Scott, Louise, Andrea, Kendra, Stacey, Anna, Karen, Jeff, Dustyn, Miriam, Brian, Marijke, Angela, and Tammy.

That’s at least a few of them. The list is too long to share in two minutes. And when I say they are my “roots,” I don’t mean that they are just part of my past…I mean they connect me to life; they connect me to Christ. Sometimes without even realizing it.

They are the people who have helped me ask difficult questions and make critical decisions. They have listened. They have spoken words of truth. They have sat in the silences. And most importantly, when I forget how I got here or who I am, they remember for me. Sometimes they tell me the story. Sometimes they just wait beside me until my memory returns.

That is what I think the women of Bethlehem did for Naomi. They are mentioned so briefly, but they are critical to her life! Surely they were there when she married Elimelech. And they wiped her brow while she labored with Mahlon and Chilion. So even when she returns from Moab in Ruth, chapter 1, without her husband and her two sons, they recognize her and call her by name. And at the end of the story, when Naomi holds her newborn grandson in her arms, it is the women of Bethlehem who remind her that God has always been with her, that God brought this new life into the world, and that God is the one who deserves all glory and praise. We don’t know their names, but we cannot deny their value. They kept Naomi rooted.

Do your roots have names? Are they people? Or maybe places? What or who connects you with Christ, with the source of life?

And who might name you as one of their roots?