There was a season in my life when I understood Naomi more than I ever wanted to.

When my mother died, something inside of me died with her. Grief did not come politely. It came heavily. It sat on my chest. It silenced my prayers. There were days I did not want to minister. Days I did not want to speak. Days I simply wanted to stay home and cry. I loved God, but I felt empty.

Then there was another death—one that did not involve a funeral. It was the end of a relationship I believed was my future. It was only the second relationship I had entered since my divorce. I loved deeply. I believed fully. And when he married someone else, it felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest. No one physically died, but something in me did. The dream died. The expectation died. The version of life I imagined died.

That is why the story of Naomi in Ruth 1 speaks to me so personally.

Naomi left Bethlehem, full—married, hopeful, with sons. She returned empty. Widowed. Childless. Bitter. When the women of the city saw her, they asked, “Is this Naomi?” And she answered, “Call me not Naomi, call me Mara: for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me.”

I know what it feels like to respond to bitterness.

Bitterness is not loud at first. It whispers. It justifies. It tells you that your anger is protection. It convinces you that staying hurt keeps you safe from being hurt again. After my breakup, I felt that bitterness creeping in. I questioned my worth. I questioned my discernment. I even questioned God.

But Naomi did something powerful—she moved.

She did not stay in Moab. She did not build a memorial around her loss. She returned to Bethlehem. Broken, yes. Bitter, yes. But moving.

That movement changed everything.

In Bethlehem, destiny was waiting. Ruth’s loyalty. Boaz’s covering. Restoration. Ruth 4:15 declares that the child born would be “a restorer of thy life.” The woman who once called herself bitter became part of the lineage of our Savior.

I began to realize that God does not waste death seasons.

My mother’s death felt unbearable. Yet out of that pain, I wrote my first book. I ministered with greater compassion. I prayed differently. I preached differently. Something in me deepened.

After that devastating breakup, I thought I would never feel whole again. But out of that heartbreak, I birthed my second book. I learned how to REST—Release Everything and Surrender Totally to God. I had to let go of the man, the image, the fantasy, and even the bitterness. I had to allow God to heal the version of me that thought love was loss.

That relationship broke me—but it also rebuilt me.

For a season, I wanted to remain in grief because grief felt justified. Hurt felt righteous. But healing required movement. Like Naomi, I had to leave the place of death and walk toward the place of promise—even when I did not yet feel restored.

And here is what I have learned: success is not what you build after pain. It is who you become because of it.

Yes, books were published. Yes, new opportunities came. But those were not the miracle. The miracle was that I was no longer bitter. I was better. Softer. Stronger. Wiser. More surrendered. My career growth flowed from my spiritual growth. My professional fruit was rooted in personal healing.

There are women right now standing in their own Moab—holding the ashes of something that died. A marriage. A dream. A friendship. A version of themselves. And sometimes we stay in pain because pain keeps our anger alive. But destiny requires movement.

The Apostle Paul wrote, “I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.” Pressing implies resistance. Pressing implies grief. Pressing implies that you move even when you would rather collapse.

Naomi could have stayed bitter. I could have stayed broken. You could stay wounded.

But what if the very thing that feels like death is God repositioning you for destiny?

What if your Bethlehem is on the other side of your bitterness?

What if restoration is waiting for your movement?

I am no longer the woman who returned empty. I am the woman who learned that death is sometimes the doorway to becoming. And the same God who restored Naomi is still restoring women today.

Leave death. Reach destiny.