Ruth, Preacher to Prophets
Part 3: Meeting Boy Samuel
Mom! Mom!” yelled Obed, Ruth’s eleven-year-old son.
“In here,” said Ruth. She continued kneading flour, expecting that once again something trivial overexcited her boy.
“There’s a corpse by the stream!” yelled Obed barging in.
“Don’t yell, your father’s—What?!” Ruth whipped around. Her dough flung onto the ground.
“I didn’t touch it, I swear. It—it—I came back ‘cause, he—I. . .” Obed was hyperventilating. Fear stretched his face. His eyes were wide; his mouth agape; his nostrils flared. His curly hair seemed to cower.
Ruth regathered herself. A dead body had scared her son. Now, her own impulsive reaction frightened him further. He probably thought he was in trouble. “It’s ok, Obed. Come here.” Mother hugged her son. Obed was shivering. “Come. Show me. . . It’s ok, Obed. I promise. God gives life and takes it. There is nothing to be afraid of. You’re not in trouble. You did good.”
Ruth investigated. Obed trailed behind, hiding in her dress. He struggled to point directions to the corpse. He gripped his mother’s arm to the point of plucking hairs. When they reached the crest of the ridge, they could see the stream below. Obed froze and pointed towards a thicket of reeds.
After scanning, Ruth saw a small foot. Her eyes collapsed. She held back tears. A child was dead, and her son saw. She caressed her son. “Stay here.”
Ruth stepped through the stream. The closer she got the more her hopes rose. She reached an armlength. The young boy was sleeping!
“Heyy” said Ruth gently. The boy stirred in the slightest. He was deep in sleep. “Time to wake up.”
Stirring became rustling. The boy sleep-talk-groaned “Mom.”
“Time to wake up,” said Ruth. She gingerly touched his dirty toes.
“Don’t touch it!” yelled Obed.
Obed’s yell shocked the boy awake. The boy panicked deeper into the thicket, trying to escape, but tangling himself. The reeds scraped red lines through his dirt-caked, trembling arms and legs. Red-rimmed eyes were painfully lost. Terror locked his eyes into Ruth’s.
Obed shrieked from yards away. “It’s a zombie!” Ruth snapped fingers behind her back for Obed to be quiet. Her kind eyes stayed with the petrified child.
“Hi,” said Ruth.
Her warm smile didn’t assuage the boy. His hands and feet scrambled for leverage, but Ruth was blocking the only way out.
“Are you hungry?”
The question refocused the boy but didn’t dispel his suspicion.
“Dinner’s ready. So, it’s time to come inside.”
The boy’s chest panted.
Ruth disengaged back over the stream to her son. “It’s rude to be late,” said for the boy to hear.
Ruth waited with Obed over the ridge. She corrected Obed that the child wasn’t dead, rather simply sleeping. She told him to quiet down, but Obed couldn’t control the volume of his questions, speculations, and insults. The threat of telling Obed’s father about Obed’s disobedience finally silenced her son.
After ten minutes, the strange boy peaked over the ridge. His long black hair was more tangled and flowered more than reeds he had slept in. Obed asked a rude question, and the boy retreated. Ruth chastised Obed and told him to go home, but he didn’t listen.
Ruth spoke to the hiding boy. “Fine. You can go to bed without dinner, but you better not wake me up in the middle of the night complaining you’re hungry!” Ruth stood to posture that she was heading home. She corralled Obed who wanted to stay. She stepped with little movement and looked over her shoulder. The boy peaked his head again. Ruth said, “I’m tired of you boys not listening! Come now, or, Obed. . . I’ll get your father.” She prayed an authoritative threat would work.
The strange boy summitted the ridge. Now Ruth clearly and fully saw the boy’s emaciated state. His calves were as thin as his arms. His feet were shoes of mud even though he had to step through a stream minutes ago. He was missing a fingernail.
