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Written by Débora Rodrigo, volunteer with Iron Rose Sister Ministries in Arequipa, Perú
All the women around her were mothers. Being a mother is what gave a woman of her time and her culture her reason for being, her value in the family and in society. But Hannah had no children. Hannah was empty. She was alone. She felt useless. A waste of society. Good for nothing. Her husband could not understand that feeling of helplessness that devastated her heart. He asked her, why do you need a child? Am I not enough for you? But of course, he had his own children; another woman had given them to him. She was unable to do it. She felt watched, singled out. When she walked through the streets, she felt how other women looked at her with pity. She knew what they were thinking. There was Hannah, the one who couldn't give her husband children. The one who would never feel the baby kicks in the womb, the one who would never breastfeed her children. Some women made fun of her. We do have children. Not like you. Something must be wrong with her. Or at least that's what she felt.
The anguish grew with the passing of time. The chances of the miracle occurring diminished considerably as the months progressed. The years continued to pass without stopping. Hope was diminishing. Impotence grew, and along with, it desolation. Little by little Hannah’s heart filled with anguish. Loneliness. Bitterness. No one could understand how she drowned the deep weight of sadness. It was impossible to explain. There was no way for others to understand this terrible bottomless tunnel that Hannah walked through every day. Alone.
Like every year, Hannah, along with her husband, who was also accompanied by his other wife and the children she had given him, traveled to the Shiloh sanctuary to worship God. It was a family custom, an appointment they didn't miss. But this year Hannah was traveling completely devastated with hardly any energy, without even the courage to feed her own body. Upon arrival, she could do nothing but retire to the sanctuary and pray to God from the silence of her solitude. She needed to free herself from that deep sadness. Soundless words came out of her mouth and mixed with the tears that flowed from her eyes without rest. There, in the midst of her loneliness, Hannah poured out her heart before God. She emptied it completely. She begged Him to take such a heavy load. There, Hannah finally felt understood. As her prayer flowed, a vibrant energy strengthened her body and soul. Finally, little by little, Hannah allowed the sadness to leave her mind and her being, emptied of the anguish that had taken possession of her for so long. Hannah let God give her encouragement and even joy in the midst of her terrible suffering. Anyone who saw her like this, completely abandoned in the arms of God, would have considered her crazy, or even drunk, as the priest himself thought she was. But she was just a devastated woman surrendering to a God who loved her and understood her suffering. The only one who could comfort a heart as broken as hers.
After praying for a while, Hannah wiped away her tears, got up and went back to her family. But this time with renewed strength, without the heavy burden of the abyss of sadness. Her appetite returned and she felt motivated enough to keep going. God had comforted her heart. At last, the heavy burden of sadness had become more bearable, and even light. Although her desire for a child was still just as strong as before, that suffering was much more bearable. She knew she wasn't alone. She knew she was loved and understood.
Only a few years passed before Hannah returned to that same place and stepped on that same ground that had seen her cry inconsolably and find the comfort she needed. This time however, the tears were of joy. The words, inaudible one day, were now clear and firm, the phrases that before implored help, now gave exclamations of gratitude and joy. Gratitude for that son that Hannah now embraced. Joy for a heart that found in God the hope it had lost. That son that she had felt growing within herself belonged to God and she gave him to God. God had replaced her anguish with inordinate joy. Now she felt complete, overflowing with joy.
#IronRoseSister #HIStories #Hannah #motherhood #sadnesstojoy #guestwriter
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Written by Jennifer Percell, volunteer with Iron Rose Sister Ministries in Missouri
When I read the story of Jairus, I always feel a jolt of the panic this man must have felt as he fell to his knees at Jesus feet. His little girl was dying. But Jairus had to watch as a crowd came between him and his only hope. He must have felt terrible anxiety as the Savior stopped to speak to the woman who had touched His cloak. As Jesus told the woman to go in peace, Jairus must have wondered if he had any hope for peace. And then the news came that a parent cannot bear. His little girl was gone. He was told to stop bothering the Teacher. The crushing pain barely had time to set in though before Jesus offered new hope. The roller coaster of emotion ended with a family reunited and death stopped in its tracks. A scene only God can orchestrate, a resurrection.
