Look into the quiet corner of 1 Samuel 1 and listen carefully to the undisturbed crying of a lonely woman named Hannah. With a little effort you can hear her tears fall on the hard ground in front of the great Tabernacle of Israel. You might even grasp the words spilling over soft lips—words reminding the hearer that a broken, weeping heart is hard to bear. Verse 10 tells us that Hannah wept and prayed in “bitterness of soul.” O LORD Almighty, look upon your servant’s misery and remember me, she pleads. Remember me . . . forget not your servant.
Bitterness of soul.
The dreaded thought of having been forgotten.
Do these strike a familiar chord within you? Perhaps today you desperately need to find a quiet corner in which to allow the bitter bile of profound hurt to come forth. Maybe you have convinced yourself you are utterly forgotten, ignored, or even abandoned by the One who loves you supremely. Occasionally you cast a sideways glance down the dark tunnel of shame, regret, dashed dreams, abuse, loss—whichever is yours with which to deal—and when you do tears well up and your heart breaks all over again.
Is this you?
If it is I urge you today to get alone with God and talk with Him in very authentic, open terms. He will listen. Gloom fades as the glory of your Beloved overtakes you. A quiet corner for a weeping heart is a safe corner in which to be.
Lord . . .
Gloom is the foe that stalks me from season to season,
Spying on my liberty and stealing my laughter.
He is the enemy that strikes me when I’m frail,
And strives to give credence to the awful voices pointing out a littered past.
Gloom is the foe that seems so very real.
But Lord . . .
You are the Light that exposes Gloom, driving the ugliness away,
My Liberator, releasing me from the oppressive weight of Gloom’s appalling ways.
You are the Lover that caresses my soul with nail-pierced hands,
My Beloved, penetrating my being with probing eyes of tenderness and pleasure.
You are my Leader that guides me onto the safe shores of your kingdom,
Where there you stand and embrace me tightly,
All the while making me aware that I’m home.
Finally, home, where,
There will be no more gloom.*
*[No More Gloom. (c) Copyright 2003 by Matthew R. St. John]