Seedlings
Summary: The curse of the Moabites lay in one widow's panic; their redemption in another widow's faith. And their children were the proof of their deeds...
They had fled the town of Sodom. They lay crouched in the cave, hearts beating, as if they expected the desolation to follow. The youngest girl clung to her older sister, tears still streaming down her face. The older girl had only stains on her pale cheeks; she had cried all her tears. Instead, her mind was turning as she stared at the blackened stone around her. Mother was gone. Home was gone. All that was left was this miserable rock, and a life of who knew what.
Their father had fallen into a painful twitching sort of daze. He looked at nothing, knew nothing. He simply moaned. He looked older than ever. Their guides had long left them, disappearing as easily as they had come.
The older sister swallowed back the bile in her throat. She hated the thought of them. They had brought it all with them, the destruction. There was no future for her now. For them, she realized, as she clutched her sister closer.
Mother, you were the clever one. You knew which man was right and which wasn't. You knew how to get the best cut of fabric and meats. You'd know what to do for us here. Now, I suppose I have to.
There weren't any children to think of, she mourned. No future at all.
"We have to think for ourselves, now," she whispered, and watched her father curl himself up into a ball.
"He's only a man," she kept repeating to herself all night long.
"But he's our father," her sister protested when she finally voiced the plan aloud. Their father slept in a corner, sleeping away the depression that ate at him.
"It's just the three us out here," she replied, in a strange sort of calm. "We have to live for ourselves now. And what would we have had in Sodom anyway? No man would have stayed with one woman, or any lover for that matter, but at least we'd have had a child or two."
"A child…" The little sister's eyes wavered as she kept her eyes fixed on their father. "A child," she repeated, voice hitching.
Older sister leaned in, feeling her own voice break. "It's worth it, isn't it? And it might do him some good. Keep his mind off mother."
Their father accepted the wine as easily as he accepted anything in his state. His daughters might have handed him a serpent, and he still would have taken it with the same broken expression. One drink, two drinks…he smiled a bit. Three drinks, four drinks…he was talking now, of old times, of silly things; nothing of importance.
She put her head to his shoulder. She put her hand to his chest. He seemed to have forgotten her entirely as the deed was done.
"We have to look after ourselves," she kept repeating to herself, sealing her heart and mind from the thing. "We must have a future."
And the child she gave birth to carried a future of fear, suffering, violence: the line of the Moabites.
The line of disgrace.
"I have to take care of myself now. I have to take care of myself." The ringing words were a crutch for the old woman. She had finally left her bed for the first time in days, had eaten the food her sons' wives had brought her. Ruth and Orpah knew how Naomi's mind never rested, so they were hardly surprised when she finally explained her plan.
"I'll go back to Israel. I'll return to my people." I'll return to what I knew. "I have to take care of myself now."
"We'll come with you." They loved her. There was no other way to explain what they
felt.
Naomi shook her head. "I have to take care of myself now. I have no more sons. There will be no children for you."
"No children…" Orpah's eyes welled with tears as the truth sunk in. Ruth's heart broke again as her dreams faded away; no child with her husband's laugh.
"There's no future," Naomi insisted. Orpah kissed her; Ruth barely listened as the two embraced and said farewell. Orpah's family would find her another husband. They would find her another future. The Moabites took care of their future.
But, there was a future, Ruth realized. Naomi took one weary step after another, she formed one word after the other, and never once looked back.
Ruth followed.
"I cannot give you children!" Naomi sobbed, leaning on her.
How could Ruth explain?
"Your God will be my God," she finally said, hoping Naomi would see.
No children, no future…only a slim hope.
And the child she bore to Boaz carried a future of salvation and love: the line of Judah.
The line of Christ.
For all eternity.