Weeping and Walking—July 24, 2013

This has been the first really really encouraging week in a long time. I have finally felt refreshed and reconnected. As I wrote earlier this week, I was able to work through old hurts and gain freeing perspectives on pain that had tied me down for way too long.  Those changes are still simmering in my soul and starting to season my thoughts. Another aspect of this week was the two-day camping trip with my dear friend—complete with unintentionally matching swimsuits, car concerts, and a new favorite coffee place. We also managed to make new friends with the people camping behind us who needed our help to speedily pack up after an emergency on the river earlier that day. (Their friend/brother is okay after a near drowning, but they were all pretty shaken up). In the midst of dusty drives, windy nights, and exploring Atticus coffee (too bad its 5 hours away) I began to look ahead and to find peace with the past—from years ago and just a few months.

Something that always amazes me is the knack God has for dropping specific books into my lap when I need to read them the most. This week I visited one of my favorite used book stores and providentially picked up the study “Ruth—loss, love & legacy” by Kelly Minter. I am only on day three—and we’re only 14 verses into the first chapter—but already I have been reminded of what a course in college I took on Ruth and Judges taught me—namely, that Ruth is a book full of God’s providential hand. He is rarely mentioned, but his circumstantial provision in the lives of Ruth and Naomi is practically shouted in every verse. Now, their story doesn’t start out in a way that we would see as “providential”—they are in a famine, move away from home, Ruth marries Naomi’s son; then all the men die, and a bitter Naomi decides to go where the blessing seems to be resting now—back home.  At this point in the study Minter talks about seasons of weeping. She remarked that each woman had the choice to weep forward or backward. Orpah chose to weep backward—to her old home and family, while Naomi and Ruth wept forward—they continued to journey to Judah. I had never noticed how they wept while they walked. They trudged forward not denying the grief of their circumstances or masking or even giving themselves over to it. They were real in their brokenness and I think that is what freed them to walk. The weeping gave them permission to move, it was the simple act of acknowledging their grief and living it that allowed them to breathe, to step.

This hit home for me. It’s not wrong to weep, to mourn, to feel the pain of this world. But I’m not called to stay there. I will miss so much before me—much like Orpah did—if I only look to the past. As new and scary things are on the horizon—most notably, an intense year of graduate school; it is important for me to weep while walking. I will never forget the friends and family I lost this year, nor the many experiences in Kenya—but I must continue to walk forward