For years I avoided the book of Job.
No one wants to be a close acquaintance with that guy. Maybe, like me, you aim to shy away from the stories of loss and pain, in hopes it’s not contagious.
Job loses all of his children when a mighty wind collapses the house of his oldest child while all of his children are gathered. All Job’s children die. Soon after, Job loses his sheep and servants to a fire. Bandits steal Job’s remaining livestock.
Despite the tremendous loss and pain, the trials for Job have just begun. His wife betrays him—instructing him to curse God and die. Calamities continue. Job’s body breaks out in boils. Sitting in ashes, Job resorts to scraping his skin with pottery shards to alleviate the pain.
Job’s life shatters into a million pieces. His livelihood. His home. His family. His marriage.
Know the feeling?
The promotion you prayed for goes to someone else.
The bill came in higher than you anticipated or are able to pay.
They can’t find the heartbeat.
The divorce papers arrive.
The prognosis appears bleak.
When faced with our own “Job Seasons” we have two options:
- Throw a pity party
- Lean in to Jesus.
I’ve found through my own dark seasons of loss, depression, fear, doubts, and illness:
You can cling to the crisis or you can cling to Christ.
And in the midst of our crisis, we can begin asking all sorts of questions of God.
Perhaps, in order to lay hold of more of God, we need to begin asking better questions of God.
Ones that propel of forward.
Ones that lead us deeper into the heart of Christ.
Ones that awaken us to the fierce love of God.
Maybe instead of asking “Why?”, we need to ask, “Who?”
The story of Job asks us to shift our question from WHY (our circumstances) to WHO (God’s presence).
Who is God in this?
This is a daring questions to ask. But such a brave question will not just lead to a deeper connection to God, but to answers that transform us—making us look just a little bit more like Jesus along the way.
You see, God listens to our stinging words, embraces our frail hearts, and meets us where we are. Nothing is too much for the Holy Who.