Hannah in my life

I remembered you today.  Hannah, mother of Samuel the prophet, who I heard about in today's liturgy, reminded me of you.

In her bitterness she prayed to the LORD, weeping copiously, and she made a vow, promising: “O LORD of hosts, if you look with pity on the misery of your handmaid, if you remember me and do not forget me..."

I have listened to your pain, to your dashed hopes, to your sufferings and confusion.  We have explored your doubt, we have traversed the seemingly rough landscape of your life, and have sometimes even cried in near despair.  We faced these situations soberly at times, while at another in crazy abandon.  Sometimes, I have been like Eli, only because I could not fully understand you.  But I love you, and with you and for you I strive to bear hope, if only by my listening, by my heartfelt praying, by my remembering.

Eli watched her mouth, for Hannah was praying silently; though her lips were moving, her voice could not be heard.  Eli, thinking her drunk, said to her, “How long will you make a drunken show of yourself?  Sober up from your wine!”  “It isn’t that, my lord,” Hannah answered.  “I am an unhappy woman.  I have had neither wine nor liquor; I was only pouring out my troubles to the LORD.  Do not think your handmaid a ne’er-do-well; my prayer has been prompted by my deep sorrow and misery.”  Eli said, “Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you have asked of him.”  She replied, “Think kindly of your maidservant,” and left.  She went to her quarters, ate and drank with her husband, and no longer appeared downcast.

And like Eli too, let me bless you with his own words: Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you have asked of him.

I have been unhappy too.  That I share with you.  But aside that, let us share a life of hope together.  Let us share a life of prayer together, sometimes relying on words older than us, but more often using raw emotions, laying our hearts bare, consoled and affirmed by the testimony of those who have gone ahead of us like Hannah, like Zechariah and Elizabeth, like Josephine and many others.

I think kindly of you always, and love you.  A far greater Love enables me to, and who loves you too, far beyond ourselves.  And who feeds the hope that I am able to bear, and share.


[My very first post this 2014: when you read this, may I kindly ask you to say, even a short heartfelt prayer, for this Hannah in my life.  Thank you.]