DAISIES IN DIARIES 4- The Day I Became Mad

Hello dear sisters, and welcome to Daisies in Diaries.

 

What we do here is very simple. We retell diaries that were never really written down, but could have been. These women from the Bible, from history, from the faith, lived real lives, went through real struggles, cried real tears, and made real choices.

 

 

So we take one moment from their story, and we imagine it in diary form to make it close, alive, and relatable. We picture what they might have thought, what they might have whispered, how they might have prayed on that day.

 

Each time we meet, we pluck one daisy, we open one diary, and we let their story speak into ours.

 

 

Tonight, the diary we are opening is from Hannah. This entry is titled: The Day I Became Mad

 

DAISIES IN DIARIES 4- The Day I Became Mad

 

I hurried out of the temple premises as fast as my legs could carry me. My legs were heavy, and my eyes so cloudy it was as if they were about to break into a storm. At one point, I think I stumbled but somehow regained my balance. 

 

My chest rose and fell quickly, and I pressed my shawl tighter, trying to hide the tremble in my body. The voices behind me blurred into nothing, the sound of sandals and chatter became faint, until at last I found myself in a narrow corner where no one could see me.

 

There, I bent, almost to my knees, my head in-between my thighs, the weight inside me burst.

 

I let out the cry I had been holding back, a cry that tore through my chest. My hands clutched at my heart as if it might fall out. My fingers, I almost felt them breaking as they tightly clenched around my chest.

 

It felt like a loss. 

 

Oh, how it felt like a huge loss. 

 

My arms still held the memory of him, the warmth of his small body, the smell of his hair when I kissed him last. 

 

 

My Samuel. 

 

My vow.

 

My firstborn. 

 

The child I had carved out of heaven with tears and prayers. And today, I had left him. I had placed him in Eli’s care, in Yahweh’s house. 

 

I had paid my vow

 

My chest tightened as though I could not breathe. For one terrifying moment, I asked,

 

‘Have I been foolish?

 

Did I really do it? 

 

Did I really give away my child, the one I longed for, the one Peninnah mocked me over, the one I thought would never come? 

 

My hands shook. My heart whispered, What kind of mother leaves her boy behind, a child just weaned?

 

I gasped and pressed my back against the wall, sliding down until I sat on the earth. My head fell into my hands, and I rocked myself like a grieving woman. My tears wet my shawl.

 

And then I remembered her face, Peninnah’s face, when she first realized what I intended to do. Her lips had twisted into that cruel smile I knew so well. 

 

 

“So after all these years of crying for a child, you finally have one, and you will hand him away? Indeed, Yahweh has cursed you. What kind of woman are you, Hannah? What kind of barren heart gives away her only proof of motherhood? Keep Samuel in your arms while you still can, for once he is gone, you will have nothing left to show.”

 

Her voice had cut me, but today it cut deeper, echoing in my memory. For a moment, doubt tried to rise. Was she right? Would I walk home with empty arms while Peninnah’s children clung to her skirts, laughing, calling her mother?

 

Would I become again the hollow woman she taunted year after year?

 

My life was simply miserable those years before Samuel. Am I going back to that life yet again?

 

I lifted my face, streaked with tears, and opened my mouth as if to answer her, though she was not there. “No,” I whispered hoarsely, “No, Peninnah. Yahweh is not a liar. He gave me Samuel, and Samuel is not lost. He is safe, safer than I could ever keep him. He is in the Hands of the One who holds the whole universe. 

 

Yahweh gave him in the first place, He still has a right to Samuel!”

 

My hand drifted to my belly as if drawn there by an unseen force. And then it happened. A sudden, sharp flutter, like the beating of a tiny drum deep inside me. 

 

I froze. 

 

My heart skipped. 

 

My breath caught. 

 

Again. A leap, a stirring. The baby in my womb moved.

 

My tears turned into sobs of relief. I smiled, sheepishly. And after a while, my mouth opened in a trembling laugh. “Ah, Yahweh,” I whispered, my palm pressed firmly against the life growing inside, “I gave Samuel to You, and You are already giving me another. How could I have forgotten that!”

