Daisies in Diaries 10- Lead me Back

Hello dear sisters, and welcome to Daisies in Diaries.

What we do here is very simple. We retell diaries that were never really written down, but could have been. These women from the Bible, from history, from the faith, lived real lives, went through real struggles, cried real tears, and made real choices.

So we take one moment from their story, and we imagine it in diary form to make it close, alive, and relatable. We picture what they might have thought, what they might have whispered, how they might have prayed on that day.

Each time we meet, we pluck one daisy, we open one diary, and we let their story speak into ours.

Tonight, the diary we are opening is from Naomi, wife of Elimelech. This entry is titled: Lead Me Back.

 

 

Daisies In Diaries 9: Lead Me Back

Tomorrow, I start the journey back to Bethlehem. Hmmmmm…

I have had to keep saying these words, trying to convince myself that the time is just right.

Bethlehem.

Bethlehem, the town I left behind. The people I left behind. The land I abandoned when things became hard.

Sometimes I wonder how different my life would have been if I had not let fear guide my steps years ago.

I can still remember the day the famine became too heavy for my heart to bear.

Elimelech came home completely worn out, his shoulders slumped, his eyes dark with worry. We had listened to the crying of our hungry children for weeks. The wells were drying. The fields looked like cracked skin under a harsh sun. And I was afraid. Truly afraid.

I should have held him close and reminded him of Yahweh’s faithfulness. I should have prayed with him and said we would not leave the land of our fathers no matter what the famine said. Instead, I said words I wish I could pull back from the air.

I said, “Elimelech, maybe we should go. Maybe it is wiser to leave before we lose everything.”

I still see his face when I said it. He did not jump up or grab our bags. He only stared at me, long and heavy.

I did not force him. But he loved me deeply, and he loved the boys. He took my fear into himself. He let my trembling become the reason we packed up and walked away from Judah.

 

 

I thought we were escaping death.
I thought Moab would be kinder.
I thought a foreign land with full markets would ease the worry on my husband’s brow.

I thought that would save our sons and give us the life of our dreams.

But diary, now I know better.

Now I know that not every open door is Yahweh’s leading.

Not every easy road is safety.

And not every land with food is a place one should call home.

.

.

.

Moab did not kill us in a day. It took its time. It stripped us little by little, season by season, until all that remained was a shell of the family I once knew.

The first blow came with Elimelech.

I remember that morning clearly. The sky was a strange color, like it could not decide whether to rain or burn.

My husband had complained the night before that he felt tired, but we both assumed it was the strain of work, the worry of providing for us in a foreign land, the weight he carried for us.

When he lay down that afternoon to rest, I did not think anything was wrong. I even stepped outside to grind grain for supper.

But when I came back, his eyes were closed in a way I had never seen. On a closer look, there was no rise in his chest. I touched him and cold had already begun to settle in his fingers.

I shook him.
I prayed over him.
I called his name again and again.

Nothing.

My Elimelech, the man who had held my hand through famine, the father of my sons, the one who always whispered, “Yahweh will provide,” when my heart trembled, gone.

Just like that.

Moab took my husband from me.

I wailed that night until my voice cracked. I sat on the ground for hours. I held his robe against my face, trying to breathe in whatever scent of him was left. My boys sat beside me, too stunned to cry at first, then breaking into sobs when the truth settled in.

The sons that were supposed to be my comfort became my caretakers. They tried to be strong for me. They tried to fill their father’s place. They tried to smile when they saw me looking at them with grief still fresh in my eyes.

But losing a husband changes a woman, dear diary. It empties a place inside her that no son, no friend, no neighbor can fill.

Years passed, and still, Moab was not finished with me.

Next came Mahlon.
Then Chilion.

Both boys… both… oh Diary, how does a mother write this without her hands trembling? How?

Mahlon had been sick for a while. Chilion tried to hide how tired he was becoming. My daughters-in-law, Ruth and Orpah, helped me care for them. They fetched water. They stayed awake through the nights with me. They cried when I cried.

But the sickness did not care about our tears. It did not care about my prayers. Moab took my sons just as it took my husband.

Two funerals.
Two graves lying side by side.
Two young wives standing behind me with swollen eyes.

I remember sitting in the dust beside those graves long after everyone left. I remember asking Yahweh if this was punishment.

I asked Him if I had dragged my family into danger by coming here.
I asked Him if staying in Bethlehem through the famine would have saved them.

Sometimes silence from heaven feels like the worst kind of answer.

After the burial days were over, the house felt unbearably empty.

No footsteps.
No laughter.
No male voices.

Just three widows sitting in a foreign land with nothing ahead of us except more hunger and more sorrow.

.

.

.

Right now, I do not know what awaits me in Bethlehem. I do not know what I am going back to, or who will still remember me, or what kind of life is waiting there for a woman who left full and is returning empty. But one thing I know is that my Redeemer is there. That is the land He gave our fathers. That is the place He told us to dwell. That is where His name is honoured. And that is where I should have remained.

Oh Diary, how I wish I had stayed.
How strange it feels to write these words aloud.

