For the Love of Ruth预览

Who Are You?

“In the middle of the night, something startled the man; he turned—and there was a woman lying at his feet! ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘I am your servant, Ruth,’ she said. ‘Spread the corner of your garment over me, since you are a guardian-redeemer of our family.’”
—Ruth 3:8–9 (NIV)

"Who are you?"
That’s not just a surface-level question—it’s a soul-stirring, identity-shaping one.

After all Ruth had been through—grief, displacement, transition, obedience, and radical humility—this was the question Boaz asked her at the Threshing Floor, a place she had no natural business being. And yet, divinely, there she was.

The Threshing Floor is more than just a physical space. It’s a high place. A sacred place. A guarded place. It's where wheat is separated from chaff—where the real is revealed and the useless is cast away. It’s a place of refining, testing, and ultimately purpose.

And it is not left unguarded. Why? Because it holds treasure. It stores the results of what has been worked for, labored for, believed for. Spiritually, it's a place where the enemy seeks to break in and steal—but Heaven has someone watching around the clock. I imagine the King of Glory Himself seated there, guarding what’s precious, overseeing what’s sacred, watching over what’s been sown in tears.

And Ruth found herself in this high place—not by ambition, but by obedience.

She had said yes to God. She had followed Naomi with unwavering honor. She had served with all she had, and she had walked humbly, never exalting herself. And now, at the feet of Boaz—a symbol of Christ, our Redeemer—she is asked the question: “Who are you?”

Can you imagine being asked that same question at the feet of Jesus?

If you were to truly lay yourself down at His feet—spirit, soul, and body—and He looked you in the eyes and asked, “Who are you?” … how would you respond?

Not who you were. Not what happened to you. Not what they called you.
But who are you?

Ruth didn’t let her trauma define her. She didn’t respond, “I’m a widow,” or “I’m an outsider.” No, she responded in purpose. In identity. In faith.

And so must we.

Beloved, don’t let what you’ve been through name you. Don't let trauma rewrite your story. You are not the season you survived. You are not the pain you’ve endured. You are redeemed. You are called. You are His.

So I ask again: Who are you?

Reflection Questions:

• Have you allowed pain or loss to define your identity?
• If Jesus were to ask you today, “Who are you?”—what would you say?
• What parts of your identity need to be reclaimed at the feet of your Redeemer?

Prayer:
Father, I come before You with everything I am and everything I’ve walked through. I lay it all at Your feet—my past, my pain, my questions, and my hope. Help me to see myself the way You see me. Refine me at the Threshing Floor. Strip away what is not of You, and strengthen what remains. I am not what I’ve lost—I am who You have redeemed. In Jesus’ name, Amen.