by Ginny Owens
The Bible is full of stories you could not make up. Marrying two sisters at the same time was explicitly prohibited by the Lord (Lev. 18:18), and there is no doubt why. But here the Scriptures offer us a candid look at a dreadful situation. We sense how dangerous and destructive life became when Laban and Jacob were driven solely by their desires for what they thought would make them happy.
Laban wanted success, so he did everything he could to keep Jacob’s skill set and business mind on his team indefinitely, including tricking him into fourteen years of work.
Jacob would stop at nothing to start a family with beautiful Rachel.
Laban’s and Jacob’s dogged determination to get what they wanted no matter what had a lasting impact on their family, and the first person it wreaked havoc on was Leah, the unloved and unwanted wife and daughter helplessly trapped in the web of chaos they had created.
Being a woman in ancient times meant that you belonged to your father until you belonged to your husband and that you didn’t have a say in who that husband would be. Leah’s prospects for marriage were likely not good because, we are told, she was not pretty. Her “eyes were weak, but Rachel was beautiful in form and appearance” (Gen. 29:17 ESV).
In Leah’s day, eyes were considered a key component of beauty. Leah’s eyes might have been small or a “weak” color; whatever the case, since they are compared with Rachel’s beauty, we know the story is commenting on her unattractiveness. And because she wasn’t pretty, she wasn’t marriage material. She didn’t get a special wedding celebration of her own. Instead, her father sneakily married her to the man who loved her sister. Poor Leah was thrown into a situation of hopelessness and loneliness.
Once married, she was determined to win her husband’s love and acceptance. She undoubtedly believed his love would bring her happiness and peace. And though this desire became her deepest longing and drove her every move, it was never fulfilled.
Longing to Belong
Though most of us living in the twenty-first-century Western world can’t relate to Leah’s exact situation, we know how it feels to face rejection and the deep pain and frustration of circumstances we cannot change. We probably also know what it is to dream of and long for one thing we’re sure would make everything better.
My own journey has involved learning to live with things I can’t change. I was born with weak eyes, though in the more literal sense. Just about the time I was learning my colors—apparently my favorite was purple—I underwent a cryotherapy treatment that obliterated what little sight I had. My parents say I stayed in bed for six weeks afterward; then I got up one day and went back outside to play as if nothing had ever happened.
As a young child, being blind never slowed me down. I rode my bike all over the neighborhood and competed with my friends on the block to be the highest tree-climber. Blindness became important only when I went to school.
It didn’t take long for the other kids—and me—to realize that they could see and I could not. As the understanding dawned that my inability to see bothered them, I became more self-aware and very shy. And as they left me out of their games or waved their hands in front of my face, demanding to know how many fingers they were holding up, my fearlessness turned into sadness.
One Sunday morning, as all the other first graders laughed and colored together, our Sunday school teacher said, “Everyone who puts their eyes up here right now will get to make a very special craft today.” The room grew silent as everyone obediently looked at her and received the promised opportunity to make the paper-plate angels—everyone but me. As I sat alone at a table, I wondered, Does this make me a nobody? Do I count as a person, since I can’t see?
My parents were wonderfully intentional about making sure I understood how the world worked and what I’d need to do to fit into it. But as each new piece of the puzzle of awareness fell into place, I also understood with increasing clarity my “differentness” and the fact that acceptance by others was key for a “normal,” fulfilled life. I realized sometime during elementary school that my circumstances would not change, and from then on, the desire to belong took center stage. It became that “one thing” I thought I had to have to be happy.
Leah’s Songs
For Leah, the “one thing” she longed for—the thing she believed would quiet the chaos and bring peace—was to be loved by her husband. Yet the thing that actually brought her peace was the love of her God.
The most compelling part of Leah’s story is not the difficult, dark place in which she found herself but how God moved in her circumstances—lifting her out of her darkness and giving her a key role in His greater story. Leah was consumed by her longing, but as she turned to God in her anguish, He showed her that He saw her and loved her perfectly and was the only answer to her deep desire.
A beautifully poignant key to understanding the story of Leah is her “songs,” the declarations that she made at the birth of each of her first four children. These songs reveal how God worked in her heart, slowly changing her point of view.
Even in our most seemingly impossible situations, God always has the final word. “When the LORD saw that Leah was hated,” the Bible says, “he opened her womb” (Gen. 29:31 ESV). Here we get to witness how God truly and deeply sees each person, whether that person feels unseen or actually is unseen by others. Leah responded to being seen by God by naming her first child Reuben, which in Hebrew means “Look! A son!” The name connects to her first song: “The LORD has seen my misery” (v. 32 NIV).
But in the very next line of the song, Leah switched from acknowledging God’s blessing to focusing on the one thing her heart still desired most. She said, “Surely my husband will love me now” (v. 32). Yes, God had seen her struggle, but for Leah, this was only a means to the end of being seen, known, and loved by her husband.
