He knows my name

When I was about six or seven, I asked my mother to give me a new name. I've always loved the name "Teresa," but that wasn't the issue.

We were Catholic and, as part of the process of confirmation--or simply a family tradition, I'm not sure which--children are given a special "extra" name from Scripture. I doubt I knew much about the symbolism, but what I did know is that both my older sisters had been given a "bible" name so I was jealously overdue to get mine too.

My mother seemed taken back by my asking, as I recall, and I wondered if she had forgotten about me (now I bet she had just lessoned her grip on the formal nuances of organized religion by that time). Either way, she obliged, and scoured the Bible with me. I was thrilled to be a part of choosing my name. We sat down by the large garden window, huddled near the heating vent as she flipped through options, sharing with me glimpses of the amazing things these women had done to be written into history.

(I was mainly interested in a name that sounded cool.)

"What about Esther? She was beautiful and brave."
"I am not an Esther."
"Eunice was Timothy's mother and very faithful."
"Yuck."
"Rebekah--she married Isaac--was bold and driven."
"Nope."

And then--I saw it.

I absolutely loved the way it rolled of the tongue, it was the most beautiful name I'd ever heard.
"Naomi."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive." And with that, my mother kissed on the forehead and declared me "Teresa Frances Naomi Ritter." Sweet, I thought to myself, it sounded awesome. She read me her story completely, but it was far from the heroic tale I may have expected:

In case you want a super summary--here goes mine:
Naomi leaves Moab. Her husband and two sons are killed. She is left with two daughters-in-law (pretty much a death sentence not to have a man around). She tells the women basically to get lost and get a life. Orpah leaves but Ruth swears to stay no matter what, to live with her always and even serve Naomi's God. Naomi and Ruth return to Moab in search of food. Naomi is bitter and old. Ruth is young and works to glean food from Naomi's rich relative, a legal "kinsman-redeemer." Naomi persuades Ruth to carefully woo him. Ruth succeeds, marries, bears a son and viola: Naomi's family line and her joy are restored in full. A bunch of babies later we get king David and the line of Christ, which is a really cool thing for Naomi to have on her resume.

But I still cringe when I read the part where she first returns to Moab and says "Don't call me Naomi, call me Mara, because the Almighty has made my life very bitter."

How could Naomi ever ditch such a beautiful name? Moreover, how could anyone with faith be so hopelessly mad at God?

The story of Ruth and Naomi has woven itself into my faith and sort of become a part of me. God has used this example again and again to restore my faith in Him, and here is why:

When Naomi basically says "call me bitter," she goes on to say "I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty." Again and again, I have experienced seasons in my life where I felt this way--empty. After my parents divorced. After I moved and felt so alone. After a death of a friend, another loved one's cancer diagnoses, and most recently, in a desert-dry season of depression. But here's the catch. As Naomi hissed the word "empty," Ruth stood quietly by her side. Ruth, God's gift to Naomi, the path to healing, redemption, her life-line. Naomi was never alone, and neither are we.

Again and again, God reveals his faithfulness and brings all things for the good of those who love him, often in ways that are miles away from our expectations.

For a whole dark season I lamented in pain that I had no one to help me because my friends were either gone or going through major depression or illness themselves. I was too mad at God to imagine a way out of this season with my faith intact.

Now quietly, patiently, God's plan has begun to unfold and reveal cracks of light I never expected. When I became so broken that I finally asked for Gods help, I realized help has been with me all along. Not in perfect friends, but in all the broken ones.

A friend who nearly lost her faith this year has provided me with incredible moments of laughter and empathy in our pain, and allowed me to examine faith freely. God came through.

A friend who was buried in shame took the courage to share with me, and in her path to healing she has lifted my head and shone light on some important steps in my own journey. God came through.

A friend raising her two kids, though also struggling with depression, is more social than I am and all this year has gotten me out and doing things. She has humbly allowed me to serve her family and carved away my selfishness and pride. God came though.

Now, I attend a weekly worship service full of broken and recovering addicts and people with many issues. I'm not addicted to drugs or alcohol, but I am human, and I have issues, and I am just as in need of a Savior.

It wasn't the perfect plan I had in mind to go through so much hardship this year, but it is God's perfect plan to see me through it. He remains faithful no matter what, like Ruth, He never leaves us. He continues to teach me that I do not need to "have it together" in order to live my life well and serve Him.

MB prayed this morning for God to "keep us safe" today, which is a great prayer, but it also raised an opportunity to share with her: God does not always keep us "safe" the way we want. He let a king throw Daniel's friends into a fire...but saved them from being burned so the king might believe in Him. He allowed Naomi to lose her loved ones...but redeemed her faith and joy and led to greater good.

He let me deal with a rough year and depression, nearly abandoning my faith in order to reveal his faithfulness and mercy and through Jesus restore my faith in Him completely. He knows my name. He knows my innermost thoughts, and the most miraculous of all things: he loves me completely.

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
2 Corinthians 12:9