HANNAH
Hannah, no woman ever longed
to bear a baby
with passion so strong.
Every breath a whispered prayer,
each sigh a strangled cry.
Your husband chided, he was there.
But no hope of understanding,
ego caged his mind,
he loved you without demanding.
It didn’t help that you
were one of two wives.
Peninnah, swollen with pregnant pride, knew
flaunting and taunting wounded deep inside.
A woman’s purpose was to mother.
Now aching years since a bride,
no appetite for food,
dressed shamed barrenness,
trusting still, God is good.
Dutifully journeying to Shiloh
for annual worship and sacrifice,
falsely accused by the priest, a blow,
for being drunken only with despair.
Pleading before God, a bold vow
to give back a child to His care.
The Lord honored your petition,
exchanged sorrow for Samuel;
you remembered the promised condition.
Presenting the boy for Tabernacle duty,
all petition turned to praise.
The mother of Israel’s first prophet, rewarded truly
with two daughters and three sturdy son
to fill your tent with raucous joy.
The family history preserved
like memories of your contented heart
in Qumran’s Dead Sea Scrolls.
reference: 1 Samuel 1
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