Leah named her second son Simeon, this time declaring, “Because the LORD has heard that I am hated, he has given me this son also” (v. 33 ESV). Leah experienced God seeing and hearing her, but her focus was still on her unchanging circumstances. Her longing for the love of her husband was still louder than her praise.
We see this even more in the name she gave her next son. Levi means “attached” or “connected.” When she named Levi, Leah said, “Now this time my husband will be attached to me” (v. 34 ESV).
Unwavering in her determination to win her husband’s love, Leah reminds us of something truly important here: when we don’t have the one thing we think will make everything better, we are not content with anything.
In ancient Jewish culture, having children was a woman’s crowning glory. Not only did children ensure the continuation of the family, but they also grew up to carry on the work of their parents on their land. The fact that God made sure it was Leah who gave Jacob his first three sons would ordinarily have brought joy and confidence to a wife. But because she didn’t have the love she longed for from her husband, no gift from God, not even sons, could satisfy Leah’s ache.
Besides the cultural importance of having sons, we’re told that God gave Leah these sons because He saw her misery, and in her first two proclamations, we hear Leah acknowledge that her sons had come from the Lord. But when we’re longing for what we think we must have in order to survive, even the love and blessing of the God of the universe are not enough. Leah was more desperate for a change in the circumstances that caused her misery than she was moved by God’s loving attention to the details of her life.
However, something changed for Leah after the birth of Levi. This boy, whom she hoped would attach Jacob to her, apparently didn’t. But when Leah gave birth to Judah, her fourth son, she sang a completely different song: “This time I will praise the LORD” (v. 35). The name Judah means “Let God be praised.”
As Leah continued to take notice and proclaim that the Lord was blessing her—even though her heart was still set on how she could parlay those blessings into Jacob’s acceptance and love—God’s faithfulness took root in her heart. She understood that
the God of creation saw, knew, and loved her. He was the faithful and constant One relentlessly caring for her. When this truth became her reality, Leah turned fully to Him in hope and with undivided praise.
Her circumstances were unchanged—her husband still didn’t love her—but her heart was changed. When Judah was born, Leah lifted her gaze from the thing she didn’t have to the One she did have, the One who would love her and carry her through every situation.1
Half-Hearted Songs
Upon a first reading, it may not seem like we sing “songs” like Leah’s, but we do. So often, God provides in astounding ways, yet after our mumbled prayers of thankfulness, we look at His gifts as means to our own ends.
One of the gifts I’m so thankful for is music. As a child, I processed everything I was learning through songs; they were my prayers of praise and longing. I didn’t often share these songs with others, but that changed when I was sixteen.
Having recently joined the youth group at a large church, I somehow worked up the nerve to audition for the youth worship team. The song I auditioned with was one I had written. Our youth leader liked it and asked whether I had written more, so I shared a few. Not only did I make the team, but I was also regularly asked to sing my songs during our Wednesday meetings.
Singing for several hundred kids was terrifying but also gratifying. It opened doors I hadn’t expected—namely, I quickly realized that music could help me connect with a roomful of people I couldn’t see. It seemed to diminish the barrier between them, the supposed “normal” people, and me, the girl with a “physical challenge.” Kids heard in my lyrics their own stories and struggles and felt like I might just be one of them after all. Suddenly my goal of belonging seemed within reach.
I poured myself into my music, but for many wrong reasons. I sang to praise God but also to find a place for myself among my peers. I proclaimed that we are defined by the love of God, not how others value us, yet singing brought me a feeling of self-worth, usefulness, and even power over my circumstances. I sang all through high school and college, and when I signed a record deal a year after graduation, I thought I was finally on the path toward a life of true belonging.
I became a sing-aholic—I said yes to every gig and every interview. I worked on building my career all day, every day. Everyone admired my work ethic. But the magic came at a cost. I was singing to find satisfaction, yet I was anxious. My diet wasn’t great, and I rarely slept well. I had little time for meaningful involvement with my friends and church back home. I became increasingly driven by my work, convinced that if things didn’t go well, I’d be forced to return to the sidelines, unseen and unknown once again.
I barely noticed how sacrificing my personal life in pursuit of the one thing I thought I needed was taking its toll on my soul. I had turned God’s gift of music into a means to an end, and the outcome wasn’t good. But God would not leave me to live with my choices forever.
Shifting Desires
Though we don’t have to share husbands, as Leah did—or even get married—we still have many things in common with her. We know what it is to have difficult, unchangeable circumstances. We know what it is to feel that if we just had “X,” everything would be better. We have all tried in vain to fill the void in our lives, ignoring time and again the One who can actually fill it. We are not convinced that He could ever be enough.
We can learn from Leah what to do about this void: we can praise. We can sing the truth of what God has done for us over and over, until it sinks in. The more we praise, the more our eyes are opened to the beauty, power, and deep love of our Creator. The more we sing to Him of the voids in our lives, the more He fills them with Himself.
