At the Feet of The Redeemer

There is a kind of home I think most of us long to create.

Not merely a beautiful one, not simply a house where the rooms are thoughtfully arranged, the table is set, and the things we have collected over the years tell the story of the people who live there, but something deeper—a place where people can exhale, a place where those we love feel safe, known, sheltered and at peace, a place of rest.

I found that idea tucked inside the story of Ruth.

Early in the book, Naomi looks at her two widowed daughters-in-law—women whose lives have been upended by grief and uncertainty—and prays:

“May the Lord grant that you may find rest, each in the house of her husband.”
—Ruth 1:9

The Hebrew word translated rest in this verse is menuchah. It carries the idea of a resting place—a place of repose, quietness, security and settledness.

Naomi is asking God for much more than another address for Ruth. She is praying for a home—a place where Ruth will no longer live exposed to the uncertainty that marked the life of a widow in the ancient world, a place where she will belong, a place of provision and protection, a place where she can finally rest.

Two chapters later, Naomi returns to the same idea.

“My daughter, should I not seek rest for you, that it may be well with you?”
—Ruth 3:1

This time the Hebrew word is manoach, a closely related word meaning a resting place, rest or security.

And then Naomi sends Ruth to Boaz—her redeemer. Ruth goes to the threshing floor and, in one of the most tender scenes in Scripture, takes her place at his feet. When Boaz awakens and asks who she is, Ruth answers:

“I am Ruth, your servant. Spread your wings over your servant, for you are a redeemer.”
—Ruth 3:9

There, at the feet of her redeemer, Ruth asks to come beneath his covering, to belong, to be protected, to find the rest Naomi had prayed for all the way back in Moab.

Perhaps that is where the story begins to feel strangely familiar because centuries later, another woman would choose the same place.

At the feet of Jesus.

The Woman Who Sat Down

Luke tells us that Martha welcomed Jesus into her home. I love that detail because Martha was doing something good. She was opening her home. She was serving. She was preparing. She was doing many of the same things women have done for generations to make the people who enter their homes feel cared for.

But somewhere in the doing, Martha lost her rest.

Scripture says she became distracted with much serving. Jesus describes her as worried and troubled about many things. Meanwhile, her sister Mary sat at His feet and listened. 

Martha was working around Jesus. Mary was resting before Him.

And when Martha protested, Jesus did not tell Mary to get up. He said:

“One thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”      —Luke 10:42

There is something here I need to remember, especially as a woman who loves home.  It is possible to work very hard creating a peaceful house while carrying no peace within ourselves.

We can organize the rooms.

Light the candle.

Prepare the food.

Fluff the pillows.

Choose the colors.

Set the table.

Make everything beautiful.

And still move through our own homes anxious, hurried and distracted by many things.

We can spend our lives trying to manufacture externally what only Jesus can give us internally.

Rest Begins at His Feet

Ruth found herself at the feet of her redeemer. Mary sat at the feet of hers. And Jesus Himself tells us where true rest is found:

“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me… and you will find rest for your souls.”
—Matthew 11:28–29

Come to Me. That is the invitation. Not first to a finished house. Not to a solved problem. Not to a life where every uncertainty has been removed.

To Him.

And that changes the way I understand the rest Naomi wanted for Ruth. Ruth’s story points us toward something even deeper than domestic security: a home can shelter us; a marriage can comfort us; a family can give us belonging; but none of those things can carry the full weight of our souls.

Jesus never promises that our lives will become free of labor, sorrow or uncertainty.

He promises Himself. And in Him, rest.

Perhaps that is what Ruth and Mary teach us together: the safest place is at the feet of the Redeemer. Before we can give rest, we have to receive it. Before we can create a home that feels safe, settled and peaceful, we have to know where our own security comes from.

It does not ultimately come from the house, not from the marriage, not from financial certainty, not from having every room finished, not from getting everyone we love safely tucked beneath our roof.

Our deepest security is found under the covering of Christ—at His feet.

Ruth could not secure her own future. She placed herself before her redeemer and trusted him to act. Mary could not find peace by matching Martha’s activity. She stopped long enough to sit before Jesus and receive His words. And Jesus says to us still:

“Come to Me.”

Perhaps that is the order we so easily reverse. We think that once everything around us is settled, then we will rest. Once the house is finished, once the children are okay,  once the bills are paid, once the difficult season passes, once the list is completed—then I will rest.

But Jesus continually invites us into another kind of life.

Come first.

Rest first.

Sit at My feet first.

Learn from Me.

Let Me be your security first.

And then rise and tend to the home I have given you.

Come Home to Rest

There is something especially beautiful about Naomi's original prayer for Ruth:

“May the Lord grant that you may find rest…”

She understood that true rest is something God gives. We can prepare a place for it. We can cultivate it. We can remove some of the noise and hurry that work against it. We can choose gentleness over tension and presence over distraction. But ultimately, rest is received.

Jesus says, “Come to Me… and I will give you rest.”

And perhaps the most important thing we can do for the atmosphere of our homes is to continually return to the place where our own souls become settled again—at Jesus’ feet,  listening, trusting, learning from Him, remembering who covers us, remembering who provides,  remembering who holds the future we keep trying to manage.

Then, we can get up and make the beds, cook the dinner, open the door, arrange the flowers, welcome the people, create the beauty, not because these things will give us security, but because, having already found our security in Him, we are free to make our homes an earthly reflection of the rest we have received.

A small menuchah.

A resting place.

A home where it may be well with those God has entrusted to us.