permission to gather food from the best of his
land. She had passed the test. Her character had been revealed by her life’s story. She hadn’t performed to become credible. She hadn’t performed at all. Her character proved sterling without an awareness of the watchful eyes of spectators. Ruth had been faithful with little. Because of that, Boaz knew he was free to entrust Ruth with more.

So he intervened. Quietly, behind the scenes, Boaz ordered his men to bend the rules in her favor. He turned restriction into invitation. Ruth, who had labored faithfully within her limits, suddenly found the boundaries moved, not by her striving, but by grace. What she had done in secret, anonymously, proved to construct a platform of credibility.

Her character had already told her story. She had been faithful in obscurity, kind when no one was watching, steadfast in grief. She did not perform; she lived truthfully. Boaz saw what God had long seen—a woman who could be trusted with more. Faithfulness in little had prepared her for abundance.

I often think that no one is watching me. However, I am not an island and Ruth’s story reinforces that truth. The sacrifices I’ve made, the decisions for righteousness made in the dark, the encouragement given to the weak, all leave impressions.  The quality of a person’s heart is not hidden for long. I wear my history like a garment around my shoulders for all to see. Character always rises to the surface; it cannot remain buried forever.

In Your kingdom, there are already NO restrictions. You have made all Your resources available to me because of Your mercy, not my goodness. Amen

Boaz gave orders to his men, “Even if she gathers among the sheaves, don’t embarrass her. Rather, pull out some stalks for her from the bundles and leave them for her to pick up, and don’t rebuke her.” Ruth 2:15-16

I would have loved to hear Ruth’s own retelling of that day. Perhaps she burst through the door to Naomi, her arms aching under the weight of grain, her face lit up with wonder. “You know,” she might have said, “this afternoon was easier than the morning. Somehow, I gathered twice as much in half the time. Isn’t that strange?” Maybe she lay awake that night, turning it over in her mind, unable to explain it. The truth was simple—Boaz had gone before her. He had quietly instructed his men to leave grain on purpose. The path Ruth walked was not random; it was prepared. Every stalk, every blessing, had been deliberately placed in her way. Her labor was still real, but grace had gone ahead of her, multiplying her effort.

As a child, my favorite fairy tale was Hansel and Gretel.  I was captivated by the image of Hansel dropping breadcrumbs through the forest—tiny tokens of care marking the way home. Gretel still had to walk through darkness, but she was not lost. Her brother had thought of her; his love had left her a path to follow. “Don’t cry,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”  Even in the shadows of the forest, she was not forgotten.

I often think I am responsible for myself. The weight of daily provision weighs on me. With stooped shoulders, I conclude that if ground is to be gained, it’s all up to me. I fail to see that it is God who prepares the way. He graces my life with the right contacts. He surprises me with unexpected provision. He gives me favor in encounters that are pivotal to my future. He brings clarity to confusing situations just in the nick of time. I have erroneously considered such moments “coincidences”, but I know better.  I have toiled as though there were no Boaz, no Brother, no Shepherd who went before me.

But God is not a distant observer. He is the One arranging encounters, aligning timing, setting favor in motion long before I arrive. He is the quiet Provider behind every “unexpected” grace.

Today, I will walk with open eyes.  I will look for the breadcrumbs of Your kindness.  I know that I am guided, sustained, and loved.  Amen

She ate until she was satisfied and had some left over. Ruth 2:14

Ruth and Naomi were poor.  Achingly so.   Their cupboards were bare and would have stayed that way if Ruth hadn’t taken to the fields to gather stray pieces of grain from the threshing floor. I can imagine that she was famished when Boaz invited her to a meal. As he served her, it doesn’t appear that she lost her manners. Though some might have seized the moment to eat voraciously, to the exclusion of their surroundings, Ruth did not. She ate just until she felt satisfied and then left some of what was offered to her. She did not take advantage of Boaz’ good nature.