 

I rubbed the curve of my stomach gently, rocking myself now in wonder, the comfort of Yahweh wrapped around me like a warm cloak. The heaviness in my chest loosened. 

 

The bitterness of loss melted into sweetness.

 

My Samuel belonged to the Lord, and my womb was not empty.

 

I slowly lifted my head, released my fingers, and began to use my Shawl to wipe my face dry. 

 

A smile broke through my wet face while I wiped it. 

 

A real smile. 

 

A mother’s smile. “Ah, my Yahweh. My comforter. You comfort me, Yahweh. You repay me with Yourself. You never leave me barren.”

 

—————————————————————————————————————-

 

It began before Shiloh.

 

I had just rubbed perfume leaves on my neck, adjusting my veil, when Peninnah stormed in. Her eyes darted to Elkanah, then to me, narrowing like knives.

 

“So,” she spat, “you are going to Shiloh, again? Hannah, haven’t you learnt? Better stay back. Yahweh has cursed you. Do you not see it? Look at your empty lap! Look at your dry breast! Every year you go, and every year you return the same way, barren. Useless. Cursed.”

 

Her words slapped me. My lips quivered. My heart felt like a re-opened wound, bleeding. 

 

A thousand replies rose in my throat, sharp and burning, but none left my mouth. What would have been the best comeback response? I had none!!

 

I clenched my fists under my veil, my knuckles white. I swallowed the pain.

 

She stepped closer, her voice like venom. “Stay home this year. Spare yourself the shame. I will go with the children, and the father of my children, and the people will see who truly carries Yahweh’s favor and has done Elkanah good as a woman!”

 

To jest me further, her eyes rested on my womb area and she burst into laughter. 

 

Her laughter burned in my ears long after she left. I bit my lip until it bled, my tears spilling onto my hands.

 

Oh, how I wanted to scream! But I could only remain silent. Yahweh hadn’t given me the words to say.

 

Elkanah said nothing to me. He only drew me closer into a hug and rubbed my back.

 

That brought me no comfort!

 

 

——————————————————————————————————-

 

At the feast, Elkanah carved the portions. To Peninnah’s children, one by one, he served meat, bread, wine. Their little hands reached out, their little mouths called her “Mother, Mother!” Peninnah beamed. She glanced at me, her smirk wide.

 

Then Elkanah turned to me. With his kind eyes, he gave me a double portion.

I took the food, went over to a secluded area, placed down the food and sat lost in thought. 

 

I did not know when Elkanah came over until he said,  “Hannah, eat. Why do you weep? Am I not more to you than ten sons?”

 

That was when I realised there were tears on my face. 

 

Elkanah even went to get me roasted chicken, my favorite at Shiloh. The smell usually filled me with joy. But that day, the aroma was bitter. My stomach turned. Tears dropped into the food before I could take a bite. I pushed it away.

 

No. I did not need food. I needed God., or I would die.

 

I stood up suddenly with force, my sandal scraping against the ground. Elkanah rose quickly after me, his hand reaching for mine. “Hannah, wait. Where are you going?”

 

I turned, my voice flat, lifeless. “Go home ahead of me, my lord.”

 

His face twisted in alarm. “Home? Hannah, no. You look faint. Sit down, please. Do not wander like this. Not tonight.”

 

I shook my head. My lips trembled. “I cannot stay here. I cannot sit and eat while my soul is starving. Let me go to Yahweh. Please.”

 

He held my gaze for a long moment, torn between insisting and letting go. But then his eyes softened, and his hand dropped. Perhaps he saw the madness already rising in my face, perhaps he knew he could not stop me. 

 

Slowly, he nodded, adjusting my shawl on my head. “Do what you must, Hannah.”

 

———————————————————————————————————

 

I walked away.

 

My steps were weak, but my soul burned. 