He wore a haggard linen tunic, but it wasn’t an ordinary child’s tunic. Tears in tunics were ordinary for any boy, but the amount of his clothes’ disrepair was unsettling. Also, it was a different style. The tunic was priestly.
Obed sprinted to the boy who froze up. Obed stopped short on a dime. “What’s your name?”
The boy stuttered, “Samuel.”
“Why are you so dirty?”
Ruth yelled, “Come on boys!” and she walked normally back home. She listened to her son’s enthusiasm and Samuel’s shyness.
“I’m eleven,” said Obed. “How old are you?”
“Ten,” said Samuel.
“I’m older than you.”
“I’m eleven in two more moons though.”
“Still, I’m older,” said Obed. “You were dead.”
“No, I was sleeping!”
“It’d be cooler if you were dead, and then—‘cause then you—you’re not dead.”
“You can’t die and then be alive again!”
“I know that! That’s why it’d be cool.”
Ruth smiled at the boys’ bonding. It distracted from the bigger picture. . .temporarily at least. Regardless, what the boy needed now was a home.
- - -
“You can have that tunic. I don’t like it anymore anyway,” said Obed to a freshly washed Samuel. Samuel slouched defensively at the dinner table. His clean hair was proven jet black; mud and grime hadn’t dyed it before. Its fullness, lushness, and sheen made Ruth envy youth and ponder the physical sacrifices of motherhood.
“Obed,” said Ruth, “Get Samuel another cup of milk.”
“Mom!” complained Obed, “He’s already had two! There won’t be any left for me.”
“Quiet. Listen. Do it.”
Obed flopped his head back distraughtly and dragged his body to obey. He shuffled his feet to the milk jar, and poured half a glass.
His mother knew without looking. Ruth said, “All of it.”
Obed flung his head back again, poured fully, and plopped the cup in front of Samuel who was trying not to cower impolitely. “You’re lucky. I only get, like, two cups of milk a week.”
“Thank you,” said Samuel.
“See!” said Ruth. “Why can’t you have good manners like Samuel, Obed?” Ruth brought plates of legumes and a bowl salt to the table. “The bread is almost ready. Eat this.” Ruth returned to the kitchen and overheard Obed trying share secrets with Samuel.
Obed snickered, “I love it when the bread isn’t ready until after. Then—‘cause then, we get to have honey with the bread. I don’t like dates and honey together. Well, it’s good, but bread and honey is better than bread and legumes. Like, soo much better.”
Ruth spoke from the other room, “Obed, tell your father dinner’s ready.”
Ruth joined the dinner table with her and her husband’s plate of legumes. Samuel had already licked his plate clean.
Boaz, Ruth’s husband and Obed’s father, asked, “Who’s this boy?”
Samuel trembled. Obed was about to ‘spill the legumes.’ Ruth spoke loudly over Obed to her hard-of-hearing husband, “It’s your nephew. . .” She conjured distant familial ties. Either Boaz’s pride or Ruth’s deception convinced Boaz. He was elderly, old enough to be the age of Ruth’s father’s older brother.
“Mom?” asked Obed, “Can I have bread and honey now?”
“After you finish dinner.”
“I did!”
“Well, you can’t. . .” Ruth moved to the kitchen. Obed moped and whined. Ruth returned with three items. “. . . because we’re having bread, honey, and raisins!”
“Yes!” cheered Obed. He reached for the dessert.
“Obed,” from his mother stopped him. “Manners.”
Obed passed the dishes to Samuel. Samuel took only bread and honey. Obed said, “You forgot the raisins.”
Samuel meekly said, “I—I don’t like raisins.”
Father Boaz guffawed. “Like a holy man! None in our line are holy men, but we can still—” Boaz coughed “—still live like them.” (At this time, Israelite priests avoided grapes in all forms.)
Ruth asked, “Have you ever had raisins?”
Samuel looked at her desperately. He didn’t answer.
