Giving Them Back

This morning I started the book of I Samuel.  As a mother, I am always moved to read of Hannah's longing for a child.  She is picked on, mocked, and driven to great depression over her barrenness.  She begs, pleads, and cries out to God.  Her agony in the temple was so intense that the priest even believes she must be drunk--nobody sober would act like that before God.

God hears her, and he grants her deepest desire.  He gives her not only a child but a son.  The part I so often miss in the story is that she said to God, "[Give me a son, and] I'll give him completely, unreservedly to you."  And then she does just that.  This woman who, more than anything in the world, wanted a child, gets one, and then leaves him in the temple to grow up. 

As a mother, it's hard to imagine.  As a Christian who struggles on my sojourn, it's even harder to comprehend.  First of all, she makes a promise to God--and then she keeps it.  Even when it must have destroyed part of her to do so.  How often do I want something badly, and I say to God, "If you just give me this, then I'll X"?  Whether the "X" is be happy, tell everyone what you did, never ask for anything more, not screw it up . . . whatever it is, how often do I really do it?  I can answer that for you: almost never. 

But as a mother . . . as a mother who has never had trouble conceiving, as a mother who conceived twins only to have one die, as a mother who is often overwhelmed by my three living children, as a mother who still grieves the (now) two-year-old baby I long to hold in my arms . . . how do you long for a child, have it long enough to wean it, and then drop it off at the temple to live? 

Now, this isn't like it would be for us.  We go to church at the end of our road.  There are plenty of days that I think it might be nice to drop by kids off at Pastor Tim and "Miss Ruth's" house for a while.  Shoot, there are days that I do that (and thanks for generously taking them Ruthie!)--for a few hours at least.  But I can always go pick them up, and the trip takes me only about 1 minute.  Five if I walk.  For Hannah it's a long journey that she takes once a year.  Huh?  How do you do that?  How do you long for something to the point of your heart breaking and then turn it completely over to God?

But then how do you not?

I remember once in college when I was going off with my Christian fellowship group to do some evangelism thing that made my dad pretty nervous.  He sent me a letter after we discussed it on the phone, and his letter is something that I'll keep forever.  In it he wrote, "We have always known that you aren't our child.  You are God's.  And we knew the time would come when He took you places that we didn't understand and didn't like.  But you are His.  You were never ours to keep."

As a mom I'm grateful that I get to see my children nearly every day.  I'm grateful that I don't have to send them miles and miles away and see them only once a year for them to truly be God's.  But I also know that just as my sweet Baby Zion is sitting on God's lap and belongs solely to Him, Ellie Grace, Meggity Leigh, and DeeDee also belong solely to God.  They may not be literally sitting on His lap, but they are held in the palm of His hand.  They are no less His than Zion is, than I am.  While they may live in my house for a time and in my heart forever, they have never really been mine. 

So, yes.  I have longed for them to the point of my heart breaking.  I have watched out for them and cared for them and loved them to the point of my heart breaking.  But I have also--and need to continue to--given them completely over to God.  Today may I care for them as children that God has entrusted to me, and women who will change this world forever because of their Father, and sisters who will sojourn Home alongside me and the rest of our brothers and sisters.  Today may I see them as they are: dedicated to God for life.