I sit with Job.

 

In the silence. In the midst of his friends. In grief.

I sit with Job not knowing what to do or say or think. My mind is numb. I watch the lines in his face hoping to learn how the righteous suffer.

We scrape our sores with clay pots broken just like You broke us. The voice of Isaiah surrounds us as he watches the potter. I try so hard not to ask why You made me.

All of Job’s friends have left, all of my friends have left. They had nothing good to say, but they filled the silences when I was tempted to speak. When Job speaks, my breath catches and I mouth the words that he says for all of us.

I sit with Job and I think of Moses hidden in the cleft of the rock watching your glory pass by. Oh that you would pass by.

I sit with Job and I know that I have no right to ask you to come this way. But we need you to.

I sit with Job and I wait.