Job was once the kind of man others envied—wealthy, respected, faithful. He had ten children, vast herds, a good name, and above all, a deep reverence for God. In the eyes of the world, he had it all. But in a sudden storm of unimaginable loss, everything was stripped from him. One after another, messengers brought disaster: his livestock stolen or destroyed, his servants killed, and worst of all—his children crushed in a collapsing house. Not long after, his own body was ravaged by painful sores from head to toe. His friends came to “comfort” him, but instead accused him of hidden sin. To them, his suffering must be his fault. Job, once the model of righteousness, sat in ashes, scraping his sores with broken pottery, alone in grief. He opened his mouth and asked: Why did I not perish at birth, and die as I came from the womb? Job’s entire story is a meditation on suffering and human purpose. This is where we all appear stating the existential questions. In the storms and calm we ...
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