Just as He worked in Leah’s heart, God worked in mine. When my eight or so years of career hyperfocus inevitably led to burnout, I decided I needed a change of scenery. I moved to New York City for a summer. During that season, I was reawakened to God’s unwavering love.
It began with visiting a church. I found that they—and other churches in the area—could use some extra worship leaders. So when I was in town, I spent my Sunday mornings with my new church community and the rest of Sunday helping with music at other local churches.
Attending church in New York City was very different from the large church entities I was used to in the Bible Belt. These NYC churches met in rented buildings, many of which didn’t have air-conditioning. There was often no childcare. But nearly all the people I met were intentional in their pursuit of God and relationships with other believers, despite the fact that their faith was culturally unacceptable.
In New York I found myself immersed in true, consistent community for the first time in a long time. As I showed up each week to learn about God, sing to God, and see God in the lives of the folks around me, I began to understand my own desperate need for His love and to realize I could not live a fulfilled life unless He was at the center of it.
I began to talk to God as honestly as I talked to my new friends. I told Him about my burnout. I asked for forgiveness for choosing my career over Him. And I prayed for true heart change. I started learning to praise God not merely for the things He had blessed me with and what they might lead to but simply because of who He is.
My attitude about my career began to change too. I started to see that music was a gift I’d been given, not so I could find belonging but so I could bring hope to listeners and praise to the One who had given that gift. When music became my praise to Him instead of a means to an end, it brought joy I hadn’t felt in years. I began to experience the beautiful reality that when my heart was full of gratitude and praise to the Lord, I spent my life responding to Him instead of longing for what I didn’t have.
Like Leah, the “X” I’d been searching for hadn’t come. My situation hadn’t changed. But my heart had changed, and now I was coming alive to the One whose love had been there all along.
The Bigger Story
Leah’s struggles didn’t end after the birth of Judah. She often returned to her longing for love from her husband and her competition with her sister. Though we can hope her life was also characterized by praise to God, we hear instead how she plotted to win on her own terms.
Leah’s bitterness is a reminder that praise is meant to be not a one-time experience but a constant practice. It should be second nature for us. The thing we’re eager to do as often as we breathe. Not only is it the joyful outflow of our gratitude for what God has given us; praise also firmly roots our confidence in Him, even when we can’t see how He will work in our circumstances.
Leah had no idea, when she named her fourth son in unqualified praise of God, that his descendants would become the most powerful and respected tribe of Israel. Not only that, but it was also from Judah’s line that Jesus would one day be born. The God whom Leah praised would come and walk among us, rescuing us from darkness because He wanted us with Him. And for this reason, we praise Him here in the twenty-first century and look back in awe at the plight and the songs of His ancestor Leah.
With this assurance that God has always seen and has always worked behind the scenes, we can look with hope at our own lives. What I didn’t know when I lived in New York City for that brief summer was that I’d be moving back there almost a decade later—to stay. And I didn’t know that, instead of struggling with a heart overwhelmed with anxiety and burnout, I would be full of hope. I’ve joined one of the churches where many of my past New York friends attended, and I began working on a master of biblical studies at seminary.
But as fabulously adventurous as it is to live in the big city, it has its challenges. I have started over in a brand-new place. Building friendships and learning the ropes will take time. And besides my full-time career, I’m now also a student tackling twenty-page papers and final exams in highly academically rigorous classes. There are moments when I’m tempted to slip into my old ways—to be defined by how others see me and to become driven again to earn their acceptance.
But when I practice praise,
my need to prove myself fades into the background. I’ve come to see God not only as the giver of blessings that make life great but also as the peace and hope I can’t live without. He has begun taking the place of that old desire to receive affirmation from work or the people around me. The more I sing to God and to myself of His constant love and acceptance, the more I can accept and love others, regardless of whether they accept me.
I know my circumstances will not change. I’ll always be blind this side of heaven, and that will always make fitting in difficult. But I know that my deep desire to belong is not the be-all and end-all. God is. I will praise Him, in full confidence that I am a tiny part of His greater story.
Even more amazing is the awe-inspiring fact that we are God’s desire. Jesus came to earth to forever connect Himself to us, to give us full life (John 10:10). When the Pharisees complained because Jesus was welcoming the broken and empty, He told them that all of heaven rejoices more over one sinner who repents than ninety-nine righteous people who don’t need repentance (see Luke 15:1–7). In other words, you and I are the one thing Jesus did not have in heaven, so He came for us.
We can finally change when we begin to accept God’s unconditional love for us. When we understand the truth that we are God’s desire and that He gives us the undeserved gifts of His love and fellowship, we can’t help but overflow with praise. As one author put it, “make God the all of your heart, the one object of your desire.”2
King David once sang, “I have asked one thing from the LORD; it is what I desire: to dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, gazing on the beauty of the LORD and seeking him in his temple” (Ps. 27:4).
