Giving Our Final Mite

She willed her legs to carry her silently across the threshing floor, his sleeping form barely visible in the darkness of the night. With trembling hands, she reached for his cloak, uncovered his feet, and lay down.

The smell of barley filled her senses. Her racing heart began to settle: “Perhaps all would be well as Naomi said.”

Jerking awake, sensing something was amiss, Boaz’s sleep-filled mind finally registered the woman at his feet.

“Who are you?” he asked. (This is it!?! Not, “Whoa! Who let you in?” Or “What are you doing here?” Or even, “Don’t you know this is a bit risqué?” Did this thing happen often in his day? I can imagine today’s men expressing a bit more surprise at finding a strange woman lying at their feet.)

“I am Ruth, your slave,” she replied (Ruth 4:9a). (Stammered might be more like it.)

She presented herself to him, fully vulnerable. At that point, nothing was hidden from Boaz. By lying at his feet and asking for his cloak to be spread over her (Ruth 4:9b), Ruth’s intentions were clear; she wanted him to take her for his wife, to redeem both her, her mother-in-law Naomi, and her late husband’s land.

What if he had said, “No”? Worse yet, what if he had laughed at her gesture of servitude or lashed out in anger at her boldness?

The Ruth of 1140-ish B.C. took on incredible risk approaching Boaz in this fashion. She had much to gain if he responded positively, but the anxiety of putting herself out there, facing possible ridicule and abuse at the hands of a man she barely knew, must have been intense.

I have immense respect for Ruth. Her willingness to selflessly expose herself to help those she loved awes me—and convicts me.

We’ve all felt vulnerable at times in our lives. Some of us handle it better than others. Those of you like Ruth face your fears head on, believing that the gains are worth the risk.

If you’re like me, though, you try to avoid potentially uncomfortable situations if at all possible. We carefully orchestrate our life, putting a hedge of protection around our tender self-esteem. We gravitate to activities we are skilled in, draw close to those we know to be “safe,” and tend our hearts carefully. We wouldn’t be caught dead lying down at a virtual stranger’s feet, no matter how nice he might appear!

However, God doesn’t call His people to a life of comfort. He didn’t create us to live in perpetual safety. When we are content to remain in our own little sanctuary, we limit our usefulness. Our impact for the kingdom of God is severely curtailed.

I believe our sovereign Father gave us the examples of Ruth and Esther and so many other great women of the Bible to demonstrate the richness of a life lived boldly for Him. All of those women could have quietly remained in familiar roles as I prefer. Ruth could have chosen to remain with her mother and father, leaving Naomi to fend for herself and necessitating a different lineage to the Savior (Ruth 1); Esther could have chosen to remain silent when her people were threatened, resulting in their massacre (Esther 4–7); Abigail could have ran the other way instead of going out to meet David, pleading for his mercy and saving the lives of her family (1Samuel 25). They all would have led safe and relatively comfortable lives. In doing so, though, they would have missed their calling and the glorious rewards awaiting them.

God doesn’t promise that if we step out boldly we will never get hurt. What He does promise is that He will be right there, holding our hand through it all. When our hearts break, He will lovingly pick up each shard, piecing them into a mosaic stronger and more beautiful than the original.

Facing down our fears boils down to trust. Do I trust the Lord to be faithful? Do I trust Him to redeem painful situations? To repair my shattered heart? To carry me through the quicksand and over the rugged mountaintops?

Ruth, Esther, and Abigail trusted their entire beings to the Lord, not just a piece, not just their tough outer skin, but their tender inner self as well.

Opening up to the Lord’s leading, exposing ourselves to uncertainty and possible hurt, is a monumental act of faith. It involves giving the most vulnerable part of us, our final mite. But giving God free license to all, including that which we most closely guard, is also a supreme act of worship. It is truly clothing ourselves with Christ.

“Therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, I urge you to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God; this is your spiritual worship” (Romans 12:1, HCSB).

Has it been difficult for you to step out in trust, to expose yourself to potential hurts and difficulties? Do you find yourself walking gingerly through life, unwilling to let yourself care too much, unwilling to really put yourself out there—just in case? Perhaps the great women of the Bible can inspire you to worship the One who loves you most by giving your most valued possession, your heart, your all. You will be stronger and more beautiful for it.

Linking to Faith Barista’s February Faith Jam.