How can a family of four become a family of one in such a short time?

What progress have I truly made in this land?

Yes, we bought a bigger house.
Yes, we planted in fields that looked promising.
Yes, we tried to begin again.

But what is a big house without laughter?
What are broad fields when the ones you love are no longer around to work them?

This house is vast now, but every corner feels hollow. Every room echoes with memories I cannot bear to touch.

Nothing here comforts me.
Nothing here feels alive.

So why should I remain?

When I first told my daughters-in-law that I was going back to Bethlehem, I expected them to nod quietly and begin to pack their own belongings. I thought each of them would remember she still had youth, family, and a future in Moab.

Instead, they both held onto me as if their lives depended on it.

Ruth and Orpah both said they would return with me. They said it with such sincerity it shook me. They cried and told me they would not let me walk alone. I felt the weight of their love, and it almost broke me.

 

 

For a moment, I faltered. I wondered if I was doing the wrong thing by urging them to stay. But I knew what Bethlehem held for them. Absolutely nothing.

No husband.
No inheritance.
No guarantee of a future.

I could not drag two young widows into a life of uncertainty.

I begged them.
I told them there was no hope with me.
I told them to go and find their lives again.

Orpah wept until her whole body shook. She kissed my cheeks again and again, whispering words of gratitude and grief.

She helped me fold garments.
She moved through the house one last time, touching the places that held memories of her husband.
Then she took the framed piece of cloth Mahlon had embroidered for her and pressed it to her heart.

After that, she left.
Turning back so many times I lost count.

Even now, writing this, I feel the ache she left behind. But I also felt relief. A quiet, painful, necessary relief.

But Ruth… Ruth stayed by my feet like a shadow that refused to lift.

When I turned to her and said, “Ruth, go with Orpah,” she shook her head.

When I reminded her that I had no more sons to give her, she took my hands in hers.

When I told her she was young and deserved a new life, she looked at me with such fire in her eyes that I trembled.

She said, “Where you go, I will go. Your people will be my people. Your God will be my God.”

Her words struck something in me that had long been asleep.

I felt Yahweh’s mercy even in my grief.
I felt Him saying, “Naomi, I have not left you completely.”

Dear Diary, Ruth is a gift I never expected.

A daughter who was not born from my womb, but maybe from my sorrow.

A young woman who speaks peace to the storm inside me.

A comfort I do not deserve.

I do not know why Yahweh allowed us to come to Moab.
I do not know why He let my family break apart like dry stalks in a harsh wind.

But I know this. Even in my foolishness, He left me one small flame to carry on the journey.

Tonight, as Ruth sleeps at my feet, I feel the weight of everything I have lost.

My husband.
My sons.
My joy.

My name. Naomi. Pleasant.
It feels like a cruel echo.
Nothing about my life feels pleasant. Everything about me feels bitter. That is why I keep saying I should be called Mara. That is the name I will introduce myself by when we arrive home.

Yet I do not want Ruth to inherit my bitterness.
I do not want my sorrow to stain her life.

But this girl is determined.
She says Yahweh is her God now.
She says she would rather die beside me than return to Moab’s idols.

And so, Yahweh, here I am tonight.
One last night in Moab.
One last night in a house that holds more graves than memories.

Tomorrow, I will turn my face toward Bethlehem once again.

I am tired, broken, empty… but I am returning.

Returning because no journey in the wrong direction should continue forever.

Returning because You still whisper when I am quiet enough to listen.

Returning because home is not a place of convenience but a place of covenant.

I do not know what the future holds.

I do not know what the women of Bethlehem will say when they see me.

But Yahweh, I place my trembling hand in Yours.

 

Lead me back. 

 

 

Lessons from Naomi’s Diary

1. We can never be wiser than God. As women, we must cultivate the lifestyle of seeking God’s mind before we make both big and small decisions. If Naomi’s family had sought God’s will about their move to Moab, their story will be different. 
2. As women, we must always recognise that God is the one writing our story. Even when we go off course, the moment we can trace back our steps and reroute into God’s ordained plans for our lives, things may never be as they originally were supposed to be but we certainly will see the depth of God’s love for us, still. 
3. When we are going through the toughest moments of life, take a pause to look around through God’s lens, we will see we are never without comfort. God did not leave Naomi comfortless, He provided her a Ruth.
4. Naomi was in a foreign land, away from her roots in Yahweh, still she did not compromise her believe in Him. Her two daughters-in-law would rather be with her even after the death of their husbands because they saw the God of Israel in Naomi. She won Ruth’s heart for Yahweh.
5. We can learn from Naomi and Ruth that it is possible to have a cordial relationship with one’s husband mother and son’s wife. This is one fundamental lesson Naomi and Ruth teach and we must learn from them. 

 

Rounding Off:

And here, sisters, we close today’s diary. What a fragrance it has left with us!

Do you want to read more diaries? Read other Episodes of Daisies in Diaries Here

Until next time, when another story unfolds, may your own life and mine also become a diary that whispers God’s faithfulness to generations after us.