A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Her stomach knotted with the familiar sadness that thought evoked.

  She glanced back at Peninnah’s house. Perhaps one of Elkanah’s sons would become the deliverer Elkanah longed for. She recoiled at the very idea of one of Peninnah’s sons leading Israel. But if that was in God’s plan . . .

  She lifted her gaze heavenward. Clouds danced over a sea of brilliant blue, the sun shining through them like rays of pure gold. Your will be done, she prayed, her heart yearning to know just what that will might be. Oh to be included in God’s plan to heal their nation! Oh to know her family loved and worshiped Adonai as she longed to do—but so often failed. She knew she failed, for she could not stop the bitter hurt that Peninnah’s presence had forced upon her. Sharing a husband was bad enough. But her rival, her enemy, was cruel at every turn, especially when Hannah felt most vulnerable. When everyone else’s children surrounded her.

  Tears stung, but she blinked them back. She would not cry. Not here. Not now. And then she saw Eitan and Hevel burst from the house into the courtyard, looking to where she had been standing. At the sight of their downcast faces, she felt a kick in her gut. She was being unfair to them. They were just children, after all. Elkanah’s children.

  She hurried forward and called their names.

  Eitan’s face brightened. “Ima said we could come!” He raced closer to her.

  Peninnah stood in the doorway, watching. “Where are you taking them?” Arms crossed over her chest, she scowled.

  Hannah straightened, forcing herself to stay strong. “I’m taking food to Elkanah. I think there should be enough for the boys.”

  Peninnah studied her, jealousy in her scowl. “Wait a moment and I’ll give you more to add for them.” She turned and went into the house and quickly returned with another small basket.

  Hannah took it. “Thank you.”

  Peninnah said nothing but gave each child a stern look, whirled about, and marched back into the house.

  Hannah watched the boys skip ahead of her and sighed.

  At the sound of children calling his name, Elkanah looked up from pulling brambles from the wool of one of the younger lambs.

  “Abba! Abba!” Eitan’s high-pitched voice filled the still air.

  “We’re coming, Abba!” Hevel reminded Elkanah of Peninnah when she was on the verge of an outburst, though the child’s cry carried far more innocence.

  “What is this?” He walked toward them, catching sight of Hannah not far behind, hurrying to keep up.

  Eitan raced closer and Hevel’s shorter legs pumped hard to reach him. Elkanah bent low to embrace each boy and smile into his eyes.

  “Aunt Hannah said we could come with her,” Eitan said, glancing behind him.

  Elkanah scooped Hevel into his arms and kept a hand on Eitan’s back as Hannah approached. “I see I am most blessed today.” He glanced at the baskets she carried.

  “I brought food,” she said. “I wanted to spend the day with you.” He caught the wistful look in her eyes. “As I passed by Peninnah’s house, the boys saw me and asked to come.”

  “It was kind of you to let them.” He searched her face.

  She shrugged. “They are your children.”

  She said the words without animosity as though stating a fact, but her eyes betrayed her true feelings. Elkanah set Hevel on the ground and told the boys to watch the young ewe for him and to see if they could find any more brambles in her wool. They took off running to the place Elkanah pointed, while he took Hannah’s hand and walked with her to the shade of a spreading oak tree.

  “We can eat here,” he said.

  “Peninnah sent a basket for the boys.” Hannah placed it on the ground next to the one she had prepared for him. Elkanah glanced at the children to be sure they were safe, then focused his attention on Hannah.

  “I suspect bringing the boys was not your first intent.” He traced the line of her jaw and cupped her cheek. “You are nicer to my children than their mother is to you.”

  Hannah looked past him in the direction of the children. “It is nothing,” she said after a lengthy pause. “But come. I imagine you are hungry, and perhaps we can have a few moments while the boys are occupied.”

  Elkanah rubbed a hand over his beard, guilt nudging him. “I suppose Eitan should start coming with me to learn the skills of a shepherd.”