 

Past Peninnah’s laughter, past Elkanah’s concern, past the children’s chatter, I went into the house of Yahweh.

 

There, I collapsed. My lips trembled, but no voice came. 

 

My chest heaved. My body shook. My hair stuck to my face with sweat and tears. 

 

I poured myself out, wordless, breathless, desperate.

 

“O Lord of Hosts,” I cried inside, “look on my misery! Remember me! Do not forget me! If You give me a son, I will give him back to You all his life.”

 

I repeated this, like a chant, over and over again, till it felt like my body’s mouth had lost to soul’s mouth. 

 

It was madness. 

 

My arms clutched the air. My face pressed into the ground. 

 

My fists beat the stones until my knuckles were sore. 

 

My tears soaked the earth until I could no longer see. 

 

My whole being wrung itself empty before Him.

 

—————————————————————————————–

 

Then Eli… He had been watching. His shadow stretched across me. His face was stern, his eyes narrowed, and his voice sliced through my sobbing silence.

 

“How long will you go on being drunk? Put away your wine.”

 

First, I was startled by the intrusion then, the words struck harder than Peninnah’s venom. My heart lurched, my breath caught. 

 

Even here? Even in Yahweh’s house, where I thought I could hide my shame, I was called worthless, shameless, drunk. My whole body stiffened. For a moment, anger threatened, hot, rising, ready to defend myself. But I swallowed it. 

 

Pride would only block the very heaven I was begging to open.

 

My lips quivered, my voice weak as the last flame of a dying lamp as I responded, not looking him in the face.

 

 “No, my lord. I am not drunk. I am a woman in sorrow. I was pouring out my soul before Yahweh. Do not take me for a worthless woman. I have been praying out of deep anguish and grief.”

 

But as I said those last words of anguish and grief, I lifted up my tears soaked face to look at him.

 

The harshness melted from his eyes. His mouth softened. His shoulders lowered as though suddenly weighed with shame. 

 

He shifted uneasily, his voice gentler now, hesitant almost, like one correcting himself. “Go in peace. And may the God of Israel grant your request.”

 

The words were simple, but to me they were thunder, fire, life. I seized them, as if my whole being had been waiting only for this moment. I pressed them into my heart before they could slip away.

 

I believed them and would not let them go!

 

My tears stopped midstream. My chest loosened. My face lifted.

 

I rose at once, shaky but no longer broken. My hair clung to my damp cheeks, my knees were sore from the stones, yet my spirit had taken flight. The shadow over me had lifted.

 

Eli blinked, surprised at how quickly I stood, how swiftly I changed. His lips parted slightly, as though he had not expected me to take his blessing so literally, so completely. He had given a word out of duty, but I clung to it as though it were Yahweh’s own hand stretched down from heaven.

 

I turned to leave, and for the first time in years, my face was no longer sad. Something had shifted. Heaven had bent low. Yahweh had heard me.

 

*******************************************************************

 

From that day, everything changed.

 

I walked back home lighter than I had left, a lightness in my soul, and body that I had never known. It was surreal as if invisible chains had fallen from my neck. My lips hummed without me asking them to. 

 

The words of Eli still rang in my ears like a song. “Go in peace. May Yahweh grant your request.”

 

I moved through the rooms of my house as though I were setting them in order for a guest. I swept corners more carefully than before. I folded clothes with a new purpose. 

 

I picked up my spindle and began to weave tiny garments, my hands trembling with both fear and joy. 

 

Each stitch was a prayer, each knot a vow. I sang psalms as I worked, the words rising like incense.

 

Sometimes I laughed aloud at nothing. Sometimes I sat and smiled until my cheeks hurt. I was no longer the hollow woman who stared at her food with tears dripping into it. A song had returned to me.

 

Peninnah watched. Her eyes followed me as though trying to pierce me open. “What has come over her?” she whispered one evening when she thought I could not hear. 

 

Her voice dripped with suspicion, but I caught the thread of unease beneath it. She could not understand. How could she? She had never known the weight of a vow sealed in the courts of Yahweh and the untold joy that comes with it…

 

And then it came. The day I missed my flow.

