Where Was Job's Wife?

 I've been in a tremendous hole for nearly a month. Sometimes life overwhelms me and I have a meltdown. I've always had a habit of overthinking a problem, but Jerry was the anchor that sort of balanced me. He couldn't always fix the problem, but an anchor is really just to stabilize the boat and keep it from drifting out to sea. He kept the boat from rocking so much.

After he died, I lost all sense of stability. In fact, it felt like I was tossed into a washing machine. My tendency to over think situations escalated to the point I'd lose my self control. I had to ask people for help, something I never did in my entire life. Not ever. Yet, there I was, not able to resolve simple problems because I couldn't think clearly. I couldn't focus. The fibromyalgia brain fog added to the chaos. 

These days, I'm not as unstable as I was, but I'm never going to be who I was before Jerry died. That part of me died with him. Death of a spouse is the death of two people. One of them remains, but 50% of their personality is simply destroyed. They'll recover to some degree, but they'll never be who they were and people who know them well will see it. They won't understand, but they'll see it. I don't sing anymore. I talk too much. I avoid most social events because I don't enjoy sitting in a corner alone. I can't cope with trauma at all. I hate who this made me, what it did to my life, but I can't undo it. So it gets dark sometimes.

So, for the last several months, I've been in a dark place. I can't describe this any way other than they're cold, dark, and devastatingly lonely. One has a tendency to reach out to people. The tendency of those people you reach out to, is to push you away. Really. I mean, didn't you realize that is why people commit suicide so often? They were unseen suffers whose desperation results in people shoving them aside. The excess talking, the neediness all reflect a soul clutching for an anchor for just a few minutes. 

It's hell. Oh, not for you. For them.

When I get in these places, I do a lot of praying. I become very unsociable to protect other people from the fallout. I crawl into my hole and pull the dirt in over me. For me, this is a normal reaction. 

I've tried to overcome this the last several years. And I really wanted to go to church. I needed to go to church! So, I went despite this enveloping darkness.

 Of course, people always think you're in physical pain at these times, and because most folks are shallow, they won't delve too deep. It's easy to let them think what they think. They don't really want to hear about what is really bothering another person. They don't actually see you after the first three minutes. 

I struggled to listen to the lesson during Sunday School. I like the fella who was teaching. He's good. But I was surprised when, out of the blue, a question popped into my head. I'll take you with me for this. 

"Where was Job's wife?" 

He's not teaching about Job. 

No, but where was she?

Job's wife? Well...I guess she was home.  

Sure she was. She was nagging Job, remember?

Yeah, I remember........ wait. She's mentioned one time. I think. They say she told Job to curse God and die.

Yes. That's her. In sermons, they say all he had left was a nagging wife. In fact, she's never named. 

OK. That's harsh.

But where was she?

I don't know.

Well, where was Job?

Oh, he was sitting in an ash heap scratching his sores and moaning with his friends. 

He was. The writer gives it a less judgemental slant, of course.

Of course he does.

Let me tell you about Job's wife. You'll probably recognize her.

I....

Job's wife was in her tent. She was cleaning up the dishes, making beds, washing clothes, cooking a meal for the two of them. That's what was expected of her. Job had lost everything. But Job's wife lost everything she helped him build. She lost her babies; she lost any hope of grandchildren. In her society, this would have been a death blow to any woman. She lost crops, flocks, and children. Job's wife had nothing left, not even her husband. He's sitting in an ash heap scraping his sores and complaining to his comforters. 

The grief she felt was soul crushing and there is no evidence she had comforters, not even the man she'd given her life to, the man she'd born and reared children for, the man she cooked, cleaned, and waited on for decades. He had no time for her. He was suffering. 

"Curse God and die!" she screamed at Job.

"You speak like a foolish child!" he yelled back.

But she wasn't a fool, and she wasn't a child. She was a woman whose whole life was crushed out of existence. As a male, Job could start over. He could build again, get more crops and flocks. He could marry a younger woman and father a new family. But Job's wife... she lost everything that gave her life meaning. Her identity was stripped from her the moment those children died. And she could not start over. 

But the story says God blessed Job, and he had more than he had in the beginning. 

But where was Job's wife?

It doesn't mention her again. 

No it doesn't. 

So ... where was Job's wife?

She was burying her babies. She was cleaning up the mess, cooking the meals, serving Job's comforters wine and cheese, and burying her babies. Job's wife was grieving alone, and she was screaming to die.

Oh. Oh no. 

.............

Job's wife disappeared. There is no indication in the story that Job's wife had more children. No mention of their relationship or of her being blessed. Job was blessed. Where was Job's wife?

The writer neglected to tell us. Although, I think you and I know. You probably understand Job's wife in a way no one else can unless they've lived it.

Yes. 

Why do they do this to us? They make us invisible. It is as if we don't matter. No one sees us. No one hears us. We mustn't make anyone uncomfortable. We're not to draw attention to our pain. Never speak of it. We'll "get over it". We're fools if we don't. No wonder she screamed at him. 

You don't get over it. And you're not fools. But you're going to be all right.

Will I? It hurts. Even now. 

