Ruth 1:13

Letters to the Faithful - Ruth 1:13

Berean Standard Bible

would you wait for them to grow up? Would you refrain from having husbands? No, my daughters, it is much more bitter for me than for you, because the hand of the LORD has gone out against me.”

King James Bible

Would ye tarry for them till they were grown? would ye stay for them from having husbands? nay, my daughters; for it grieveth me much for your sakes that the hand of the LORD is gone out against me.

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To all those beloved in Christ Jesus, who have been called to walk not by sight but by faith, to the faithful in every land who trust in the promises of our God even when the path grows bitter, grace and peace be multiplied to you in the knowledge of our Lord and Savior, who works all things according to the counsel of His will. I write to you as a fellow sojourner, as one who knows both the taste of sorrow and the strength of divine hope. Let us now consider the poignant and powerful words spoken by Naomi in Ruth 1:13: “Would you therefore wait till they were grown? Would you therefore refrain from marrying? No, my daughters; for it is exceedingly bitter to me for your sake that the hand of the Lord has gone out against me.”

Here we see Naomi, a woman who has walked through famine, displacement, and devastating loss. Her husband has died. Her sons, too, have perished. She is now left with two Moabite daughters-in-law, in a foreign land, with no earthly reason to hope for restoration. And from this place of deep grief, she speaks—raw, honest, broken. “It is exceedingly bitter to me,” she says, “that the hand of the Lord has gone out against me.”

Let us not pass too quickly over the weight of her words. This is not merely personal sorrow; it is theological anguish. Naomi is not accusing some abstract fate—she is naming the Lord. She believes that His hand has turned against her. And yet, though her understanding is incomplete, her confession is sincere. She still believes God is sovereign. She has not forsaken His existence, but she is grappling with what that sovereignty looks like in the face of loss.

There are many in the body of Christ today who find themselves in Naomi’s posture—standing at a crossroads of despair and faith. They know the Lord. They have walked with Him. They believe in His promises. And yet, life has dealt them blows so deep that they begin to question: “Has the Lord turned His hand against me?” These are not the questions of rebellion, but the cries of lament. And the Scriptures, in their honesty, give us room to lament. They do not censor the cries of the brokenhearted. Instead, they record them with compassion and sacred attention.

Naomi, in her moment of pain, urges her daughters-in-law to turn back. She cannot see a future for them if they stay with her. She cannot imagine sons in her womb who would redeem their lineage. Her perspective is shaped by what she sees—or more accurately, by what she cannot see. And yet, in this very passage, we see the grace of God beginning to unfold, not through Naomi’s plan, but through her brokenness.

The great irony and beauty of this story is that Naomi’s words, though uttered in sorrow, are spoken on the threshold of redemption. She cannot yet see that Ruth, one of the daughters-in-law she urges to leave, will become a vessel of divine promise. She does not yet know that her own story, so full of grief, will soon be woven into the story of King David—and even more, into the lineage of Christ Himself. From this low place will rise a line of kings. From this bitter season will come eternal blessing. And such is the nature of the God we serve: He works through weakness, redeems through suffering, and reveals His glory in the places we least expect.

Beloved, do not despise your bitter seasons. Do not believe the lie that God’s hand against you means His heart has turned from you. The hand that allows pain is often the same hand that prepares restoration. We serve a God who does not waste suffering. He bends even the hardest circumstances toward the fulfillment of His purpose. But often, we cannot see it until we look back. Naomi could not see it in Moab, but Bethlehem was not far off. Ruth’s loyalty, quiet and unassuming, would become the hinge of history. And Naomi’s honesty, though bitter, would make room for grace to unfold.

There is also a word here for those who, like Ruth, are walking alongside the suffering. Ruth chose to stay. She chose to cling to a woman who had nothing to offer her. She chose to walk with someone who was grieving, even when that grief seemed to have no end in sight. This is the call of true covenant love—not to abandon those who are bitter, but to walk beside them until their hearts are restored. The Church must learn to be Ruth to the Naomis among us. We must not grow weary of walking with the brokenhearted. We must not shame those who grieve. We must cling to them in faith, believing that the God who is silent for a season will yet speak, and that the One who wounds also binds up.

Practically, this means we must resist quick fixes in the face of sorrow. We must let people grieve. We must sit with them in their confusion and hurt, not with platitudes but with presence. We must remind them—not always with words, but with faithfulness—that God is not finished. That even when His hand feels heavy, His heart is still kind. That the story is not over, and that redemption is still coming. For the cross looked like abandonment, but it was the doorway to resurrection. And so, too, the bitter moments of our lives may become the birthplace of God’s greatest work.

Naomi's lament was not the end of her story. It was the beginning of her return. She would go back to Bethlehem—the place of bread—just as the harvest began. She would find that the Lord had not forsaken her after all. She would hold a grandson in her arms, not born from her womb, but still a child of promise. And the women would say, “Blessed be the Lord, who has not left you this day without a redeemer.”

So let us hold fast, even in bitterness. Let us not deny the pain, but let us not be consumed by it. Let us trust that the Redeemer lives, and that He is working behind the veil. Let us believe that the places where we feel most empty may yet become the fields of grace. Let us walk with one another through the valleys, bearing one another’s burdens, believing for one another when hope runs thin.

