Hannah couldn’t eat because she’d swallowed a lie that bloated her womb to near fatal distension. “I am the fruit I bear” she insisted and resisted with teargas and clubs the obvious protest of trunk, roots and branches. Thank God for Elkanah, Hannah’s man of love who conquers doubt with questions. “Am I not worth more to you than ten sons?” Thank God for men of love. Let us each internalize at least one as a tender organ to regulate the womb when this grows dangerously distended.