She finally admitted to herself that it was hot when the first drop of sweat rolled down her cheek and fell into the dusty earth. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, and tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear, even though she knew it wouldn’t stay.

She allowed herself to stand and stretch, and then knelt to begin again.  As one knee hit the ground, and then the other, she stole a glance up the long, forever row of the field she was working. Way up ahead were the reapers, cutting and bundling the stalks of the harvest. She vowed to catch up with them, even though she knew she never would.

She worked all day so that she and her mother-in-law could eat at night. In her time women had no rights, and her survival depended on the fallen grain. She picked bits and pieces out of the dust to fill a desperate need – just enough.

I wonder, as I look around at my cluttered, socially connected, calorie counting, overbooked, self-imposed stressful life, if she didn’t have something that I desperately need – just enough.

Just enough to value every little thing.

“’I hope I continue to please you, sir,’ she replied. ‘You have comforted me by speaking so kindly to me, even though I am not one of your workers.’

Ruth gathered barley there all day, and when she beat out the grain that evening, it filled an entire basket.” 

Ruth 2:13, 17