A cool breeze swept through the camp, causing the tent walls to clap against their ropes. Job wanted to stand and receive some of the sudden movement of air over his burning body, but he couldn’t summon the energy. Instead, he remained flat on his back and gazed into the light-speckled sky, away from the glow and heat and ungodly company of the firepit.
His eyes were drawn at first to the brilliant cluster of Pleiades, but, perhaps because in life he preferred the open spaces of a more sparse community, his eyes rested on the unbounded orbs in Orion’s Belt.
“You’re all liars,” he said, unconcerned whether they heard him. “You’re worthless physicians. Take a lesson from the stars, and choose silence as your greatest wisdom. By accusing me of sin, you’ve become false witnesses of God’s character. He doesn’t just afflict the wicked, as you say, or you’re also calling me a hypocrite. What do you suppose God will do to you for twisting the nature of his way? He doesn’t need you to lie for him.
“Now, let me pray in peace. Even if he kills me, he’s going to hear what I have to say.”
Job took in a deep breath, and the sores over his torso ripped open like the fissures of an old wine skin. He roared in agony.
“God,” he groaned, “two things I pray. Don’t abandon me, and don’t terrorize me.
“What have I done to offend you? Help me understand. Point out my sin so that I may turn away from it. Why instead do you turn away from me? Do you also chase a leaf in the wind only to chastise it for doing so?
“You have bound my hands and feet, and like a rotting tree, I wither away.”
Inspiration: Job 13