The Spirit of Naomi: When God Tells You to Move While You’re Still Bleeding

Word: MOVE.

Not when it feels safe.
Not when the doors fly open and the coins line up.
Not when you’ve stopped crying or the trauma finally makes sense.
No.

MOVE when God whispers, “This ain’t your resting place.”
Even if your knees still wobble from the last breakdown.
Even if you’re tired of starting over.
Even if the only direction you know is away from here.
Because staying still will slowly bury you in a place you were only supposed to pass through.

Some moves are messy.
They don’t come with closure or clarity.
You just know — you can’t stay here.

That’s how I moved.
From Minnesota to Georgia.
Broke in ways money can’t fix.
Full of unanswered prayers and unresolved pain.
I didn’t move because I had it together.
I moved because my spirit was suffocating and I knew if I didn’t get out, I would spiritually die in a place I no longer belonged to.

So I moved.
And I named my car Naomi.

Let Me Tell You Why That Name Matters.

I didn’t fully know the story.
Not in depth. Not like I do now.
But something in me whispered, “She moved too.”

Later I learned Naomi was a woman in the Bible who had lost everything.
Her husband. Her sons. Her identity. Her hope.

She had left her hometown of Bethlehem during a famine.
Moved to a foreign land called Moab.
Tried to survive. Tried to hold her family together.
Tried to rebuild in a place that was never meant to sustain her for long.

And then everything around her died.

She lost her man.
Then her sons.
And what she had left?
Bitterness.
Grief.
Two daughters-in-law. And not much else.

She looked at her life and said,

"Don’t call me Naomi anymore. Call me Mara.
  Because God has made my life bitter."

She renamed herself in the middle of her pain.

And you know what makes her radical?

She still moved.

Let That Sink in.

She didn’t move when things got better.
She didn’t move when she was healed.
She didn’t move when her faith was strong.

She moved while she was bitter.
She moved while she was broken.
She moved without a plan, a husband, or a penny to her name.

She moved because something in her said,
“Even this can’t be the end.”

You ever been there?

Ever left a place not because you knew where you were going,
but because you knew you couldn’t stay where you were?

That’s the Naomi anointing.
And I didn’t realize it, but I was living in it.
Every time I cried while driving.
Every time I questioned why I moved.
Every time I felt like Georgia was giving me more battles than blessings.

And yet — something in me said: Keep moving.

🔥 WRITING PROMPT #1
What did you leave behind that still haunts you?
Write it out. Every name, place, heartbreak, lie, or version of yourself that you buried when you moved forward.
Let yourself feel what you tried to outrun.

Naomi Wasn’t Weak. She Was Wisdom in Motion.

We don’t talk enough about the strength it takes to move while mourning.
To be honest about your pain,
and still choose to rebuild.

Naomi came back to Bethlehem broken.
She told her truth out loud:

“The Lord brought me back empty.”

Empty.
No kids.
No man.
No joy.

And yet — there was still a seed in her.
A whisper of redemption.
Enough strength to guide Ruth.
To give counsel.
To speak strategy.
To keep showing up even while she still grieved.

Some of you reading this have been Naomi and didn’t even know it.
You’ve been showing up for others while secretly unraveling.
Putting your kids on the right path while silently questioning your own.
Pouring into everyone else while you feel completely depleted inside.

And still — you keep moving.
That’s radical obedience.
That’s divine fire.
That’s faith in motion.

 
🔥 WRITING PROMPT #2
Where in your life have you shown up even when you felt empty?
List every moment you kept going — not because you felt strong, but because you refused to stop.
Then honor yourself. That’s your evidence.

Redemption Didn’t Find Naomi Sitting Still — It Found Her in Motion.

Don’t miss this:
Naomi didn’t just survive grief.
She mothered a miracle.

She poured into Ruth.
She advised her on how to move with intention.
She positioned her for alignment with Boaz — not because she was looking for a man,
but because she recognized legacy was on the line.

Naomi’s radical decision to move — even in bitterness — positioned her to birth a blessing that would change the entire course of history.

Obed.
Then Jesse.
Then David.
Then… generations later — Jesus.

All from a woman who thought she had nothing left.

So the next time you question whether your suffering is for nothing,
remember Naomi.
Remember yourself.

 
🔥 WRITING PROMPT #3
What if your most bitter season is actually carrying your biggest legacy?
Write a letter to the next generation.
What do you want your children, godchildren, or future lineage to know about how you kept going?

You Are Naomi. And Baby, You Are the Storm.

Let me say this plain:
You didn’t survive what you did just to blend in.
You didn’t bury pieces of yourself just to be soft-spoken and safe.

You moved because you had to.
You moved while your heart was still leaking.
You moved when people thought you were crazy — hell, when you thought you were crazy.
And that’s what makes you dangerous.

Because you didn’t need applause.
You didn’t need a cheer squad.
You didn’t even need clarity.
You just needed that inner push. That gut-wrenching whisper from God that said:

“Get up. Go forward. There’s more.”
And you listened.

You are Naomi in real time.
Not just because you’ve suffered — but because you refused to stay stuck in your suffering.
Because you’re still guiding.
Still rising.
Still moving with tears in your eyes and truth in your belly.

Let them talk.
Let them doubt you.
Let them think you’ve lost your mind.

They don’t know your wilderness is preparing somebody else’s deliverance.

You don’t just carry your own redemption —
You are carrying the seed of a new generation’s breakthrough.
And baby, even if you don’t see the fruit yet — don’t stop moving.
Because your legacy is already in motion.

🔥 FINAL WRITING PROMPT
Write a prayer, poem, or promise to your future self.
Start with: “When I wanted to give up, I remembered…”
Speak life back into your own bones.
Bless your own damn journey.
Because from this point on, you don’t just move — you move with purpose.

With truth, boldness, and radical faith,

— Coach E

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