"Thank you Lord for this work," Chana silently spoke as she prepared fig cakes for her husband and his children.

When she made fig cakes, crushed wheat, and wove her husband Elqanah's tunics, her mind didn't wander to her troubles. She didn't think about still being unable to bear a child after more than 25 years with her husband. She didn't think about him marrying his second wife Peninnah. She simply worked. Somehow that was enough to keep her mind off such painful things.

Even though she frequently thanked God, she couldn't help also questioning Him. She often wondered why her husband chose Peninnah, a woman who seemed to deeply despise Chana, as his second wife. She was a torment to work alongside; she mocked her endlessly about her barrenness and insisted that Elqanah loved her more. Her spiteful taunts left Chana angry and saddened, needing prayer to help her regain composure.

Forcing down the doubt that resulted from Peninnah's insults was difficult for Chana. Would she ever have a child? Did Elqanah favor Peninnah more because she wasn't the childless one?

Through the years, his actions had proven to her otherwise. He spoke and acted towards her with the same tenderness and affection as when they were first betrothed, long before Peninnah became a part of their lives. Even that day, he stopped to talk with her, interrupting her while she sat on the roof spinning wool to be used on more garments for his sons and daughters—a task Peninnah begrudgingly did herself.

"Beloved," he began "You've been working since morning. Spend time with me." His eager brown eyes beneath long curly lashes were still as beguiling and persuasive as when they'd first met.

Without a word, Chana dropped her work for the time and followed her husband to the walled edge of the flat clay roof, away from the mounds of wool nearby. They stood staring out at the sky as the day wore off and the sun sank deeper into the clouds.

"You deserve this time," her husband said, as a light breeze wafted over her dewy skin. "You work yourself tired. Even Peninnah has her breaks."

Chana's pleasant moment was instantly halted by the mention of his second wife's name. With immense effort, she successfully warded off the image in her mind of her scowling face and refocused on her husband. His gaze was unwavering as he stood before her. "Beloved, you are still so beautiful," he said.

Chana's broad smile matched her husband's as she examined the features of his bearded face. Slowly, he bent down and brought his face nearer to hers, lightly pressing a kiss against her lips.

He hardly had these times with Peninnah. She knew because Peninnah complained ceaselessly about it. The time he spent away from his work talking to Chana clearly irritated his second wife, yet Peninnah insisted that Elqanah secretly loved her more because she could give him children.

A wave of sadness at this thought threatened to overcome Chana, until she felt her husband move his arms around her waist.

"I've worn out the tunic you made me," he whispered, pressing his chin down on the soft curls of her hair. "I wear it so often it has holes all over now." He wore all of the tunics she made him this way; it was a small victory over Peninnah that Chana often had to convince herself to be humble about.

"I'll just have to make another for you to wear until it's full of holes." She encircled her arms around his waist, smiling knowingly at the fact that she was already close to finishing his next tunic. She was simply waiting to surprise him now.

Times like these made her dolefully wonder how Elqanah could have hurt her so much by marrying again. Couldn't he have just waited on Yahweh to give them a child? Now, on top of suffering through the grief of her childlessness, she had to put up with Peninnah and her vindictive mistreatment. She was worse off now than before, and desperately yearned for their days with one another as youths, right before their betrothal.

She remembered first meeting Elqanah at a festival. The curls on his head were much longer now, but his dark, trancing eyes, sharp jaw, and pearl-white teeth were still the same. She'd seen him many times at the feasts before and watched as he handsomely matured. His tall, brawny stature made him stand out from the other young men there at the festival. It surprised her to find him watching her one night as they celebrated around a fire. Usually she would steal glances without him ever noticing.

When they had their first encounter, with their family nearby, she discovered that he'd been aware she was watching him all those times. Already flushed red at this embarrassing revelation, her face turned even redder when he assured her he hadn't minded her attention.

From then on she contemplated whether her sister also appealed to him, and whether he paid attention to other women who danced near the bonfire. More and more she grew curious as they continued to see one another at the festivals. The following year, she no longer had to wonder.

"You are truly a woman who rejoices in the The Most High," he'd complimented, just before going to her father to ask his permission to marry her. She thought back to her joyousness at all the festivals and her fervor in singing songs and dancing to God. It was then that she realized he'd been paying closer attention than she thought. Her heart soared like a free dove.

Those times seemed like faint memories now. Now she found it difficult to rejoice when she knew she had to start the day off with Peninnah.

She squeezed Elqanah tightly to shut the image of his second wife's taunting out of her mind. A contented sigh escaped her husband and he stroked her hair. "I was remembering how anxious I was for us to marry."

It eased Chana to know they were both recollecting the same thing. How perfect it would have been if they could go back to those times, if even just for the moment.

Chana looked up at Elqanah, smiling at her recollection. "How anxious you were?" She laughed. "I was anxious and frightened, terrified, in fact."

He peered down at her, his thick eyebrows knitted together inquisitively. "Leaving my Ima and Abba to come here to Zuph terrified me, until I began to see this as my home." She watched his curious expression change to one of amusement. They'd relived these moments before.

