Lamp of the Body

Job

47 JoB Darkness plows its furrow here. I am nothing now but a purse of bones. Skin for skin,Satan said. All that a man has he will give for his life.What was given me has been taken away, my cup drained to the dregs. Gone, seven sons and three daughters, the sky spiraling with their black hair.And for what? To prove the worst can happen at any moment, and always does. Darkness digs a rut miles deep somewhere in my field. It’s as if I wander blind, hardly trusting my own steps not to lead me down into it.Who here deserves forgiveness? Who could possibly bestow it? I asked for an apology, but one was not owed me. Forgive me: I have uttered what I did not understand. Worse happens to better than I. ...