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February 19th, 2018 Leave a comment Go to comments

Here’s the truth: you never thought about the end of my story, did you? The after. No. That would have required following up. You read about how I lost my kids and crops and livestock and everything else, left it there and went to bed. You tucked yourself in thinking about how the pastor told you I had it all, then suddenly didn’t. But I was unshaken, I was even made better as a result. Because I had faith.

How in spite of everything, I never lost faith. That blind trust married to determination makes sense. Unwavering, that’s Job. You fell asleep pondering the tale of my life as a morality play, where the righteous and pure always win.

You’re thoughtless at best. Probably worse. You never thought about the end, if you thought about it at all. “It’s a heartening story, let’s get some lunch.”

I lost my kids. My career, lifeblood. My universe. Certainly my faith. You surely protest that no, I didn’t. That I didn’t lose my wife and was rewarded with more children after I was tested, as well as a long and fruitful life from there. That’s what the script says, and that’s true enough. But you never thought about how it felt after the climax of the tale. Into that supposed blissful hereafter. A life where my first ten children being murdered by the omnipotent and then shrugged off is the price of faith.

It’s harder than what your pastor says and you should be smart enough to know it. When it comes to stories, people want the bones but not the flesh. You don’t want to think outside the page, about all the years of burning resentment that were left unchronicled. About the bottomless guilt.

That’s not entertaining. Your pastor knows that, and it’s why you know the version of my tale that you do. It sells. You bought it, didn’t you?

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