ruth.

her hair falls dark 
just past her shoulders, 
it is usually tied back in a 
hastily assembled bun.
lines drawn around her eyes,
around her mouth, 
ever so soft, 
ever so faint,
as if they had gently been sketched 
by the pencil of an artist.
there is nothing harsh about her.
she is altogether lovely.
her floral scarf, fixed smartly 
around her neck, 
it complements her well
and brings out the specks of 
twinkle in her eyes.
she is a well weaved basket, 
overflowing with the fruits of the Spirit, 
she is not found lacking. 
her hands are skilled 
carrying wisdom 
and awareness where ever she goes. 
i watch her hands 
brush wisps of blonde
out of her youngest boy's face 
as she pulls him in close to her heart
after an afternoon nap. 
i watch those same hands 
busy themselves with filling the crock pot
with a meal that will 
s t r e t c h.
Her lips will protect and honor 
her husband's name,
i only respect and adore him 
more
on account of her words 
held in careful regard.
she is soft spoken, 
like her counterpart.
her voice does not rise in 
desperation, 
anger, 
or exasperation. 
I am learning from her. 
always learning. 
that hospitality is not 
always convenient and planned, 
but that is the beauty of it. 
she welcomes any opportunity to serve, 
planned or not, 
without grumble or complaint
escaping from her lips
she teaches me that hard work 
is still worth it, 
whether anyone takes notice 
or not. 
all mothers can speak to the hard work, 
not much time to take 10, 15, 
or a luxurious 30,
and there are rare pats on the back, 
or shouts of accolades 
but Ruth. 
she mothers with excellence and precision, 
her children will one day arise 
and call her blessed,
of this i am sure. 
her husband 
though carrying many burdens 
upon his shoulders,
would not count her among them.
she is a safe haven, 
a source of shalom
amidst chaos,
and though it might be easy to perhaps
 cross paths with her
without even realizing it, 
i am so glad 
i didn't.