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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

When (Naomi) heard that the LORD had come to the aid of His people in Judah by providing food for them, she prepared to go home. Ruth 1:6

The land of Canaan had fallen into spiritual darkness. God’s people had forsaken the faith of their fathers, choosing instead the barren path of disobedience. And God, in His righteousness, allowed them to taste the consequences of their sin.

Famine was one of His judgments—measured, purposeful, and meant to awaken hearts that had grown dull. It was that famine that drove Naomi and her family to Moab years earlier. But now, news reached her that bread once again filled the fields of Judah. God was moving among His people, pouring out blessing and favor not because they deserved it, but because His mercy had triumphed over judgment.

How unlike God we often are. Human nature clings to its grudges and keeps score. There are some offenses others will never release, some mistakes for which no door of grace reopens. Cross another person the wrong way, and reconciliation may never come. Forgiveness is withheld, peace postponed until their heart finally softens. Even the church, at times, mirrors this hardness—marking people by their past and quietly reminding them where they came from.

But God is not like us. When I sin, His presence feels distant—not because He has turned away in disgust, but because He is inviting me to turn back in humility. His discipline is never cruel. It is not punishment for punishment’s sake, but a holy kindness meant to restore what rebellion has broken. He is not vindictive, nor does He wound to make me pay. Every act of correction carries purpose: to bring me home.

Lord, thank You that Your mercy always finds me before judgment does. When I wander, do not let shame keep me from coming home. Amen

Now Elimelech, Naomi’s husband, died, and she was left with her two sons. Ruth 1:3

Naomi followed her husband to Moab with their two sons. Not long after, death stole him away, leaving her in a foreign land with only her boys. She was far from home, cut off from family, and surrounded by strangers. Death is always a mountain to climb, and its grip feels colder when no hand is there to steady you. Naomi was alone.

I know what it is to follow someone’s lead and end up stranded in a barren place. To defer, only to discover that another’s choice has carried me into storm and shipwreck. When the path bends toward loss, bitterness whispers: “Look what you’ve done to me.” Shame echoes back in self-talk: “How foolish I was to trust.” Did Naomi wrestle with such thoughts? Scripture is silent. But human hearts are not and I am well acquainted.

You and I both have scars from trusting when we should not have. If life offered a rewind, we would choose differently. Yet here is hope: God is never stranded when we are stranded. He is not bound to a single road. He builds highways in wastelands, carves paths through thorns, and surprises us with streams of water in the desert. What feels like the end of the story is often only the beginning of His.

When I see no way of escape, my eyesight is simply limited. You will not only lead me out, but whisper wisdom in my ears while on the journey. Thank You, my Lord. Amen

In the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land, and a man from Bethlehem in Judah, together with his wife and two sons, went to live for a while in the country of Moab. The man’s name was Elimelech, his wife’s name Naomi. Ruth 1:1,2

After Israel entered the Promised Land, they settled into ease. A new generation was born, one that had never trudged the desert, never known hunger or battle. They lived in comfort—but they did not know the Lord. The miracles that carried their fathers through wilderness and war faded into distant memory. The landscape of faith grew barren. Israel plunged headlong into three hundred years of spiritual night.

It is here, in this backdrop of silence and famine, that Elimelech and Naomi’s story begins. Bethlehem—the house of bread—was emptied of bread. Hunger drove them into Moab, a land God had forbidden. They left searching for fullness, but found only sorrow. Tragedy met them in that foreign place, and their losses would become the dark soil out of which God would one day bring redemption.

God had led them into a hallway of transition. Behind them the door of familiarity closed; before them, another door flickered faintly with light, though the distance was shadowed and uncertain. They stood in the in-between—disoriented, fearful, stripped of control. For Naomi, it would be a season of bitterness, instability, and grief. Yet in that darkness, God was at work. What seemed like silence was preparation. What felt like loss was making room for joy.

I have walked that hallway, too. When the props I leaned on collapsed, when fear froze me in place, I had nowhere to turn but God. And in the dark, He spoke. He untangled lies I had believed, revealed the fault lines in my faith, and rewrote the hidden scripts of my heart. A hallway is not wasted wilderness. It is holy ground—if we let God meet us there. For Naomi it was. For me it was. And for anyone who dares to stay and not run, it still can be.

I needed the dark to see my need for You. Loving Father, Your ways, though they looked severe, were most kind. Amen

In the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land, and a man from Bethlehem in Judah, together with his wife and two sons, went to live for a while in the country of Moab. Ruth 1:1

Canaan—the land once flowing with milk and honey—no longer bore the marks of abundance. Bethlehem—the “house of bread”—stood empty of bread. What had been promised as a place of blessing now throbbed with barrenness. God had long warned His covenant people of this very outcome: disobedience would drain the land of its bounty. The soil would be iron beneath their feet, the trees withholding their fruit, their strength spent in futility. His word was unmistakable: “If you remain hostile toward me and refuse to listen, I will multiply your afflictions seven times over, as your sins deserve.” (Leviticus 26:20–21).

