One last story about Hannah and me before Sunday.
Eli saw Hannah praying in the temple, and assumed that she was drunk, because her lips were moving but she made no sound. He tried to send her away; but she explained her distress and her petition, and he recognized the deep truth of her relationship with God and with her calling and with her future, and he blessed her instead.
“Go in peace; the God of Israel grant the petition you have made.”
When I came back off the mountain, and back from vacation, and went to my doctor to tell her about the positive pregnancy test, she was happy for me. She did the usual intake stuff, scheduled the follow-up appointments.
She knew my history. She knew me. These days, she is no longer a doctor, but a priest. Somehow, I am not surprised. Because, as I was leaving, she said, very, very softly,
“It will be alright this time.”
As a physician, perhaps she had no right to make such sweeping promises. As a priest in potentia, she offered the hope that she recognized, that she lived by, that was her own.
I remain grateful.
Hannah trusted Eli enough to send him her son when he was old enough to leave his mother. He had given her hope. That counts for a lot. Sometimes, it is everything.