Clothing of Love

As I began to read the story of Samuel this morning I was struck by the character of his mother, Hannah.  She is admirable.  One who “rose early in the morning and worshiped before the Lord.^1:19” She “poured out her soul before the Lord^1:15” and gave her first son, Samuel into the house of the Lord.  There are many significant things that point to the character and worshipful heart of Hannah in the first few chapters of this book, however what stood out to me was simple, the robe.

“And his mother used to make for him a little robe

and take it to him each year when she went up with her

Husband to offer the yearly sacrifice. ^2:19”

 I began to think about what this had to have felt like each year for Hannah.  As she wove together the linen and stitched together each seam of the robe for her son, what did she think about? Did her heart mourn as she felt desperately separated from the flesh of her flesh? Did she rejoice with joy over the place her son resided? What did she feel? What did she think?  As her old fingers limberly moved, and tied, and sewed a robe for her son, did she worship? Did she pray? Did she think about all the things she did not get to experience with her son? Did she long to know what he had had for a meal that day? Did she wonder how tall he had grown that year?  Did she ask God to comfort her?  Did she worry or cry over his wellbeing? 

She worshipfully gave up her son into the hands of the Lord.  The greatest of places to be, yet she had still given him up.  To make that robe for him year in and year out she kept herself connected.  How exciting the day must have always been when she finished it.  Satisfied with its completion, and knowing that that meant she would soon be seeing her son. 

That day would come, and her and her husband would travel to offer the yearly sacrifice, and she, she would carry her sons robe.  Although only linen I’m sure she handled it like pure gems.  Like something of great wealth, but this wealth was that which comes from love.  I can only imagine that every year she would see her son in the house of the Lord and her heart would fill with joy.  She would reveal for him his new robe.  Each year, a little bigger than the previous, because he had grown.  He would put it on and show her, and she would exclaim at how handsome he was becoming.  How beautiful and proud was this mother’s love.  The day would pass and she would returned home, and every year she would make for him a little robe as he lived in the house of the Lord.  Although she was far and never present, each day he was clothed in her love.  Clothed in the robe that she had made for him.  Every morning, each day, he put on love first.  Just a little robe.