Ruth didn’t press the issue. Rather, she let the boys move the conversation onto small debates that children have about things heard of but not fully understood, yet still held firm with utmost confidence. Obed claimed birds’ feathers are magic. Samuel said they can fly because they are very light, like boats on water. Obed said lightning makes the noise of thunder. Samuel said it was the earth crying in pain. Obed said rain is God’s crying. Samuel said it was “backwards bubble” since Genesis taught the sky was the sea split apart by God for us to have land.
Ruth listened closely. Not many boys hold birds. Chickens, yes, but flying ones, no. Not many speak of the sorrow of God or the earth. Not many can read between the lines of Genesis. Tonight was not appropriate to interrogate though. Samuel needed safety, love, a meal, and sleep. He needed “ordinary.” He needed sufficient attention, but not pampering.
Ruth made Samuel clean the table and dishes. Then she sent he and Obed to bed.
- - -
Obed wanted to sleep in with Samuel, but Ruth sent him out to do his chores. Ruth waited in another room for Samuel to wake naturally. He rose five hours after the sun.
“Hi Samuel, are you hungry?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
Ruth gave him toiletries for the latrine and told him to return for breakfast. As he was eating, Ruth asked, “Who is your father?”
Speaking with his mouth full, Samuel said, “I don’t have a father.”
“Who is your mother?”
He swallowed and stopped eating. “I don’t have a mom too.”
“Everyone has a father and a mother. Did yours pass away?”
Samuel didn’t answer.
Ruth said, “Where did you come from?”
Samuel hesitated before saying, “North.”
Ruth gambled. She was confident, but it was still a gamble. “Shiloh?”
Panic slithered through Samuel. It confirmed Ruth’s guess. Shiloh was the land’s most holy site at this time.
She continued, “Don’t lie to me, child. You’re a disciple of the priests, right?”
Tears trembled in Samuel’s eyes. He nodded but didn’t speak.
Guilt stung Ruth, but she had to continue. “Who is your teacher?”
Samuel wouldn’t answer, but Ruth’s unbroken, unblinking eyes waited. Her stare trapped Samuel, like how he had been trapped in the thicket. Honesty was his only escape now. Eventually, Samuel admitted, “Eli.”
The name surprised Ruth. Eli was a pretty famous holy man. “You ran away from Eli? After he took you in when your parents died? Why?”
Samuel became nasty. “My stupid parents aren’t dead, but they should be! They left me at the temple for Eli when I was a baby. I hate them.”
“Don’t say that,” said Ruth.
Sadness overpowered anger. “I do! My stupid mom and dad come and visit once a year with some stupid robe that never fits me. I don’t even want to see them.” He began to sob. “Eli makes me. I don’t even remember what they look like. And, they bring their other kids and call them my brothers and sisters but everyone just looks at me like I’m a freak! I hate them all!” Tears streamed down Samuel’s face. He was about to wipe with his tunic, but chose to wipe with his long hair instead.
Samuel’s grief punched Ruth in the gut. It was infectious. Ruth wanted to bear hug Samuel. She wanted to take away all his sorrow. She wanted to adopt him. She wanted to rescue him. She wanted to show the beauty of life to a boy at risk of lifelong cynicism. However, he was too angry for touch. He needed to talk.
Ruth said, “Eli’s a good man. He has sons, older than you, but still. . . brotherly. I heard Eli is godly, like—”
Sobs had palpitated Samuel. He probably would’ve interrupted earlier, but it took time for him to gather himself. “Heard! Everyone always hears what they want to. They hear nothing! But still say it’s God’s word. They say whatever they want to. They get away with anything. Eli never stands up for me.” (Ruth struggled to pinpoint whom Samuel meant by “They.”) “They pick on me. They hit me and—and when I tell Eli, they say I was sleepwalking again.”
“Sleepwalking?” questioned Ruth.
“Yeah, they say I bumped into something stupid. But I don’t! They hold me down and hit me.”
“Why do they hit you?”
“Because they’re evil.”
Ruth wondered things, but continued, “Why do they say sleepwalking?”