I know. But I see you. l hear you. And you can always talk to me. 

Surely someone reached out to Job's wife? Surely .....

Didn't they?

#ConversationsWithHim

 

Leaving the Graveyard

Summer is almost over and it has not been fun for me. Last summer was a disaster as well. I am praying that on September 22, 2018, the first day of Fall,  my world will right itself and begin to proceed normally. Well, whatever is normal for me.

When my brother died last month I was overwhelmed when I got home for about two weeks. I was forced by circumstances to relive some things I thought I'd put behind me. My husband died a violent death in 2009. His heart attack was not what you see on television. I can't tell you about it even now because reliving it sends me into a terrible state. I have to take a deep breath and move on but I know it is there, almost beyond my awareness. One hopes that someday, I'll be unaware of it but you don't really forget such things. I've learned with each death since that I am going to have to deal with the horrible memories of Jerry's every time. 

The Lord is truly merciful and I'm so thankful He's patient with me about things. I am not. I get so annoyed by things people say. Someone said, "Oh you never get over it. Your life will never be the same." No. It won't. But it will go on. They're no longer a part of it and you are a different person. You don't stop living because they're gone. For a while, you want to but that part goes away. God has blessed us with a powerful will to live. I miss Jerry so terribly some days it is a physical ache. There are times I try and remember what it felt like to hold his hand and feel his arms around me. I can't. Those times pass eventually and I have to move on.

Our own mortality is brought to our awareness when someone dies. We're made to realize that we are running out of time, as well. How can I make the most of my time? That's what I keep asking. I've had a roller coaster of a life. Did I mention I hate roller coasters? Yeah. But life, that's amazing. Pain, heartache, love, excitement, adventures, discoveries, and fear. Lots of fear. Fear of failure, of hurting, of losing, of meaninglessness, of dying. All of that is part of living. We all experience it in random order. I suspect life is what was in the box Pandora opened.

Would I change some things? Oh, you better believe it. But would I really? If I change a path I took as a child, I might have missed knowing someone that made an impact on my life. If I had not gone to the Christmas parade in 1973, I would never have met my husband, had my children, and would never have had a granddaughter named Sarah Cheyenne who brings light to my dark days. If. So many choices but would I change any of them? 

I've thought about this a lot. Would I remove one person, one event, one item from my life?  No. Each thing I try to imagine removing shows me this string of things that would be impacted by that change and at some point, I know. By changing one thing, something important in my life may have been missed. If my mother had not had me, what would have happened? I would not have been blessed with this amazingly, wonderfully, painful life. My favorite movie is "Its a Wonderful Life". It always makes me so very thankful for my life. God has so blessed me with a tremendous and exciting life. 

I make a point to not dwell long on death. I give myself a moment to grieve but I know now that to stay too long in that place, well, Jesus delivered the man living in the graveyard for a reason. I don't think that is a place He wants me to stay for very long. I have realized that, as hard as it seems at times, He wants me to live and make the very best of the time He's given me. "Let the dead bury the dead." 

I'm supposed to live. I'm supposed to make the best of my life. Sometimes it is hard. Lately, I've been struggling with that, trying to figure out what I'm doing. I know some of this is the result of my brother's death. I've hit a wall that I don't understand. I keep pounding on it. 

Sometimes I get lonely and miss Jerry so much. Eventually, I'll sit up, wash my face, and do the laundry. Life, my life goes on. You don't get over the loss of a loved one. You heal. You may carry scars the rest of your life, but you heal. Living is a choice, sometimes a painful one. It takes courage to live. I've learned I'm a lot braver than I thought. 

Recently, I found a new favorite verse. I highlighted it in my Bible. I need to put in on a poster and hang it where I see it every day. 

Micah 7:8 says, "Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy: when I fall, I shall arise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto me." 

For today, I'll leave the graveyard. There may be some painful days ahead, but hey, that's life. Today, "I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord." Ps. 118:17

Finding a Way Out of the Fog

I thought I'd share my latest summer vacation photos with you. If it seems a little unclear, you're experiencing exactly what I have experienced.

Isn't that just a photo of ... fog?

Yep.

So, you're saying your summer was foggy? Uhmmm, I seem to remember lots of sun and triple-digit temperatures in your location. Were you somewhere else?

Nope. Well, I visited several states in the southeast but they all look the same.

I'm not following you.

Well, the photos might have been better if you had.

Cute. Your jokes are often quite good. If inappropriate. Let's be serious, because I think you are.

I'm just tired and worn out and feel like everything is out of focus. It feels as if I should see something but this ... this fog is all I'm getting. I have another shot of my life this summer. You want to see it?

Yes?

Here ya go.

Wow.

This is a nice clear shot of everything that has happened this summer. You know, the tornado was probably a sign and I just missed it. From that point on, everything has been in disarray. Chaotic.

You've survived and made it home. 

Yes. A week later my brother didn't.

....

Still no response to that, huh?

I'm not required to answer to you for such things. You can ask all day long but there are some things you are not meant to know. 

They say we'll know someday. I don't really believe that.

Why?

