Don’t call me Naomi,
that means pleasant,
call me Mara,
because that means bitter.
Don’t call me
pleasant, call me bitter
don’t call me Naomi,
call me Mara.
Looking around,
being back,
I can almost
remember being Naomi, being pleasant.
Over there, that
tree,
I had my first kiss
with Elimelech there.
He even engraved the
tree with a heart and put are names within.
Seems silly now, but
I was so proud,
somebody loved me, I
loved somebody,
I wanted to tell the
world.
If I try to think
back
you know concentrate
really hard,
through the pain and
the sorrow,
I can nearly
remember what it felt like,
that kiss, that sense
of pride.
the feeling to love
and be loved.
But not quite.
Don’t call me Naomi
for that means pleasant,
call me Mara for
that means bitter.
That same tree,
years later I
remember my sons,
Mahlon and Chilion climbing up it.
Right to the very top.
They loved being out
and about,
around
this town, playing.
Up and down trees,
racing each other,
fighting – always
play fighting,
always up to
mischief.
The problem with
those boys was getting them in for their tea!
I was so blessed,
God had really
blessed me.
A husband, a wonderful
town to live in,
food to eat,
two wonderful sons.
What more could I
ask for…?
But don’t call me
Naomi for that means pleasant,
call me Mara for
that means bitter.
Just being back here
now,
smelling those old
smells,
breathing in the
air,
It’s not the same
else where you know.
In other places it’s
just….
well it’s just different.
Here I can almost
look back and remember being Naomi,
being pleasant.
Seeing the harvest
again,
The wheat, the
barley, the olives, the almonds and the grapes,
I can almost remember
the time before the famine,
the time I was happy
the time that God had
blessed me.
I can almost
remember that old wonderful life.
But now call me
Mara, not Naomi for I am bitter.
God almighty he’s
dealt bitterly with me.
I left Bethlehem
when those fields were empty and the famine was at its worse,
Well who wouldn’t?
Elimelech and I had
to feed the boys.
The house of bread
we know as Bethlehem was failing to feed us.
So we left our home
gave up the familiar
for the unfamiliar,
gave up the known
for the unknown
to live in Moab.
At least we had each
other.
Or so I thought.
We left to stay
alive,
And what happened in
Moab,
he died, God took
him from me.
Why? Why? Why?
Elimelech died.
Don’t call me Naomi
for that means pleasant,
Call me Mara for
that means bitter.
He had so much left,
he was a Dad, a
husband,
he was supporting
his family and he was taken from us
when we needed him
the most.
Why were we being
punished?
What had we done
wrong?
Why? God Why?
There we were
in a strange place,
on our own, just the
boys and me
dreaming of being
able to return home,
to grieve with
friends.
But we stayed,
we needed to eat.
At least I had the
boys.
With them there, I
still felt pleasant, I still felt blessed.
They grew up, turned
into good lads,
But I guess all mums
would say that about their sons.
They got married,
One to Ruth the
other to Orpah.
Nice girls.
Both were great
days,
Elimelech would have
been so proud,
I wish he had been
there.
But despite my
grief, my problems,
the waiting to
return home,
at least the family
name would live on.
Or so I thought...
10 years went by,
the famine
continued,
we remained in Moab.
10 years, I had lost
hope in ever returning home,
I had resigned
myself to forever being an alien in Moab.
Ruth and Orpah never
fail pregnant
which upset
everybody,
the boys, the girls
and me.
I was so desperate
to see the family name live on.
Most of all though,
I missed Elimelech.
It’s supposed to get
easier you know, but it doesn’t.
It got worse
the boys died,
both of them.
I was told once, I
don’t remember who by, there is nothing worse than losing a child,
I lost both…
Don’t call me Naomi
for that means pleasant,
call me Mara for
that means bitter.
Why God? Why?
What was my crime?
What had I done that
is so bad that deserves this punishment?
They had so much
left to do,
to become fathers,
to return home,
to grow old.
Why? Why? Why?
There I was a
stranger,
a foreigner,
unable to go home,
widowed, childless,
with two other
grieving widows.
Don’t call me Naomi
for that means pleasant
call me Mara for
that means bitter.
Slight hope.
God was not
punishing everybody,
just me.
The famine was over,
Bethlehem was the
house of bread again.
The fields were once
again alive,
seeds were
flourishing,
it was time to make
the long journey home.