Samuel glanced back and forth. He spoke as if afraid of ghosts hearing. “Because I dream.”
“We all dream.”
Samuel struggled to explain. He whispered quickly. “No—I—it’s different. I see God when I dream.” Samuel froze in fear as if demons heard. Silence lingered. Then, he said, “And they tell Eli that God is punishing me in my sleep for being bad, and I tell Eli that they hit me, and all Eli says is ‘listen to God.’ But I know what he means. He’s saying not to tattle tale. I hate them all. I don’t want to be a priest.” He began to cry again.
“Were you dreaming about your mom when I found you?”
Samuel nodded slowly. His sobs stopped, but tears still spilled down his face. He again wiped with his hair.
Ruth went to the kitchen and brought back raisins. “Eat something sweet. It’ll help.”
“I don’t eat raisins.”
Ruth interrogated, “But you don’t want to be a priest.”
“No,” whined Samuel, “I mean I don’t like raisins.”
“Ok,” said Ruth. “Your hair is too long for a boy not wanting to be a priest. Don’t you think? Here.” Ruth grabbed a knife and walked slowly towards Samuel, nonthreateningly.
Samuel bundled and guarded his hair. “No! I’m not allowed to cut my hair!”
“Why not?”
Samuel bobbed back and forth. He rapidly spluttered words as if they were the only remedy for repeated panic attacks. “No razor shall ever touch his head. No razor shall ever touch his head.”
“It’s ok,” assured Ruth. “I won’t do anything.”
Samuel stared at Ruth aggressively, fearfully. Ruth held a tender smile until he calmed down a bit. It took a minute until the aggression faded. However, a suspicious anxiety replaced it. He whispered, “They always threaten me with that.”
“I’m confused,” said Ruth. “You said you don’t want to be a priest, but you still follow the rules for priests?”
Samuel’s eyes looked up and around, pondering. “Can I live with you?” His face looked like it was a life and death decision.
Ruth struggled to keep her composure. It would not be good if she couldn’t be a stable, calmer presence. “If you want. But you’d have to lie like I did last night to my husband. Does God want you to lie?”
“No.”
“What do you want?”
Samuel’s lips quivered. “I don’t know!” His hair was insufficient to dry his eyes now. He used his tunic.
“Samuel,” began Ruth. “You are a very, very special boy. Any other priestly boy—or man!—would eat raisins and say they were being polite as their excuse. I’ve seen priests trim their hair and beards with knifes or sheers because the razor isn’t technically touching the head. You’re different. You see God when you dream! Very few even hear God, but you see Him! You might become the most famous priest ever. . . if you want to. Or, maybe, God is calling you even though you don’t want to. I don’t know, Samuel. I don’t even know what I want in this life. I don’t think anybody does. All I know is I want my son Obed happy and healthy. But, he’s old enough now, like you. Follow your heart. You’re too young to be afraid.”
Samuel’s attention was locked on Ruth like an infant finally seeing his mother.
Ruth said, “Do you want to be a priest?”
“. . . I don’t know.”
“What do you feel?”
“I—I feel like I need to serve God. And I want to do that.”
“Good,” said Ruth, “What’s stopping you? Eli? Or his sons, whatever their names are?”
“Yes,” said Samuel dejectedly. “They say I can’t because my parents didn’t—don’t—because they don’t love me, and—” Sobs returned in force. “And, so why would God love me?!”
Ruth wiped her own tears. “Oh, Samuel, they’re nasty to you because they know you’re a better priest right now at ten—almost eleven!—years-old than they could ever be.” Samuel’s curiosity spiked. Ruth continued, “Are they all perfect in Shiloh? Are you perfect? No! No one is. I think it helps you that they’re mean and that Eli doesn’t help you. Because now you have learned. You can be better. Tell me, what does Eli do for Israel?”
“He, uh, communtates [sic] with God and shares it for us.”
“Do his sons?”
“They say they do because they’re his sons.”