  Hannah handed him some flatbread. “It seems that would be wise. I was his age, perhaps younger, when my father let me help him do little things in his pottery shop.” She pulled out a goatskin of milk and some cheese and even a goatskin of qom, the tasty water left over from her cheese making, a drink he had always loved.

  He smiled at her. “You spoil me.”

  She laughed, and he joined her. “You are my favorite person to spoil.”

  She was too polite to say that he was her only person to spoil. Would she treat him so well if she had the distraction of children? But he did not wish to dwell on that thought.

  “I think you should know . . .” She paused, sobering. “I heard Eitan lie to Peninnah. I never invited the boys to join me, but they told her I did. I didn’t want you to think I did, if Peninnah should bring it up and say something . . . different.”

  “Something untrue, you mean.”

  She nodded. “Perhaps. One can never tell what she will say.”

  He knew that only too well. And the regret he carried from the first week of their marriage was almost tangible.

  “I will keep your words in mind. Thank you.” He glanced at the boys again. “And I will speak to Eitan. I fear that he is picking up the ability to twist words from his mother. It is not a skill I admire.”

  She touched his arm. “One child at a time, and with your guidance they will become fine men.”

  “Unless their mother undoes my efforts.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I do not mean to complain about Peninnah when I have such little time with you.” He broke the bread and held out a piece to her. “We will call the boys to join us after I taste that qom.”

  Hannah smiled, taking the bread from his hand. He bowed his head and gave thanks, a habit he had done since his youth, a habit he felt called to continue, for everyone knew that food could often be scarce and famines were never more than a few seasons of drought away. It was part of why they celebrated the First Fruits, a festival that was fast approaching—to thank God in advance for what He would provide.

  He ate in silence, pondering how this next feast would be and whether Peninnah would be civil to Hannah during the celebrating. The truth was, he had come to dread the feasts since Peninnah had joined their home. What had once been a time of worship with Hannah had become a time for Peninnah to flaunt her children publicly and taunt Hannah to shame.

  He should put a stop to it, but Peninnah was sneaky and Hannah rarely said a word in response. Was he living with a false hope that all would be made right somehow without his interference? That somehow the two women would become friends?

  He smiled at Hannah. “I’m glad you came.” He should say more. Should warn her of his worries about the upcoming feast. But Eitan’s voice interrupted him, and he turned and saw the two children running toward them.

  “I’m hungry,” Eitan said, grasping for the basket Peninnah had sent.

  Hannah stopped him. “Let me help you.” She met the boy’s intense gaze. “So you can help your brother.”

  Eitan scowled for the briefest moment, so like his mother, and Elkanah wished not for the first time that he had brought the boy with him sooner to help train him in the ways he knew were right. Ways of gratitude toward their Maker for the food and so much more.

  “Is that qom? I want some.” Eitan’s tone turned from questioning to demanding.

  “Me too!” Hevel screeched, and Elkanah nearly jolted at the sharp sound.

  “It is for your father,” Hannah said firmly, meeting each boy’s gaze. “You may ask him politely if he would like to share, but you must not demand.”

  Eitan’s eyes grew wide at Hann
ah’s subtle rebuke, but he accepted her words without comment. “May we have a taste, Abba?”

  Elkanah took the small bowl and sipped first, knowing he wasn’t likely to get more and he did not want to disappoint Hannah, then offered it in turn to each child. The sigh of pleasure and look of thanks on the children’s faces made him straighten, a feeling of pride surging through him. It was not too late to teach them. They were not yet so difficult to convince to do right.

  But as they turned back to Hannah, accepting the food from the basket, he did not miss the pinched look on Eitan’s face. “Ima won’t like this,” he said to his brother.

  Hevel simply nodded, too solemn for one so young.

  Elkanah glanced at Hannah and could see by her look that she understood exactly what they meant. Eitan would complain about Hannah’s rebuke to Peninnah, and Hannah would suffer for it when Elkanah was not around to protect her. All because she was kind enough to bring the boys to the field with her.

  Elkanah stared at his sons, feeling helpless. Something had to change, but he had no idea how to bring that change about.

