you, like Hannah, may have made a pilgrimage this morning

the year-after-year heaviness in your heart 

and lightness in your womb

taunting like a rival wife 

you see new life everywhere

vivid and easy for the collective happy woman 

but for you, it’s ‘look but don’t touch’

a roped-off statue in this oft-traveled museum

you, like Hannah, may have burst into tears in the house of the Lord

like Rachel, may have pleaded, “Give me children, or I will die”

or like Sarah, laughed cynically to kill the sparks of hope fighting for flame

you, like me, may have sprinted toward contentment

viewing God as a coach with arms crossed, ready to shame your race

shouting that longing only slows you down and hurts the team–

after all these years, how are you still the weakest link?

you may have believed those lies,

those snakish whispers that your desire disappoints Him

that your sadness means you love Him less

but you, like Hannah, can collapse at His feet

bruised by the weight of year-after-year

you can scream and rail and weep in seeming drunkenness

that humans may question, but He embraces

that embrace is the truth of no condemnation

only father-comfort

He will hold you as you weep

without hurry or haste

He will hold you, He will hold you

as you weep

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