“See! Good! Right there,” said Ruth excitedly. “Who your parents are doesn’t matter to God. Your parents aren’t priests, but you still see God!”
“Ok.”
“Is Eli ever wrong?” asked Ruth.
“No.”
Ruth bent her head in disagreement.
Samuel flopped his body. “I don’t know.”
“Is he right to let his sons bully you?”
“No,” admitted Samuel.
“Then, he is wrong sometimes, right?. . . Earlier, you said that they hear and say whatever they want. What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” said Samuel.
Ruth said, “Samuel, stop. You do know. Stop saying you don’t. What did you mean when you said that.”
“Well, they, like—it’s always what they want. ‘What God says,’ I mean. They take the really good sheep and goats. They give money to their friends and stuff.”
Ruth asked, “Are Eli’s sons fat?”
Samuel laughed. “Yeah.”
“Is Eli?”
“No.”
Ruth knew of medicinal herbs that her (previously) pagan priests in Moab used to alter their mindsets. She knew holy men in Israel also partook. She asked, “Do Eli and his sons drink special tea for God?”
“Sometimes.”
Ruth asked, “What does Eli think of his sons when they drink the tea?”
“He’s happy when they all drink together, but the next day he doesn’t talk to them.”
“What happens. . . when they drink?”
“I don’t—” Ruth’s glare reminded Samuel to speak his mind. He opened up. “Sometimes they dance. Sometimes they mumble or yell into the sky. Everyone’s nice to me when they do it though.”
It clicked for Ruth. A father-priest Eli doubting his sons’ worthiness. A precocious, gifted, outsider boy with huge potential making the sons jealous. An Eli who should be teaching Samuel, but resisting because it would disqualify his sons’ future: understandably human, but still unfortunate.
She followed Samuel’s eyes. He was looking outside at Obed playing. “You’ll stay here for a little bit. I want you to. Now, go help Obed with his chores. Then, you two can play.”
- - -
Samuel stayed in Ruth’s home for a few weeks. Samuel and Obed raced mini boats down the stream. They built hidden forts in bushes. They set traps for hares. They snuck up on partridge nests. They dug for gold. They sold flowers in town. They trespassed in neighbors’ plots. They fought with other boys. Samuel slept soundly. He ate so much that he had the luxury of being a picky eater. Ruth was glad to be irritated by Samuel’s picky eating. It was better than true hunger.
Stressful thoughts about Samuel would pop into Ruth’s head: his sojourning with them, the dubious fake backstory, the bigger picture, religio-political implications, etc. Heat would flush through her body. Her breathing would become labored. Goosebumps would shiver her limbs.
Her story of Samuel as a distant nephew couldn’t last forever. The elite priests were probably looking for Samuel on their own. Would they thank Ruth for taking care of Samuel or punish her as a collaborator? She wasn’t alone though. Samuel’s subconscious was in sync with Ruth, if not ahead of Ruth.
One night, Obed quietly woke his mom because Samuel was sick. Ruth first thought Samuel had simply eaten too many dates with dinner. She grabbed a bucket, bread, and water to nurse him.
However, what she saw scared her. Samuel was in a sleeping trance on his back. His eyes were open, but rolled behind his head. Every muscle of his was flexed. His toes were separated from each other. His fingers splayed. His knees and elbows were locked. His jaw was clenched. His lips were stretched. He spoke airy sounds pushed through teeth and lips. Some sounds seemed like direct responses to Ruth, but most were as erratic as speaking in tongues.
Is this what his “dreaming” is?! thought Ruth. A discursive thought guilted Ruth: she could see why Eli’s sons bullied him. This was weird, scary. . . borderline cultic. He didn’t deserve bullying, but Ruth could understand why people would react so primitively.
Obed was scared to the point of crying. Ruth sent him to her son to sleep with his father. Ruth stayed for thirty minutes by Samuel. Her hand rested on his cold, seizing foot.
