Job

I was so angry. So very angry. I shook my fist at the sky. I stayed up late into the night, crying hot tears of rage, screaming to the empty rooms of my house. I destroyed my furniture. I drank myself into oblivion. But it all did nothing to dull my rage.

Why me, God? Why must I suffer? What had I done to deserve this fate over my fellow man? Why have you forsaken me?

Cancer. The word was delivered from the doctor’s mouth like bullet to my head.

I tried to find the reason for it all, the meaning behind it. Was this a test? A way to prove my faith? I took the counsel of a priest. Then a medium. Then a Wiccan. No answers. There was only the gaping mouth of the MRI machine, the napalm of chemo ravaging my body, and my inevitable death awaiting me.

How can I love thee, O God, when you treat one of your own children this way? When you smite me with suffering with no explanation? How can the sheep trust the shepherd when he cares for the flock, but also chooses to maim and slaughter at random, with no rhyme or reason, no order, no justice?

You want to test me? You want to see me suffer? Fine. I bow to thy will.

But know that there are many other sheep in your flock, and I can play this game too.

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