At first glance, Elimelech’s decision seems noble—a father providing for his family by leading them to food in a neighboring land. But the question pierces: should he ever have left Canaan? The famine was not merely an agricultural crisis; it was a divine summons to repentance. To abandon Canaan was to abandon the very place God had commanded His people to dwell. Moab was no refuge—it was forbidden ground. Rather than turning his heart toward Yahweh in repentance, Elimelech fled. Rather than trusting the God who could restore bread to Bethlehem, he transplanted his family into the land of idols.

Running never solves the fire of God’s refining. Unresolved issues follow us into every new place. When anger blazes, the answer is not escape but surrender—asking God to uncover its roots. When grief feels unbearable, the answer is not suppression but pouring it out before Him. When addiction clutches hardest, the answer is not distraction but facing the deep hunger beneath and yielding it to the Lord. Flight only multiplies the weight of our struggles. Ask Jonah—Moab is no hiding place.

Today remains the day of salvation. God, in His mercy, restrains judgment again and again, longing for His people to turn and live. He does not delight in famine or affliction but aches for us to repent, so He may pour out the blessings He has stored up. His discipline is never for our destruction, but always a summons home.

Frantic activity can often hide issues I’m afraid to look at, Father. I will be still to hear You speak. Amen

So also the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great things. How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire!       James 3:5

I don’t know anyone who respects a bragger. Whether a politician or a family member, the audience rolls their eyes. The boaster really believes that telling his stories will impress people. It does the opposite.

My roots go back to a small New England town. In that town of 1200, there lived a man named Louie. He was a family acquaintance; in fact, we grew up thinking he was family because my aunt and uncle took him in when he was thirty and he never left.  He was present at every family event.  Louie amassed a small fortune at others’ expense, and money and power were his gods. He won a local election that made him the town’s supervisor, and his ego grew to epic proportions. I grew up hearing him boast of his political victories.

Not surprisingly, Louie assessed a person’s worth by how much they loved him! If he was fawned over, he returned it with a buttery kind of speech that would make most people blush. Cross him, however, and you become an enemy. He was a narcissist. Ethically, he was bankrupt, and morally, he was dangerous.

In the end, he was ill, weak, and vulnerable. Those who surrounded him were scavengers, out to benefit from his will and estate. He could trust none of them. Those who clamored for his riches massaged his ego. What he had spent a lifetime building was ultimately left to two con artists, who spent all that he had left them in three years. Today, these two women are poor and worse off than before taking part in their get-rich schemes.

The man of integrity walks securely, but he who makes his ways crooked will be found out. It’s a Proverb worth remembering. Those who walk the crooked path will be exposed. Hidden sin has a way of surfacing, and dishonesty ultimately unravels. Integrity may not always look glamorous, but it is the only path that leads to lasting peace and honor.

Remove the anxiety of hidden things, and replace it with the deep security of a clean heart. Give me the peace that comes when I have nothing to hide. Amen

But you will not go out in haste, nor will you go as fugitives; for the LORD will go before you, and the God of Israel will be your rear guard.  Isaiah 52:12

You know the feeling of being blindsided, don’t you?  It is to be caught unaware, to be provoked from an unexpected position.  Adrenalin surges and there’s hardly time to be still in order to collect your thoughts.

A tiny virus blindsided the world in 2020 and no matter your opinion on Covid, we can agree that it wasn’t an army that took us down.  It wasn’t a weather disaster that decimated our landscape by force.  It was a microscopic enemy, invisible to the eye.

These are still moments for us to gather our thoughts.  We are in unprecedented times.  God’s promise through Isaiah is that we need never need flounder without purposeful thoughts guiding us.  The LORD has gone before us into the future.  The LORD is behind us, a rear guard, protecting the weaker ones who could be left behind to face the enemy alone.  He gives us wisdom to know where to walk.  He frames our thoughts with divine perspective and peace.  Whether internal or external, His promises of parental care are relevant.

Oh, it’s possible to turn elsewhere for advice. King Saul, when under pressure, didn’t consult God and turned to a medium for guidance.  It was careless, sinful, and brought about his death. This is the time for each of us to press in to the God of the Ages for instruction.  Isaiah also said, “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way.  Walk in it.”’  

God promises that we need never suffer the mindset of someone who went out in haste.  If you’ve ever left your house in a hurry, you know that you ended up not having what you needed.  Had there been deliberate planning, provisions would have been at your fingertips. Today, you and I are not fugitives on the run, scavenging to get our needs met.  We stop to breathe in the Spirit.  We look toward heaven and ask God to still our wildly beating hearts.  We ask Him to clothe us with the mind of Christ.  We look to His Word to illumine our next steps, to jump off the page with precise application.  If fragile emotionally, financially, and in any other way, Christ is gathering us from behind and keeping us together as His protected bride.  We are on course and are living for such a time as this.

Never have I been safer and more loved, Jesus.  Amen