 

I had been marking the days, quietly, carefully, as every barren woman does. My heart pounded when the time passed, and then passed again. My hands shook so badly I could not hold the water jar steady. My knees gave way beneath me, and I fell on the floor, pressing my forehead to the ground. My voice cracked in awe and wonder:

 

 “Yahweh… You remembered me.”

 

The months that followed were heavy with both fear and joy. Every flutter in my womb sent me to tears. Every kick reminded me that heaven’s fire had touched earth in me.

 

And then the day came. It was all and more than I had hoped it would be, the travailing to prevail… I prevailed, I brought forth, I conquered. 

 

His cry rang out, sharp and new, filling the room. They laid him in my arms, small, warm, alive. 

 

My Samuel. 

 

My asked-for-one.

 

I drew him close and breathed him in. His skin carried the scent of milk and heaven, a fragrance I had never known before. I kissed his soft head again and again, my tears wetting his cheeks. Each tear was worship. Each kiss was testimony.

 

I whispered against his ear, “You are proof. Proof that Yahweh answers by fire.”

 

***********************************************************************************

 

 

So let them call me mad.

Mad with grief.

Mad with prayer.

Mad with faith.

 

That madness birthed a prophet.

That madness shut Peninnah’s mouth.

That madness turned my barrenness into a well of life.

 

And every time I hear Samuel’s voice echoing in the house of Yahweh, I remember: heaven bends low for those who will not let go.

 

————————————————————————————————————————–

LESSONS FROM HANNAH’S DIARY

 

1. Don’t let mockery drive you from God.

Sisters, can you see Peninnah? Every word from her mouth was like a dagger , “barren, cursed, useless.” If it were some of us, we would have stayed home that year, sulking in bitterness. But Hannah still went to Shiloh. She still carried her pain to Yahweh. When people mock you, don’t let it silence you. Let it push you deeper into God.

 

2. A human love, no matter how deep, cannot fill the God-gap

 

Elkanah loved Hannah, and oh, how he tried. “Am I not better to you than ten sons?” he said. Some of us would have clung to that and tried to settle. But Hannah knew only Yahweh could meet that ache. Sisters, there are places in your soul that even the sweetest man cannot touch. Don’t confuse human comfort with God’s answer.

 

3. Real prayer is not always pretty.

Look at Hannah in the temple. Her lips moved but no words came out, her hair was sticking to her tear-streaked face, her fists hitting the floor. That was not elegant, that was not polished. But it was real, and heaven heard. Sisters, stop trying to sound fine when your heart is breaking. Pour it all out. Let your prayer be raw, even if people misunderstand you.

 

4. Humility is stronger than pride.

Can you see the way Hannah handled Eli’s accusations? If it were these days, some of us would have judged the priest, walked out angrily, maybe even said, “What a blind man! How can he not know I am praying?” But Hannah bowed her head and answered gently. And that humility opened the door for Eli to bless her. Sisters, sometimes the breakthrough you are waiting for is tied to how you respond in the moment of misunderstanding.

 

5. Faith seizes the word and refuses to stay sad.

Eli said, “Go in peace, may Yahweh grant your request.” And immediately, Hannah rose. Immediately. She did not wait to see a sign in her body. She did not wait for her period to stop. She believed and went home with joy. Sisters, that is faith. Take God’s word, and let your face be no longer sad.

 

6. What you give to God is never wasted.

Hannah gave Samuel back, but she did not end up empty. Her womb opened again. Sisters, when you give God your best, your precious, your all, you have not lost it. You have placed it in the only Hands that multiply.

 

Rounding Off:

And here, sisters, we close today’s diary. What a fragrance it has left with us!

 

Do you want to read more diaries? Read other Episodes of Daisies in Diaries Here

 

Until next time, when another story unfolds, may your own life and mine also become a diary that whispers God’s faithfulness to generations after us. Amen.