  27

  Hannah walked beside Dana along the familiar dusty path toward Shiloh. In her arms, she carried Dana’s youngest child, asleep against her chest. She looked down at the serene face, so new and untested in the world.

  “You will let me know if she grows tiring,” Dana said.

  Hannah looked up to meet her gaze. “I don’t think that is possible.” The babe was securely tied to her and held with the help of Hannah’s own longing arms. She studied this sister-in-law a moment and smiled. “Thank you.”

  Dana brushed the words away. “You have been of great help to me, Hannah. I don’t know how I would have cared for these children without you.” Her eyes held warmth and confidence, and she stopped a moment and touched Hannah’s arm, making her stop as well. “I do not know why God has withheld children from you.” She glanced around to be sure they were alone, despite the crowd. Peninnah was ahead of them with her mother and children, and once Dana spotted her she motioned in her direction and leaned closer. “You would make a much better mother, and Elkanah would have been happier if God had not stopped your womb. But,” she said, giving Hannah’s arm a gentle squeeze, “I do not believe all hope is lost. I don’t know why I say this, for I do not wish to cause you pain, my dear Hannah, but I think God still has a great plan in store for you. Who knows? You may yet have a son like Isaac and bring laughter to this family. I know there is a purpose.” She looked away and stepped back a pace. “Just don’t lose hope.”

  Hannah looked ahead and began walking again. The baby squirmed a bit but then settled into sleep once more. Hannah blinked as emotion rolled through her, fighting the urge to weep, a feeling that so often came over her of late. She was so tired of Peninnah’s taunts and the looks of pity from the women at the well. And the joy Peninnah’s children brought to Elkanah’s eyes overshadowed even Galia’s attempts at kindness.

  She knew Dana supported her, but until now she had not realized how much. Dana’s words swirled in her heart and, despite her desperate effort to stop them, caused a tiny bloom of hope to reside there again. Like the first bud on a new tree, the promise of a flower and fruit to come.

  But she dare not trust these simple words, however comforting they were. Words could not bring life to her dead womb unless they were God’s words. And Dana spoke only out of her need to bring joy to Hannah’s life. It was her way, though she had never spoken quite so forcefully until now.

  Why, then? She glanced at the road ahead. The men and beasts stirred the dust in front of the women and children. She should be walking closer to Elkanah, but Peninnah had hurried to the place directly behind him, and Hannah had no desire to mingle with the woman along the way.

  What would life be like if God did as Dana had suggested? What if Hannah actually did have a child? Even just one, as Sarah had only Isaac?

  Oh Adonai . . .

  The hope burst again to a feeling of intense longing, and no more words would come. How did one make the Almighty see her need? Did God see Hannah as He once saw Hagar? And if He did, how could she possibly make Him hear her prayers and answer them?

  The child made the suckling sounds of a nursing babe in her sleep, and the action stirred Hannah’s thoughts back to her surroundings. The noise of the chattering women and the occasional sound of Peninnah’s shouts at her children brought reality back with a jolt. This was her world. Her neighbors and family were all her world would ever be. Dana’s kindness and Elkanah’s love helped her survive the anguish, but it did not abate. How could it possibly abate? She was thirty-seven years old and had been married for eighteen years. Perhaps Sarah had waited longer, but Hannah understood now why she had given up and handed Hagar to Abraham. For the same reason Elkanah had taken Peninnah. He didn’t believe Hannah would bear children, and neither did she. Better to let hope die than be heartsick over a loss she could not regain.

  As the sun set upon the newly raised tents in Shiloh, a ram’s horn could be heard coming from the tabernacle grounds.

  “Hush now, children,” Peninnah’s mother said as Peninnah hurried them all to take seats on the ground, where a large mat was spread with food.

  The boys seemed to listen better to her mother than to her these days, but she was with child again and in no mood for patience. At least with the meal before Passover Elkanah would join them rather than seclude himself away with Hannah. Of course, she would be joining them as well, which did nothing to improve Peninnah’s feelings.

