Job 10-13

Even though Job's words to both God and his friend Zophar are overwhelmingly full of deep, raw pain, his love for and worship of his God still manage to peek through:

"You made me like a handcrafted piece of pottery—
and now are you going to smash me to pieces?
Don't you remember how beautifully you worked my clay?
Will you reduce me now to a mud pie?
Oh, that marvel of conception as you stirred together
semen and ovum—
What a miracle of skin and bone,
muscle and brain!
You gave me life itself, and incredible love.
You watched and guarded every breath I took.
(Job 10:8-12)

¹ "I can't stand my life—I hate it! I'm putting it all out on the table, all the bitterness of my life—I'm holding back nothing."

^2-7 Job prayed:

"Here's what I want to say:
Don't, God, bring in a verdict of guilty
without letting me know the charges you're bringing.
How does this fit into what you once called 'good'—
giving me a hard time, spurning me,
a life you shaped by your very own hands,
and then blessing the plots of the wicked?
You don't look at things the way we mortals do.
You're not taken in by appearances, are you?
Unlike us, you're not working against a deadline.
You have all eternity to work things out.
So what's this all about, anyway—this compulsion
to dig up some dirt, to find some skeleton in my closet?
You know good and well I'm not guilty.
You also know no one can help me.

^8-12 "You made me like a handcrafted piece of pottery—
and now are you going to smash me to pieces?
Don't you remember how beautifully you worked my clay?
Will you reduce me now to a mud pie?
Oh, that marvel of conception as you stirred together
semen and ovum—
What a miracle of skin and bone,
muscle and brain!
You gave me life itself, and incredible love.
You watched and guarded every breath I took.

^13-17 "But you never told me about this part.
I should have known that there was more to it—
That if I so much as missed a step, you'd notice and pounce,
wouldn't let me get by with a thing.
If I'm truly guilty, I'm doomed.
But if I'm innocent, it's no better—I'm still doomed.
My belly is full of bitterness.
I'm up to my ears in a swamp of affliction.
I try to make the best of it, try to brave it out,
but you're too much for me,
relentless, like a lion on the prowl.
You line up fresh witnesses against me.
You compound your anger
and pile on the grief and pain!

^18-22 "So why did you have me born?
I wish no one had ever laid eyes on me!
I wish I'd never lived—a stillborn,
buried without ever having breathed.
Isn't it time to call it quits on my life?
Can't you let up, and let me smile just once
Before I die and am buried,
before I'm nailed into my coffin, sealed in the ground,
And banished for good to the land of the dead,
blind in the final dark?" ^1-6Now it was the turn of Zophar from Naamath: "What a flood of words! Shouldn't we put a stop to it?
Should this kind of loose talk be permitted?
Job, do you think you can carry on like this and we'll say nothing?
That we'll let you rail and mock and not step in?
You claim, 'My doctrine is sound
and my conduct impeccable.'
How I wish God would give you a piece of his mind,
tell you what's what!
I wish he'd show you how wisdom looks from the inside,
for true wisdom is mostly 'inside.'
But you can be sure of this,
you haven't gotten half of what you deserve. (Job 10-13, The Message)