Samuel would “wake”, sit up, look around disoriented and terrified, then fall back down and resume “sleeping.” After twenty seconds of normal sleep, his groans would crescendo into another seizure-trance.
At one of Samuel’s “wakings”, Ruth guided him onto sleeping on his side. She cuddled him. Samuel shook and moaned for five minutes until finding peace through the night.
Samuel was different in the morning. It was as if he was sworn to secrecy by threat of death. But not his own death. He feared for Ruth and Obed. All he said was, “I have to go back.”
Ruth said, “Soon. There’s something I want you to see first.”
- - -
A judge of Israel was a leader who sprang up sporadically in times of need before kings had been anointed. Each had special characteristics. Samson is the most famous: herculean strength from uncut hair (which was cut by his seductress Delilah). Deborah was a charismatic wise woman who united the fragmented tribes. Gideon was a tactical genius, winning wars against thousands with only 300 men.
Presently, a new judge was rallying the Israelites against their newest enemy. In Bethlehem (where now Ruth lived and Samuel now drifted to), the local elders were pressuring young men to volunteer. The town square held a sendoff. Ruth took Samuel and Obed to watch.
There was an older boy who always smiled at inappropriate times. This boy also thought that groups of joyous people laughing were laughing at him. Everyone knew demons inflicted him (he was mentally ill), but the village elders and priests would not confirm it officially. If official, it would admit a demon lived among them.
This boy adamantly volunteered to join the military expedition. His father’s cries and mother’s clutches couldn’t constrain him. The parents begged the elders to reject their son.
The elders huddled, nodded, and waved the head village priest over. The priest joined the private conversation. His eyes bounced between the elders’ moving lips. The elders “deferred” to the priest, but the priest never spoke. The priest just stood there with blank eyes.
An elder spoke to the parents for the gathered village to hear. “With careful consideration and corroboration of God [he referenced the priest] it is confirmed he shall join the expedition. It is more than necessary; it is holy.”
The boy’s parents grieved. They relentlessly pleaded to and for their son. The sendoff ceremony continued. It stole the village’s attention from the parents. However, Ruth did not stop looking at the parents.
Obed was now watching the women dancers bouncing to the war drums’ rising beat. Samuel noticed Ruth’s ceaseless attention on the parents. He joined her in watching their grief.
The war drum dancing was buildup for the priests’ blessing. A smartly dressed woman with a gold headband brought forth a large bowl. The receiving priest smiled a bit too familiarly to her. She left the stage with an interesting grin.
The dancing women writhed through the square. Their moves accentuated their figures. Usually covered skin was now revealed. It was considered ok because this was holy. The volunteer soldiers shuffled around in their ranks. Younger boys in the crowd became excited when the dancers got close. Wives glared their husbands’ gazes into the ground.
Each priest spoke an unheard prayer. Drums drowned out their voices. They waved a bundle of herbs or a bowl of spices flamboyantly before spiking them into the bowl. The head priest mixed the contents, drank, and passed to the next priest to indulge. On cue, all the priests began vibrating, mimicking seizures. A few joined the sporadic dance with stomps and shouts.
Then, the crescendo of drums ceased abruptly. The head priest said, “We have seen victory! Onward!” A procession of priests, elders, soldiers, and villagers marched out of town.
Ruth shook her head and didn’t stop until she knew Samuel had seen her disapproval.
- - -
That night at dinner, Ruth’s husband Boaz asked about the sendoff. Ruth quieted Obed and Samuel’s side conversation so that Samuel would listen.
Ruth said, “You know that Malech boy? The one cursed with demons? He volunteered. Awful, just awful. His parents begged the elders but they did nothing.” Ruth looked Samuel in the eyes. “Why didn’t anyone stand up for him? To the elders?”
Boaz said, “Did they confer with the priests?”
Ruth looked back at her husband. “If you could call it that. He just stood there and said nothing. Truly tragic.”
Boaz said, “Hmm. Probably focused on the seer blessing.”