  “There’s Abba and Aunt Hannah now, Ima!” Hevel’s enthusiasm for his father, but worse, for her rival, grated on already taut nerves. “Can I go to meet them?”

  “No!” Peninnah winced at the crestfallen look on her young son’s face, but she would not be party to giving Hannah any satisfaction of knowing that the children liked her at times better than their own mother.

  She clenched her jaw as she straightened and offered a forced smile to her husband and Hannah. “Welcome,” she said, pointing to Elkanah’s place and to Hannah’s at the far end away from him.

  “Thank you, Peninnah, but Hannah will sit here.” Elkanah took Hannah’s hand and guided her to sit beside him, the very place Peninnah intended to sit. “And you will sit here.” He pointed to his other side.

  She looked at him, wanting to lash out, but held her tongue. The upcoming Passover was not a time for arguments, especially with two more festivals of Unleavened Bread and First Fruits.

  She felt her mother’s hand on her arm. “It’s all right, Peninnah. I will help the children.” As would Nava, no doubt.

  Fine then. Peninnah took the seat Elkanah had indicated and watched as he waited for Hannah to do the same. A headache began along the back of her neck, but she held her head high and tried to ignore it. How she hated this woman’s presence!

  “Tomorrow we celebrate the Passover and Unleavened Bread, and then I will take the barley sheaf and offer it to the Lord,” Elkanah said, his gaze taking in the children. “Do you know what every Israelite man is to say to the priest when he brings the basket with the barley sheaf?”

  Eitan looked at Hevel and both shook their heads.

  “First, I say, ‘I declare today to the Lord your God that I have come to the land the Lord swore to our ancestors to give us.’ Then the priest takes the basket and sets it down in front of the altar of the Lord our God. But that is not all.”

  Peninnah wondered why he was trying to make the children understand something they were surely too young to remember.

  “Then I declare before the Lord, ‘My father was a wandering Aramean, and he went down into Egypt with a few people and lived there and became a great nation, powerful and numerous. But the Egyptians mistreated us and made us suffer, subjecting us to harsh labor. Then we cried out to the Lord, the God of our ancestors, and the Lord heard our voice and saw our misery, toil, and oppression. So the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm,
with great terror and with signs and wonders. He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. And now I bring the first fruits of the soil that You, Lord, have given me.’ So I will put the basket before the Lord and bow down before Him. Then we all rejoice in all the good things the Lord has given to us.”

  “That declaration sounds like it almost combines Passover and First Fruits,” Hannah said, her voice carrying a hint of awe.

  “Yes,” Elkanah said, smiling at her.

  Why was the woman always so agreeable?

  Elkanah looked at the boys once more. “So now you know what I say when I offer God the sheaf of barley, but why do we give the first fruits to our God?”

  Eitan raised his hand. “I know!”

  Elkanah smiled. “All right, Eitan, tell me.”

  “Because He told us to?” Eitan smiled.

  Peninnah scowled. “Your questions are making this too complicated for them,” she said, irritated that Eitan had not given a better answer.

  “I think they are old enough to learn,” he said, glancing at her, then back to his children. “Yes, that’s one reason. Can anyone think of the other?”

  Hevel raised his hand, looking swiftly at his older brother. “Because God needs to eat?”

  Peninnah caught Hannah’s slight chuckle. Her headache spiked and she closed her eyes, trying desperately to stop it.

  “Because God wants us to trust Him with the rest of the harvest.” Elkanah’s voice caused her to look his way again. “By giving God the first and best part of our harvest, we are telling Him that we trust Him to keep the rest of our harvest safe so that we will have food to eat.”

  “It is a good thing to trust our God,” Hannah added, raising Peninnah’s frustration to yet a higher level.

  “A lot of good it has done you,” she spat, hating the words the moment she had spoken them. “I’m sure you have trusted God for a child, and yet He does not listen.” Trying to fix her blunder was not helping. Why could she not learn to keep silent when Elkanah was present?