I had come as a
family of four,
And I was returning
on my own.
Don’t call me Naomi,
call me Mara...
But more hope,
The girls came.
Orpah and Ruth they
joined me.
I don’t know why,
but they did.
I was pleased that I
would not have to say goodbye in Moab,
I was pleased
because I knew they would try to make me stay.
This way I could
send them on during the journey,
a life away from
Mara,
A life away from
bitterness.
Well this was my
plan…
But it did not work
out that way,
I am fast learning
that life never does.
I told them go back
to their mother’s house,
remaining with me
would only result in helplessness,
bitterness and sadness.
Well, what could I offer
them?
They had to go, and
in God’s name too,
He might bless them,
like he had
Bethlehem.
I wanted good things
for them.
They are really good
girls.
They would have
willingly endured widowhood for me,
childlessness and up rootedness
But I did not want
them to be like me.
For I was no longer
Naomi, I was Mara.
I kissed them
goodbye,
and we wept.
not like normal tears,
but...
I mean loud cries of
anguish,
We had been through
so much together,
lost so much.
And do you know
what?
They insisted on
coming.
Why? Why?
There was absolutely
no point,
they had to go home.
There was more
weeping,
More anguish as we
argued on which way the girls should go.
Home to men,
children and life
Or to Bethlehem with
me, Mara, the bitter one.
Finally Orpah
obeyed, I was so pleased.
After I kissed her
one last time
she turned crying
and started the long walk home.
But Ruth refused, I
begged, but she refused again,
as I kissed her
farewell,
she clung onto me,
like I had never been clung to before.
From that moment I
knew she was coming,
but I had to try and
stop her one last time.
Do you know I will
never forget those words she uttered in reply...
Ruth said:
"Don''t urge me to leave you or turn back from you.
Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay.
Your people will be my people and your God my God.
Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried.
Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely,
if anything other than death separate's you and me"
Why did she say
these things?
Why did she come?
Why did she care?
Why did she want to
be with me?
Could she not see
that I was now Mara, not Naomi?
I was no longer
pleasant, but I was bitter.
What could I offer?
And to choose my
God,
after what he has
done,
He has treated me
bitterly.
Ever so severely.
Why follow him?
Why come with me?
But there was hope.
Despite being Mara,
she wanted to be with me,
despite all that
happened, I was going, no, we were going home.
We got to the gates
of Bethlehem,
home.
The place was
stirred,
I think they
recognised me.
I heard talking,
Questions, gossip.
Is this Naomi? I
heard them ask
No it wasn’t.
It was Mara.
The person they
knew, Naomi,
The person who was
blessed, happy and pleasant,
She left with her
family,
she left with her
husband and her two sons in search of food.
Returning instead was
Mara,
a lady who had lost
her husband,
a lady who has
watched her two sons die.
A lady stricken by
grief.
No - I wasn’t Naomi,
I was Mara,
I was not pleasant,
I was bitter.
And now I am home in
the house of bread – Bethlehem…
I said a prayer that
moment…
As I looked at how
God had redeemed Bethlehem
Bought back the
smells, the fruit, and the harvest of yesteryear…
I prayed that he
would revive me – that I once again might be Naomi and not Mara
And I prayed for
Ruth,
that she would meet someone,
and be blessed and
have children…
And I knew if these
things were to happen…
I may be able to say
the words I have been unable to say for so long…
I would be able to
say:
Don’t call me Mara
for that means bitter
Call me Naomi for
that means pleasant.
Don’t call me Mara,
call me Naomi…
Now as I sit with my
beloved Ruth and her husband Boaz
and of course their
beautiful baby boy Obed.
I give thanks to God
for these blessings…
Yes, I grieve for my
losses and still ask the question why?
But somehow I know
that God has been with me always
Giving me signs of hope
that is seen with Ruth…
The sign of hope
that is Bethlehem…
And now I rejoice in
Obed…
Don’t call me Mara
for that means bitter
call me Naomi for
that means pleasant.
And I say a prayer
over Obed
That maybe Obed or
an ancestor of his may give a sign of hope to thousands and thousands of people
just like me…
That because of
those signs
because of things
that they have done,
people may also be
able to say these wonderful and glorious words…
Don’t call me Mara
for that means bitter,
call me Naomi for
that means pleasant…
Don’t call me Mara,
call me Naomi.
