Poor Hannah. Fourteen verses into 1st Samuel, and she’s already been harassed by her husband’s other wife (that’s a blog post for another day), her pain minimized by her husband, and now, while pouring her heart out to God, a priest calls her a drunk. The author has made a fascinating literary choice to start this story with Hannah’s deep heartache.

If you’re reading the Bible like one long story, the book of Judges has just finished. Judges told the appalling tale of Israel’s brutal moral individualism (when everyone did what was right in their own eyes). For many, evil acts went unanswered, justice was a memory, and the oppressed were pushed to desperation. At the end of Judges, the curtain falls without a happy ending, and we all look for a ticket refund.

The Israelites were literally living hand-to-mouth every day. Every day except one, that is. On Saturday night they went to bed with a full cupboard, knowing there was food ready for the next day. One night, as a gift, the food would be there for them in advance.

The God of creation had it covered.

I would not be surprised if someone told me that my dad had given them an outrageously generous gift. It may have shocked them, but I would only nod and smile. My dad only gives big, and he only gives quietly. While it may amaze each recipient, those of us who have lived with him simply delight in observing the exchange.

Similarly, I wonder how the angels feel when God spends grace extravagantly. Before measured time, they were with Him. They worshiped with song as God laid the foundations of the earth (Job 38:6-7), and they were watching as He lowered Himself to walk with Adam and Eve in the garden in the cool of the day.

There are over 55 English translations of the Bible listed in the online Bible page, Bible Gateway. That’s an overwhelming amount of choices! So how are we to know which one to choose?

“Momma!” Her two-year-old cry in the middle of the night was instantly recognizable. A stomach virus was making its way through the children. I was up and moving, tired and overwhelmed.

I knew from experience that Clara hated to throw up and would fight it. I braced myself for the battle. She burped, then swallowed to avoid the torrent. As the nausea increased, she violently pushed away the bowl while writhing, protesting, and crying in toddler anger. I forced her to stay in my lap and waited anxiously for the misery to be over. Eventually, the volcano erupted, and she finally relaxed. Spent from the battle as much as the sickness.