“The Lord had closed Hannah’s womb.”
Her barrenness was not accidental. Year after year she was provoked by Peninnah, her rival. She wept. She would not eat. She was deeply distressed and bitter in soul.
How many times have I been warned about bitterness taking root in my heart — only to sink deeper into despair because, at my lowest, even my emotions were counted as sin? Hannah’s story tells a different truth.
When Hannah finally poured herself out before the Lord, she was so undone that the high priest accused her of being drunk — a worthless woman. The highest spiritual authority in Israel could not see her clearly, adding another layer of grief to an already unbearable ache.
And yet, there is no rebuke from God for her bitterness.
No warning.
No correction.
No demand that she repent of her sorrow before He would act.
There is no record that she first forgave Peninnah. No evidence that she repented of bitterness. There is only a woman who reached the end of herself and offered her anguish to God. unscripted. Raw. Honest.
We often insist that Christians be joyful and peaceful at all times, disregarding the human necessity of sorrow. If someone falters, we rush to correct — confess, repent, fix it. But do we offer understanding? Compassion? Permission to weep?
Negative emotion is not sinful simply because it is painful. It is human. And in God’s hands, it can carry hope and purpose.
What if the places that grieve us most are not signs of spiritual failure, not places that need repentance and correction, but empty spaces God has not only permitted — but placed — deliberately?
I think of bitterness like a burr — sharp, spiked, irritating. When held tightly, it wounds. It clings. It provokes. But those same spikes that pierce also protect the seed inside from being devoured. What feels abrasive is preserving something alive.
The burr ensures survival. Let that sit for a moment.
Hannah’s grief clung to her. God did not silence her rival. He did not shield Hannah from distress. He did not remove the ache prematurely. He allowed her to feel it fully — until she was ready to pour it out before Him.
Peter writes, “Do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal among you.” Jesus Himself said, “In this world you will have trouble.” Yet we are quick to label bitterness as sin, grief as weakness, distress as a lack of faith — and rebuke as love.
The womb that was empty became the birthplace of Samuel — the greatest prophet and judge in Israel’s history. Hannah’s words were poured out in anguish; Samuel’s words would never fall to the ground. The very place that appeared barren and disapproved became the site of God’s sweetest work.
It is often in the barren places that God does His greatest work.
There are seasons He permits — even orchestrates — that feel sharp and unrelenting. Not to harm us, but to protect and prepare something within us. The burr is uncomfortable, but it carries a seed.
At the appointed time, Hannah released hers.
Perhaps she had prayed before. Perhaps she had pleaded for relief. But this prayer was different. This one was surrender — not for her own comfort, but to God’s greater purpose.
God’s people must be allowed to sit with their burrs. To feel the weight of what He has permitted. It is not ours to police someone’s timeline or prescribe their healing. When the moment comes to pour it out, God Himself will lead them there.
If you are greatly distressed, you are not defective. You are not faithless.
Perhaps God has entrusted you with a burr.
In time, I will hand mine back to Him too — and see what grows.
My Faith Place 