Pouring Out My Soul

(A Conversation About Heartbreak, Prayer, and Hope)

Good morning, friends.

I want to invite you into a story that feels surprisingly close to home.

It’s the story of Hannah, found in 1 Samuel 1.

You may have read it before, but today let’s walk through it like two friends sharing life over a cup of coffee—honest, heartfelt, no churchy masks.

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1. The Ache We All Know

Let’s start where many of us live: waiting.

Waiting for a diagnosis to clear.

Waiting for a prodigal child to come home.

Waiting for a door to open that has been shut for years.

Waiting can feel like a long hallway with no visible exit.

You knock, you pray, you hope—and nothing moves.

You begin to wonder if maybe God lost your address.

That’s where we meet Hannah.

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2. Hannah’s World

The book of 1 Samuel opens like this:

> “There was a certain man of Ramathaim-zophim of the hill country of Ephraim whose name was Elkanah… He had two wives. The name of the one was Hannah, and the name of the other, Peninnah. And Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children.” (1 Samuel 1:1–2, ESV)

Right away we learn three things:

Elkanah is devout. He goes up year by year to worship at Shiloh.

The family is complicated. Two wives under one roof—one fruitful, one barren.

Hannah’s heart is breaking. The text is blunt: “Hannah had no children.”

In that culture, children were more than a joy; they were a woman’s security and social standing.

Barrenness carried shame and isolation.

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3. The Pain Inside the House

Listen to verses 4–7:

> “On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to Peninnah his wife and to all her sons and daughters. But to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb. And her rival used to provoke her grievously to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it went on year by year. As often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat.”

Two tensions stand out:

×× Unanswered prayer – “the Lord had closed her womb.”

xx Unrelenting provocation – “her rival used to provoke her grievously.”

It’s not just disappointment; it’s humiliation on repeat.

And though Elkanah loves her—verse 8 shows him trying to comfort her—his affection cannot fill the ache.

Perhaps you’ve been there:

people around you mean well but their words—“Am I not enough for you?”—fall flat.

Love is real, but it can’t replace what only God can give.

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4. The Temple Scene: Pouring Out the Soul

Now the turning point (vv. 9–11):

> “After they had eaten and drunk in Shiloh, Hannah rose. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the Lord. She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord and wept bitterly. And she vowed a vow and said, ‘O Lord of hosts, if you will indeed look on the affliction of your servant and remember me and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a son, then I will give him to the Lord all the days of his life, and no razor shall touch his head.’”

Picture it.

The feast is over.

The family settles in.

Hannah slips away.

Her soul is so heavy that words barely form.

Her lips move, but no sound comes.

I like to linger here.

This is not a polished prayer.

It is raw lament—the kind Romans 8:26 describes when the Spirit intercedes “with groanings too deep for words.”

Then comes a jarring interruption (vv. 12–14):

> “As she continued praying before the Lord, Eli observed her mouth. Hannah was speaking in her heart; only her lips moved, and her voice was not heard. Therefore Eli took her to be a drunken woman. And Eli said to her, ‘How long will you go on being drunk? Put your wine away from you.’”

Imagine the sting.

You finally pour out your heart, and the priest—the spiritual authority—assumes the worst.

But Hannah doesn’t shrink back.

She answers (vv. 15–16):

> “No, my lord, I am a woman troubled in spirit. I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for all along I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation.”

Her words are gentle yet firm.

She names her pain and defends her integrity.

It’s holy courage.

Eli finally perceives what’s happening and speaks a blessing (v. 17):

> “Go in peace, and the God of Israel grant your petition that you have made to him.”