Naomi's Story (Ruth 1)

 

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.