But I (Hannah) have poured out my soul before the Lord . . . and the Lord remembered her.
I Samuel 1: 15, 19 NASB
The small waif had prayed for a sister. She already had two brothers to tend to when her mother worked. Rules and responsibilities were dished out with her scrappy fists. It didn’t matter that they’d be nine years apart. Braids and ponytails could win a few rounds. Life was a competition, basketball slam dunks, bicycle burn marks, ramps, and Evel Knievel jumps.
When another brother was born, she put on her best smile and dressed him in doll’s clothes. Her opposition didn’t last. She soon became her brother’s hero, a warrior who defended him. Camouflage bruises matched her mask; however, she didn’t feel a thing.
I understood the angst and preparations that Hannah must have made before her yearly trek. Her stomach in knots and nerves short, she most likely dressed with discretion to avoid attention. And she dodged the meddlesome traveler.
Questions, comments, and subtle tones often circle with loss and the famine and feast. Loneliness prevails, and trust and confidence dwindle. Who is apt to raise an eyebrow, offer a shaming condolence, or dismiss our thoughts and feelings?
Hannah’s mountain climb was hard without the yearlong baggage.
God had closed Hannah’s womb. But she resolved to make the pilgrimage with empty hands. Then Hannah’s husband minimized her hurt and her greatest rival, his other wife, taunted her. Hannah wept in despair and bitterness. She silently begged God for mercy and special attention. Her husband thought she was intoxicated, but she couldn’t eat or drink!
Years had gone by. Many festive celebrations had brought more of the same. Pain upon pain. All seemed hopeless . . . her obedience, purpose, and sacrifice. Her heart also slammed shut.
Hannah no longer wanted to participate. The feast magnified her want!
And the Lord remembered Hannah. Her resolve to be faithful to the Lord gifts her a son.
A sister recalls her prayers, and is grateful for her younger brother who now defends her. A widow grieves her husband’s touch and silent nights. Sunday afternoons are the worst. A single man laments his youth. He’s never had to pack a lunch for another; most nights he eats alone. Likewise, a mother recalls the child she’d once walked to school. His room is spotless. No crumbs to sweep. Suffering makes it hard to join the feast.
Our culture, and I dare say our churches, don’t handle the expression of our emotions well. We are inclined to fix, admonish, or distant ourselves from that which makes us uncomfortable. But Hannah wasn’t afraid to be undone before the Lord. She sets an example in her struggle. And she returns her gift to the giver. She dedicates her newborn to the Lord.
God fills us with desires and purpose, and He calls us to community and accountability. Let us walk side-by-side.
Our Lord remembers us. He prepares a feast, fellowship with Him and others. The invitations have been sent, and the table is set. Will we come?
In this season of unrest, I encourage you to be faithful to the Lord.
Be blessed by Him,
Lily Mae
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