"Yes, my mother helped with that," he recalled with a laugh, referring to his mother's added effort to ease the transition.

His mother, Batyah, listened to Chana talk for hours about her brothers and sisters. No doubt her her aging mother-in-law had fallen asleep once or twice.

"You toiled over my chamber," Chana remarked, remembering again their younger days.

The artfully-built clay structure he'd constructed for her was scarcely furnished, but particular to her predilections and her father's approval. There were even painted clay vessels, dyed mats, and shelves inside.

"I most remember finishing your bridal chamber."

The slow, luring manner in which he spoke the words made her feel as though it were their wedding night again. Suddenly she was filled with longing to stay with him tonight. Elqanah's eyes, still attached to hers, suggested he wanted the same. She was sure at any moment he would confirm her belief with words. Unfortunately, that never happened. Peninnah called and immediately distracted his attention away from Chana.

He listened as she wailed his name again. "She sounds unwell."

He seemed curious but didn't leave with a sense of urgency. They both were well aware that Peninnah was good at being dramatic.

Kissing Chana's forehead, Elqanah walked away from her while she reflected once more on memories of happier times. Back when he'd built their dwelling, she'd imagined them having a child. Now she felt plagued by uncertainty. Surely the Lord had still found a way to bless her. Elqanah had wealth and prominence in their community, their home was beautiful and spacious, yet that still that did not suffice.

After Chana finished spinning her wool, she learned that Peninnah had somehow crippled herself while in the cereal fields. Chana didn't worry about the truth in this discovery, she was simply grateful that she would perhaps see less of his second wife while she recovered.

"It is her ankle," Elqanah informed, passing Chana as she prepared bread. She smoothed the rounded pieces of dough, flattening them with her hands while she bit back her words.

Her ankle? Chana thought. Before that, it was her wrist. She'd become the clumsiest woman in Ramah.

Chana suspected it had to do with how Elqanah and their mother-in-law doted on her when whenever she was injured or ill. They enlisted their maidservants to tend to her every need. She was treated like a queen and showered with attention, something she sought regularly. Whether her Ima-in-law and Elqanah truly felt sympathy towards Peninnah was unclear, but they admirably tended to her.

"Elqanah has told me he will stay with me tonight," Peninnah's cloying voice spoke. Her sandals flapped against the floor as she hobbled closer to Chana where she was preparing the bread to be baked. Their domed-shaped stone oven sat directly in the middle of their enclosed courtyard amidst the cobbled lamp-lit footing.

"And you are happy, I am sure," Chana calmly replied, placing the rounded dough into the oven to bake. The wick in the bronze oil lamp on the surface beside her could hardly be seen. Chana told herself she'd stop before the flax wick burned down completely, but hadn't. Remorseful, she wondered if finishing earlier could have forestalled her from seeing Peninnah before sleep. "You toil as though you are a servant. How pathetic." Peninnah insisted. "As if it will make you any more useful in Elqanah's eyes."

Chana dug her nails into her palms as her anger mounted. With a few long and deep breaths, she was able to gain control over it as she always did. Slowly she turned to face the woman whose very presence tormented her. Long raven-colored waves of hair hung from beneath her linen headdress, accenting her honey brown eyes and rich brown skin. Indeed she was as beautiful as the men in Ramah said she was. Hardly, however, was she a pearl, as her name suggested. Chana remembered weeping when Elqanah brought his second wife to their household. Rather than offering comfort or showing kindness, Peninnah had only mocked Chana. She'd decided immediately that Chana was "cursed."

"Please leave me alone, Peninnah."

Chana stared into her rival's scrutinizing eyes with her own tired ones hoping that Peninnah would grant her this one wish to be alone. She knew she would start back up with her taunting the next day, but she was much too weary to bare it now. Relief swept through her when Peninnah simply hobbled away, mumbling something about tonight with Elqanah as she did. Chana pushed down her bitterness towards Peninnah as she asked, "Lord, when will this end?"

It was a question that plagued her heart and mind every day. She was cursed with not only childlessness, but an enemy in her very own household. How could her faith be rewarded with such affliction?

Chana sometimes found hope in thinking of Sara and Abram. Yahweh had closed Sara's womb, but had also opened it. Sometimes she believed that Yahweh would do the same for her. "Lord, I pray that whatever is to come will be in your will," she whispered, after she had finished baking the bread. Once it was stored for the next day, she retired to her chamber.

She found Elqanah waiting for her once she arrived there, and was delightfully surprised. Peninnah lied to provoke me, Chana thought, invigorated now by the sight of her husband. So I was right, she thought. He did want to stay with me. She couldn't help the sense of triumph that surged through as she dressed in her robe and laid beside him on their cushioned bed. At once, Elqanah's arms welcomed her into his embrace, his lips consuming hers with the same passion that had blazed in his eyes earlier that night.

For the moment, she could not feel her anguish.