Because if we aren't supposed to know it now, it will be pointless to know it then. The outcome is the same and the reasons won't be important then. I suspect we won't even care. The why of it all will be obsolete.

Obsolete?

We'll be so far removed from the events that knowing the why will cease to mean anything. It won't matter then. The value of knowledge decreases over time. It will be history. And we bury history.

So, it isn't obsolete now?

Maybe but it feels important now. Pain has a way of drawing attention to the source. Time has a way of removing urgency. You reach a point where you know that you're never going to understand and never have a definitive answer. It is what it is. I don't even know sometimes if there is a reason for anything. I think there is, but I could be wrong. So, I've learned that the only thing I can do is leave the bodies behind and keep moving in what I think is a forward direction. But it might be backward. That first photo is pretty much what the road ahead looks like, for me anyway.

Through a glass darkly.

Yeah, well, I'll ask Paul when I see him but I don't think he'll care either. What is done is done and can't be undone. Even if the glass clears, it won't change it. The Great Why is meaningless after the fact. Someone once asked me what I'd ask Jesus when I saw Him. I didn't have an answer then and I don't have one now. I can't think of anything I am dying to know. That is not an intentional pun, by the way.

I'm glad to hear it. So you have nothing you want to ask?

Not at this point. Besides, the Bible says there will be a half hour of silence first. After that, there will be a thousand years of worship. I don't see any place in there where we're allowed to ask questions. There are people who believe it is a mortal sin to question God. So if I can't do it here, why would I be able to do it there? I could ask "Why did you take my Mama? Why did you take my husband? Why did you take my brother? All died before they should have. At least, in my opinion. But the truth is, my opinion is worthless in this matter. It doesn't matter what I think or want. They are gone and nothing I can say or do will change it. And asking why in 1000 years won't change it either. I can only hope I'll be able to see them again. That's all I have. That's all I'll ever have, no matter what else happens.

So, you have hope.

I guess if you want to call it that. I have a fervent desire, an endless craving. But I must be broken because the way my brain works, that's not a comfort. The phrase "it begs the question" comes to mind. Did you put that there?

Maybe. You'll have to think about it.

You know, I love God more than anything. And when you love someone that much, their power over you is tremendous. It means that they have the ability to destroy you or create you. It means that you accept their decision regardless of what that decision is. So, asking you why would be taking that power back. I can't do that. I don't mean I haven't asked: "why." I have, but my head and my heart know you will never tell me and it is extremely painful knowledge. That alone is a kind of grief. But I'd rather throw myself onto the rock than to have it fall on me. Your sovereignty is never in question. In that, I have no doubt. I still bow to your decisions. Even when I don't like them. Even when they hurt me.

I think you'll find your way out of the fog.

I hope you're right. I can't stop and wait for it to clear.

#ConversationsWithHim

The Devil in the Dark

How am I supposed to be thankful today? How can I be glad when death can enter the room anytime he wants and take what is not his. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, whoever you're with, he can simply walk up and crook his finger and destroy everything.

.......

What? No answer? No response? Nothing to say?

......

Why would you create such a creature? A dark, loathsome thing that has no dignity or manners.

He has barged into my life three times and wrecked it. For what? What did it accomplish? I'm not a better person. I'm worse than I was the day before. I'm broken. Irreparably damaged because pieces of me are missing. I can't ever be put back together. I'm walking wounded, bleeding internally.

Did I say it was a terrible day? The sun shines and the birds sing, and the boiling cauldron we've been in has simmered down a bit. But the shadow cast by that beast does not retreat. No, he leaves his stench everywhere. Sachets of it that burst open as they rot and envelope you in a stinking cloying cloud when you least expect it that chokes you, burns your eyes, and wrings your insides until you want to scream. To what end?

And he cares not who he strikes. Tiny babies and old men. Young men and old women. Beautiful girls and ugly crones. It doesn't matter. I often wonder if the destruction he leaves in his wake gives him pleasure.

Despite what Touched by an Angel would have you believe, death is not an attractive man in a lovely suit holding your hand while you die. He isn't kind, loving, or gracious. He's the uninvited guest at the table. The stalker peering through the windows or around the corner. He's the unconcerned onlooker who watches you as you drown but never moves to rescue you.

Death is not a gentleman. He is the Devil in the dark.

And you created him. Through Him, all things were made, and without Him, nothing was made that has been made. 

There is no comfort for the lives he destroys. Time doesn't heal these wounds. We struggle to keep them covered until the next attack.


Note:
(This blog is, and has always been, my conversations with God. Sometimes they're direct talks, meaning, I am actually talking and leaving a response to my comments that I feel inspired to leave. You can believe they're my own comments if you like. Other times, I simply write about what is in my heart. Today, my heart is wounded and hurting.

My belief is that God always understands where we are coming from. He isn't confused. We might be confused, but He isn't. And when I need to tell him how bad my situation is, He is not intimidated by my anger, frustration, and pain. So, if this post offended you, I'm sorry you're offended. You can talk to Him if you'd like but don't pray for me if you are offended. You aren't serving the same loving, understanding, and patient God that I am. I don't need prayers to strange gods on my behalf.)