And let us always remember that our Redeemer is not only for the strong, but for the weary. He is not only for the victorious, but for the broken. He is not only for the rejoicing, but for the grieving. And in His perfect timing, He turns mourning into dancing, sorrow into singing, and bitter beginnings into blessed ends.

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ChatGPT said:

O Sovereign and Everlasting God, Father of all comfort and source of every hope, we come before You in reverence and humility, lifting our hearts as those who, like Naomi, have known seasons of sorrow, confusion, and deep grief. You are the God who sees us when we are full, and You are the God who does not abandon us when we feel emptied by life. You are the God of Naomi in her bitterness, the God of Ruth in her loyalty, the God of redemption even when the way forward feels lost in shadow. We bring before You today the weight of Ruth 1:13, and in these ancient, aching words, we find the cry of many hearts: “Would you therefore wait till they were grown? Would you therefore refrain from marrying? No, my daughters; for it is exceedingly bitter to me for your sake that the hand of the Lord has gone out against me.”

Lord, we do not come to You pretending to have answers for every question. We do not hide our wounds behind the veil of religious pretense. Like Naomi, we speak truth from where we are. We confess that at times, life feels exceedingly bitter. Plans collapse. Loved ones depart. Hopes fade. Futures seem sealed off. And in those places of loss, O Lord, we wonder if Your hand is still with us, if Your heart still hears us. We see Naomi speaking not with rebellion, but with grief. She is not turning from You—she is crying to You, even in her confusion. Teach us, O God, to pray like this—not with polished phrases, but with honest hearts.

Help us, Father, not to run from our sorrow, but to bring it to You. Help us to see that You are not offended by our lament, that You do not despise our honesty, that You do not turn away from those who cry out in pain. You are the God who stores every tear in a bottle, who hears even the groans too deep for words. You are patient with us in our weakness, kind to us in our questions, and faithful even when we cannot yet perceive Your hand.

Lord, we know there are times when Your hand feels heavy. We do not deny the weight of sorrow. We do not minimize the sting of loss. Naomi's words echo through our own circumstances: “The hand of the Lord has gone out against me.” And yet, what she did not know—what she could not yet see—is that Your hand was still guiding her, not in wrath, but in redemptive purpose. The famine, the loss, the grief, the journey—none of it was wasted. You were working, even in the silence. You were sowing seeds of restoration even in Moab’s soil. And so we ask You, Lord, in our moments of not understanding, to anchor us in faith—not faith in our circumstances, but faith in Your character.

Father, when the story seems too broken to be healed, remind us that You are the God who writes beauty into brokenness. When the future seems closed off, show us that You are the God who opens doors no man can shut. When we feel that nothing good can come from our pain, teach us to wait for the day when You will bring forth joy from our mourning. You, O Lord, take what was meant for evil and work it for good. You do not erase the sorrow, but You redeem it. You do not silence our lament, but You transform it into praise.

We pray for those, Lord, who like Naomi, feel too empty to move forward. For the widow who mourns alone, for the parent who buries a child, for the family shattered by loss, for the weary soul crushed by unfulfilled dreams—let them know that they are not forgotten. Let them know that You are not finished. Let them hear the whisper of Your Spirit saying, “Return, for I have not left you without hope.”

And we pray also for the “Ruths” among us—those who walk beside the hurting, who cling to the grieving, who do not turn away when bitterness rises. Strengthen their resolve. Fill them with compassion. Let them be ministers of Your presence, just by staying. Let their steadfast love become a living testimony of Your enduring mercy. Let their faithfulness open doors for redemption, even when they cannot see what You are preparing.

Lord, let us as a Church become a refuge for those who, like Naomi, return home weary and broken. Let us be a people who do not rush others through their grief, but who make space for mourning and healing. Let us walk with one another through the valleys, bearing one another’s burdens, speaking life over each other, reminding one another that the story is not over.

You, O God, are the Restorer of life. You brought Naomi back from bitterness to blessing. You gave her a grandson born from Ruth—whom she once urged to leave—and in that child, You birthed the line of David, the lineage of Christ. Out of bitter loss, You brought eternal promise. From the ashes of sorrow, You raised up salvation. So we say, even in our pain, blessed be the name of the Lord.

Give us grace to trust You even when we do not understand. Give us courage to return to Bethlehem—the place of provision—even when we feel empty. Give us eyes to see Your hand, not as our adversary, but as our Redeemer’s guide. And give us faith to believe that no sorrow is too deep, no heart too bitter, no loss too great for Your mercy to transform.

You are the God who meets us in Moab, walks with us on the road, and welcomes us home with a harvest of hope. Let Your name be praised in every season—when the heart is full and when the soul is heavy. For even when we say, “The Almighty has dealt bitterly with me,” You are still preparing redemption just over the horizon.

In the name of Jesus Christ, our kinsman-redeemer, the one who suffered our griefs and bore our sorrows, the one through whom every bitter story can find a blessed end, we pray.

Amen.