Boaz witnessed restraint and a quiet kind of dignity. She did not devour the bread as if desperate to fill every empty space. She received what was given, and when her hunger eased, she stopped. She left something behind—not because she was full of food, but because she was full of gratitude. Ruth’s hunger bowed before holiness. She recognized that even abundance must be held with open hands because entitlement will erode every relationship in its path.

I want to make sure that I am like Ruth.

• When I ask for an hour of someone’s time, an hour I feel I need desperate, and they can only give me ten minutes, may I be satisfied and thankful.
• When I am wounded or weary, and a friend cannot linger long with my pain, may I turn to God for comfort instead of resenting the limits of human love.
• When someone offers me something costly, may I be discerning to honor their sacrifice more than the gift itself.

Without being rooted in Christ, I could become a narcissist.  Entitlement whispers, “You owe me!”  But gratitude breathes, “You have given me more than I deserve.”  Small portions because a feast of grace.   

Lord, it’s easy for my need to become my center of gravity, pulling every thought toward myself. Help me to see others, to value them, even in my own need.  Amen

Then Ruth said, “I have found favor in your sight, my lord, for you have comforted me and indeed have spoken kindly to your maidservant, though I am not like one of your maidservants.” Ruth 2:13

The favor Boaz showed to Ruth opened her heart to him. Undeserved kindness has a way of doing that. It softens our defenses and creates a place for trust to grow. Ruth could hardly believe the mercy she was shown. “You have treated me as one of your own,” she told Boaz.

How often do we experience the opposite? “You treat me as if I were a stranger,” we might whisper to a friend who is no longer warm. “You treat me as if you don’t even like me,” we say to a spouse in the heat of an argument. Having to admit feelings such as these makes our hearts ache.  We wonder what happened to love.  It used to be there and was once expressed.

How beautiful to experience what Ruth did, the miracle of unexpected grace. “You’ve made me feel like one of your family,” I once told a host whose hospitality was over the top. Moments like that one pull back the veil to reveal God’s own heart.

For any who says, “I’ve never had beautiful things said to me!” I would encourage a look inward. In the deepest part of you, the Spirit of God lives and breathes and testifies of undeserved favor. What Boaz did for Ruth foreshadowed the staggering kindness of God.  He sent a Redeemer who would welcome the foreigner, embrace the outcast, and rush to include the undeserving into His own household.

O Redeemer, Your love is incomprehensible.  It is strong enough to lift me when I was ruined and tender enough to restore me when I’ve been broken.  Thank you.  Amen

And Boaz said, “May the Lord reward your work, and your wages be full from the Lord, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to seek refuge.” Ruth 2:12

Some of God’s people are quick to speak blessings but slow to act on them.  Their intentions may be sincere, but when blessing requires effort, words fade into the background and are cheapened by inactivity. 

Boaz was a man of both words and deeds. His blessing over Ruth was not a frivolous act of kindness; it was the beginning of a personal investment in her well-being. Though he was a successful businessman, he didn’t hand Ruth’s future off to God as if his work was done once he prayed. He believed that God’s purposes often unfold through someone else’s obedience. He would see to it that her work was rewarded and that she would have a place of refuge.

I think of how often I’ve said, “Don’t worry!  I know that God will take care of you.”  Then I moved on, assuming my role was finished. Perhaps I failed to ask God if He intended to care for that person through me.  My passivity may have kept someone waiting for mercy.  

When I tell someone that God loves them, but with overtones of detachment, I send mixed messages about the nature of His love. When I talk about His mercy but withdraw from someone in need, I contradict the Gospel of glorious saving intervention. My witness must be borne on the wings of authentic heart engagement. 

The Christian life was never meant to stop at words. Jesus didn’t just tell us God loves us.  He demonstrated it through the cross. My faith calls me to the same standard— to model the truths that I speak. Small, tangible acts of kindness and compassion will carry the weight of Jesus’ love.

I take Boaz’ example to heart. Today, I will be generous with words that comfort and follow it up with actions that confirm God’s character. Amen