There’s only so much
a person can take, Lord.
Murder, abuse, abandonment,
and then self-punishment
because surely you wouldn’t
allow someone to go through all this
unless they deserved it, right?
At least if we punish ourselves
we get to control
when the shit hits the fan
so we can take cover ahead of time.
Didn’t you say
you wouldn’t put anyone
through more than they can handle?
Well, you lied!
I did all the work.
I sought your wisdom,
and I didn’t turn aside
to the women calling to me
to come play in the marketplace.
I stayed faithful,
though too often love went unmade.
I stood up for what was right,
but I wasn’t blessed
when I was persecuted
for your name’s sake.
Instead, I was fired,
and most of my loved ones died.
Evidently your providence
only seems to cover your elect.
And I’m not one.
I’m sorry, but the whole thing
seems fixed somehow,
fixed against me.
Yes, I hear how this lament
is centered on me,
not you.
IT’S A LAMENT, DAMMIT!
I know how purposeless it is
to bring you to my court
when you are Justice itself
working mysteriously in surprising ways
I cannot foresee
only go with,
surfing whatever comes next.
I am no lawyer,
only innocent guilty plaintiff
who’s been wiped out
time and time again,
going under for the last time.
But if it please the court,
can we dispense with closing arguments
about Job’s ostrich parenting
and the mighty wild animals of your creation?
I know who I am
in your grand scheme.
But, please, will you assign me an Advocate
and call off your behemoth Adversary now?
I know my place—solely at your mercy—
and I am grateful to be alive
to raise this lament at all.
But I’m still pissed.
Just don’t go away, please.
Let me have this tantrum.
I’ll get back to you soon.
And yes, I know, I know . . .
You are God, and I am not.
Sometimes, though, that really sucks.