I am going to sidetrack a little here to relate a story about Rita Hayworth. I made a home visit a few years back to a gentlemanly, retired Catholic priest who, when noting my name on my nametag, informed me there was a Saint Rita. I told him I did not know that but that my Mother had named me after Rita Hayworth. His response was, "I don't think she was a saint." I don't think she was a saint either but she was a beauty.The story of Saint Rita
And my Mama was a beauty whom my Daddy fell in love with shortly after going to work at my uncle's service station in Oklahoma City. They did not date long when, against Grandma's wishes, they traveled back to Clarksville to be married by Daddy's Pentecostal preacher father. Mama missed her Oklahoma City family and Daddy made many long trips up Highway 64 so she could see her Mother. But Daddy's family became her family and Grandma Middleton mothered her as her own. Mama was merely two years older than my little Rachel when she left all things loved and familiar to make her home with her new family.
Starting with verse 16
I am saddened to think of Mama so far from home in a land so foreign to her. Daddy and his family loved her but how lonesome she must have been for her familiar life. She said many times how she had grown to love her new family and had been with her mother-in-law years longer than with her own mother.
I remember Mama explaining the story of Ruth and Naomi and how Ruth had begged, "Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people." And I am comforted.