The story of Hannah haunts me.
She's recorded as the mother of Samuel, the prophet. She's known for wanting a child so much, each morning, she'd take herself off to a sacred space and weep from wanting. One morning, her grief, her lack of what she wanted overwhelmed her to the point, a priest thought she was drunk.
She was an emotional mess, driven more by what she didn't have than what she did.
Hannah married a man who loved her. He was married to two women, but gave Hannah twice as much as the woman who had bore him sons. In a household where she could have been discarded, Hannah was highly regarded.
And it wasn't enough. She chose something else.
Choice seems all the rage right now, hidden in different phrasing. From ads online to the clothes one wears, the implication permeates that by choice, I rule my world. Nothing here remains untouched, unaffected by me.
By choice.
Stalker or lover. Obsession or fascination. Victim or survivor.
Hannah bothers me because I don't understand her choice. I know women like her. I have friends who spent more on getting pregnant than I earn in two years; who scoured Scripture looking for that one verse blessing barren women. With homes and devoted lovers, careers and such sweet freedom to choose their lives and paths, these women still chose to long for children.
I've tried. I just don't get it.
Kids would be great, and I'd like to have one. Later. After I marry. Maybe. But the idea's not going to keep me up at night.
What keeps me up at night? The world those kids will come into, the future of the Church. The continued right of people everywhere to choose something different.
I am no Hannah. There's not a single thing I do every day to show where my heart rests. My life is small, compared to hers. I'd've been happy with a husband who loved me, and no kids.
But then, I'd not be the best mom for Samuel. And without Samuel, there'd've been more Philistines in the world. No King David. Solomon probably would have been renamed Sheldon, and have far too many cats.
The world would be different. Because Hannah made a choice.
I don't get it. I wouldn't do the same thing in her situation.
But I can respect her right to choose something different.
She's recorded as the mother of Samuel, the prophet. She's known for wanting a child so much, each morning, she'd take herself off to a sacred space and weep from wanting. One morning, her grief, her lack of what she wanted overwhelmed her to the point, a priest thought she was drunk.
She was an emotional mess, driven more by what she didn't have than what she did.
Hannah married a man who loved her. He was married to two women, but gave Hannah twice as much as the woman who had bore him sons. In a household where she could have been discarded, Hannah was highly regarded.
And it wasn't enough. She chose something else.
Choice seems all the rage right now, hidden in different phrasing. From ads online to the clothes one wears, the implication permeates that by choice, I rule my world. Nothing here remains untouched, unaffected by me.
By choice.
Stalker or lover. Obsession or fascination. Victim or survivor.
Hannah bothers me because I don't understand her choice. I know women like her. I have friends who spent more on getting pregnant than I earn in two years; who scoured Scripture looking for that one verse blessing barren women. With homes and devoted lovers, careers and such sweet freedom to choose their lives and paths, these women still chose to long for children.
I've tried. I just don't get it.
Kids would be great, and I'd like to have one. Later. After I marry. Maybe. But the idea's not going to keep me up at night.
What keeps me up at night? The world those kids will come into, the future of the Church. The continued right of people everywhere to choose something different.
I am no Hannah. There's not a single thing I do every day to show where my heart rests. My life is small, compared to hers. I'd've been happy with a husband who loved me, and no kids.
But then, I'd not be the best mom for Samuel. And without Samuel, there'd've been more Philistines in the world. No King David. Solomon probably would have been renamed Sheldon, and have far too many cats.
The world would be different. Because Hannah made a choice.
I don't get it. I wouldn't do the same thing in her situation.
But I can respect her right to choose something different.
As the adoptive father of four children and now, late in the game, a biological father of a child now six years old, I know that the biological imperative can be (or can become) overwhelming.
ReplyDeleteI don't think, even now, that I could justify spending astronomical amounts of money on fertility treatments in order to have "my own child".
My first response to stories about medical interventions is always, "Think of how much you could do for an adopted child with that same money!"
Now I find myself saying much the same thing to my (adopted) firstborn child, after his wife barely survived the birth of my first grandchild. Well, at least I can remind him that adoption is a strong tradition in our family....
Thank you for your comments; I'm so glad the piece resonated with you!
ReplyDelete