Ruth said, “That was a joke. All of it was staged. They had dancing girls to distract, and they drank their tea, but it was all for show. They already knew what they wanted say.” Ruth locked eyes with Samuel again. “It’s abuse of holy ritual. They did it only to look cool. They claimed to hear God, but they didn’t take the time to listen. They didn’t think hard or deep. They abused their priest position with God. They abused revelation.”
Boaz said, “I have a revelation.” He farted. He, his son, and Obed laughed. Ruth couldn’t hold back her own smile for the children’s humor.
- - -
“Please, mom, can I go with Samuel? I’ll come right back.”
“No, Obed, it is Samuel’s journey,” said Ruth.
“I’m older than him though!”
“It doesn’t matter. Now, say your final goodbyes, and go do your chores.”
Obed and Samuel bade farewell with teases and hugs. Obed left back to the house, but not without a final tease yelled from afar.
Ruth smiled with Samuel. “I hope I live long enough to see you become a man.”
Samuel’s shoes fiddled with the dirt. “Yeah, me too.”
Ruth laughed. “Promise me you’ll be brave. That you will speak up to people stronger and scarier than you. Nobody knows exactly what they’re doing, including wise elders, so when you feel something, say something.”
“What if I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“You pray, you meditate, you think, and you decide. It isn’t easy, Samuel.”
“Yeah. . .”
“People listen to holy men, so don’t take advantage like your wicked big stepbrothers.” Ruth said this in a funny voice.
Samuel laughed. “Eli’s going to be super mad at me.”
“Maybe,” said Ruth. “But you have experienced so much in your life already. More than most people ever do. And you will experience more going back. This is what brings wisdom. The tea Eli drinks sometimes. . . it helps, but don’t abuse it like you saw the other day. Promise me. . . Samuel? Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“But, yes, Eli might be mad, but you now have more knowledge and wisdom from running away and going back. Show him what you’ve learned. Follow God. Follow your dreams. Follow your feelings. You know what it’s like to be bullied. Don’t let others be bullied. You know what it is to be scared. Help others see God is with them so they don’t have to be scared. Show Eli what you’ve learned. And show him with confidence! You have it! Show him what God’s Torah really means for us. Show him that you know you are worthy because, I’ll tell you, Samuel. . . He and I both already know you are. I know you can do it.”
Ruth wondered how much of what she said stuck. There are some things that cannot be taught. However, hope quickly and easily eradicated Ruth’s doubt.
Samuel only responded, “Ok.” The silence lingered. “What’s the name of this town again?”
“Bethlehem.”
“Beth-he-lem,” repeated Samuel.
“Close enough,” chuckled Ruth.
Samuel attempted to preach like a holy man. It made Ruth smile. “Beth-he-lem and the house of. . .” (He forgot Boaz’s name) “of Obed.” Samuel and Ruth shared smirks. “Beth-he-lem and the house of Obed have shown me great kindness. In my time of need they took me in, like Laban took in patriarch. . . Isaac?”
“Jacob,” corrected Ruth.
“Yes, Jacob. You took me in in my time of need. I will not forget it.”
Ruth said, “You are loved, my son.” Samuel beamed. “Now there’s a smile!” Tears started in Ruth eyes. “It’s your time. Go with godspeed before I actually kidnap you.”
Samuel backpedaled away, still wavering. A reassuring nod from Ruth turned him forward. He stood tall as if seeing clearly what must be done. He walked calm as if scared, but brave. His hair flowed side to side with the sporadic wind but never covered his face.
Sixty years later, prophet Samuel would return to Bethlehem when Israel was at its most desperate. A godly king was needed, and Samuel knew he could rely on someone of the House of Ruth, her great-grandson David.
*Author’s note: This story’s plot is not found in the Bible. It is possible that Ruth met child Samuel, but there is no explicit mentioning. God simply tells Samuel to go to Bethlehem (as an elder prophet) to find a new king, King David.
