Here's to that sacred work of Stair-building...
A mother’s prayers could pave a stairway to the moon and through the stars
For cares of love can press so hard where happiness is full of scars
The child that makes Her laugh and weep in that quick leap to woman, man
Can prime a mother’s heart with prayer like nothing else in this world can
Where time is never kind enough to satisfy its thirst for tears
Where modern-day Goliaths still test David-faith with taunting fears
Where she must often reach to touch the hem of grace to heal the void
That began when each newborn left Her deeply awed and overjoyed
Where she will never know the freedom she does not ever desire
Where, as they grow she feels the tug that keeps the Torch of prayer a-fire
And Hope must bind Her heart and mind or else how could she bear the Must
That unravels a maze of ways to teach Her how to Simply Trust
© Janet Martin
After sacrificing the bull, they brought the boy to Eli. 26 “Sir, do you remember me?” Hannah asked. “I am the very woman who stood here several years ago praying to the Lord. 27 I asked the Lord to give me this boy, and he has granted my request. 28 Now I am giving him to the Lord, and he will belong to the Lord his whole life.” And they[h] worshiped the Lord there.