I have not suffered the death of a child, but I have begged Jesus to save my children from spiritual death. There was a time when my fears for them left me panicked much like Jairus. A few years ago, I entered a very dark season. One of my dearest friends, my faithful, kind mother-in-law was nearing the end of her life. We were privileged to have her living with us in her final illness, but the pain of watching her fade away was weighing us down.
On a day when we were at the hospital helplessly watching cancer steal our loved one, I decided to go home for a shower. On the drive I spoke to a dear friend who had just lost his brother to a terrible crime. I felt that my heart could not take another ounce of pain. When I arrived at our house and brought in the mail there was a letter from our daughter. This letter confirmed my worst fears that this precious daughter had walked away from her faith.
Beginning that horrible day, I fell into what I now describe as a paralysis of my heart. I knew my number one purpose was to raise my children with strong faith and I had failed at all that really mattered.
Then, just as my mother-in-law entered the last few weeks of her life, another tragedy struck. My precious big sister, confidante and best friend was stricken with severe dementia and unable to live in her home. It was up to me to make very hard decisions concerning her care. My sorrow grew deeper. My faith did not waver but I identified very much with Jesus, the Man of sorrows.
At the lowest point of this season of despair, I became ill myself. It was necessary to take medical leave from one of the few jobs still functioning during COVID lock-down. I loved my days cooking for the elderly at a nursing home and now I had to abandon them in their lock-down loneliness.
My tears seemed to be the only constant in my life and like Jairus I felt that God had turned to help someone else in spite of my constant prayers for Him to intervene in all these crises. I began to feel that joy and laughter were inappropriate, that until my child returned to the Lord and my loved ones had relief, I had no right to be happy.
Jesus told Jairus not to be afraid, to believe and his girl would be healed. Slowly, gently, Jesus found ways to tell me not to be afraid. Somewhere in the midst of my frantic prayers and accompanying darkness, I came to the end. The end of uselessly rehearsing conversations again and again in my mind to see what I had said wrong or could fix. The end of offering God plans, ideas, and suggestions of how to change these hopeless situations. The end, I guess, of me: me trying to change all the things I had absolutely no control over. When Jairus was told his daughter was dead, he must have felt it was the end, the end of any solution he could see to his great need.
And at that end, God begins. When all our solutions are gone, all our fixes are broken and there is nothing left, we are finally ready for God. The mourners at Jairus' house had accepted the end. They laughed at the idea that Jesus could change death. Jesus, however, as always, had the last word. The Bible tells us He took the child by the hand, her spirit returned and she stood up.
When I felt I had reached my end, God could begin to reason with me. There were days when I truly understood I was not alone. I saw that asking God to heal my daughter's faith and care for my health, my sister and my grief for my mother-in-law, required me to understand that He heard my cries. I began to see my prayers as the act of handing the whole package of burdens to God and walking beside Him, free of the weight I could not carry. Each step taken when I let Jesus carry the pain, became lighter, until one day I realized that I could laugh. I could walk beside Jesus and feel joy.
Just as Jairus walked back to the house with Jesus, not knowing his daughter would live again, I still walk with so many unknowns. My daughter is still living without God, my mother-in-law is no longer here with us, my sister is out of my reach in her broken mind, and my illness is unresolved. But like the child raised by Jesus, my spirit has returned.
I learned that I can walk with deep sorrow and deep joy hand in hand. My heart can contain earth's anguish and heaven's peace as Jesus walks with me toward the resolutions I have prayed for. Someone has said, in Jesus a waiting season does not need to be a wasted season. Faith gives us constant hope of healing, peace and the resurrection of lost souls.
So sister, get up, wash your face, and live, because the Great Physician, the Resurrecting Jesus is on His way to raise your heart up and give you joy.
#IronRoseSister #HIStories #resurrection #guestwriter #hope