05/31/2026
She sat down to eat a double portion of meat. Instead, she choked on her own tears.
There is this raw, mental deterioration that happens when you have to eat your dinner inside a house that is constantly deafening with someone else’s success.
Hannah sat on the woven mat, her eyes fixed on the clay bowl before her.
The air in the room was thick with the rich smell of roasted sheep fat, baked bread, and the suffocating warmth of family joy.
Her husband gave her a double portion of meat to show he loved her. But love cannot fill a womb that feels like a graveyard.
Across the room, the other wife was smiling. Peninnah had a house full of loud, laughing children. She didn't just celebrate her own fertility; she used it as a physical weapon. Every time she handed a plate to one of her sons, she made sure to speak clear enough to remind the entire household who was producing results, and who was completely empty.
Hannah’s stomach twisted into a tight, hard knot. Her mouth felt like it was full of dry ash. Her husband tried to comfort her by asking if he was not better to her than ten sons. It was a sweet insult. It showed he did not understand the heavy burden of her empty arms. Her throat was completely closed. She couldn't swallow. She couldn't even pick up the cup without her fingers shaking against the clay.
This is the agonizing comedy of being mocked by the people who have it easy.
You sit at family dinners or look at social media. You see everyone else hitting milestones with total ease. Their lives look like smooth, perfect roads.
Meanwhile, your life feels like a battlefield.
You are dealing with a child who screams from sensory overload, or a teenager who cannot speak, or a diagnosis that have completely changed everything for the worse, or the pain of loosing your precious one, or you have been hoping for years to carry your own miracle in your arms. And the world looks at you and gives you cheap pity. Or worse, they give you silent judgment.
People whisper behind your back. They wonder what you did wrong. They think you just need to discipline better. People that used to respect you, now sees you as a parasite that should be avoided at all cost.
Their words are sharp needles. They puncture your confidence. You are looking far older than your age.
You become a spiritual orphan in your own community. You are surrounded by people, but you are completely alone.
You go to church or community events, and you have to mask your panic deeply. You are hyper-vigilant. You are always waiting for the next meltdown, the next judgmental look, the next passive-aggressive comment from a relative who thinks they know better.
When Hannah finally dragged her broken body to the altar at Shiloh, she was at absolute rock bottom. She couldn't even form words. Her chest was heaving, her hands were clutching her stomach, and her mouth was releasing a silent, guttural groan. Her internal panic was so raw that the high priest, Eli, stood at a distance, misread her completely, and accused her of being drunk in the Temple.
That is the ultimate betrayal. You are pouring your shattered soul out to the Almighty, only to have the spiritual leaders, the family members, the friends; the same people who should hold your hands, look at your deep agony and misdiagnose your pain as a character flaw, or a public nuisance.
They think you are weak. They think you are dramatic. They do not see the modern warfare you fight every single hour. They do not know the fierce, protective lioness inside you because they are too busy judging your tears.
Why would God allow her to be hollowed out by mockery for all those years? Because God didn't just need a baby, He needed a Prophet. He needed a boy who would grow up in His Presence, away from the toxic noise of the culture, so his ears could hear a Voice that the rest of the nation had gone completely deaf to. God waited for Hannah because He required a mother who loved the Giver more than the gift.
You do not need to scramble to compete with the people who are passing you by. Your life is divinely orchestrated. God is keeping you hidden because He is building a legacy inside you that far outweighs temporary comfort.
When you finally learn to let go of your obsessions, and trust the Creator, the dry ground of your life begins to yield. And when He opens the door, He doesn't just match what you lost, He overflows it. Hannah walked away from one son, and in return, God opened her womb permanently, blessing her with five more children. He never leaves you stranded in your complete surrender.
If the God who left a broken woman shaking in the dirt of Shiloh was actually preparing the transition for an entire kingdom, why are you letting the loud victories of outsiders convince you that your own story has been forgotten?
Who told you God has forgotten you just because your mockery has gone beyond what you can measure?
Ellis Enobun
