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My Year As Job’s Wife

My Year As Job’s Wife


Posted By on Jun 25, 2015

With our 25th wedding anniversary just days away, I wanted to repost this word from 2013. Not because it’s sweet, but because these are the times that make a marriage strong. God was teaching me much about being real before him, the beauty of the ugly prayer, and what our wedding vows really meant. I trust this still encourages wives today.

“Should we accept only good things from the hand of God and never anything bad?” ~ Job 2:10b

couple-holding-hands[1] She really is an easy target to criticize. Married to a prosperous, righteous

man, she had a life of ease.  No doubt she was the envy of other women. Then things got really…really bad.

Her ten children were killed at one time. A trusted team of servants were killed and valuable herds destroyed, resulting in financial ruin. And her once strong, influential husband was afflicted with a horrific puss-oozing skin disease.

I mean, can you imagine watching your man trying to ease his pain by scraping shards of pottery across his skin? While he sat in ashes.  On top of a pile of trash.

So many words come to mind. She had to be exhausted. Fearful. Confused. In an emotional tailspin. And consumed by grief upon grief.

She is Job’s wife. And her life was in shambles. Scripture quotes her only once, but her words and tone are memorable.

“Still holding on to your precious integrity, are you?” she lashes out at Job. “Curse God and be done with it!” (Which translates “so God will kill you and make your misery go away”.)

At one time I would have self-righteously wondered why she wasn’t struck by lightning. Or thought she must not have loved God enough. Or prayed enough. Or read the Word enough. Or served enough. Or whatever enough.

But not now.

Several years ago Jim and I came under Satan’s attack. We did not lose children, but loved ones died. We did not watch large wealth disappear, but Jim’s livelihood did when he lost his job. There were no disfiguring diseases, but several family and friends would soon be diagnosed with physical and mental illnesses.

I went into supportive spouse mode. Denying my own sense of loss to be my husband’s cheerleader, I smiled and pushed through tough days. ‘Cause that’s what a good wife does, right?

Then, tired and emotionally drained, I had my “quote of Biblical proportions” moment. I was angry.  Angry about the pain. Angry our lives had changed. Angry nothing would ever be the same. What was said will stay between Jim and me. But in that moment I knew…

I had become Job’s wife.

Grieving loss took me places I never dreamed possible. It played games with my mind and distorted my judgment.  As time went on I wondered if these trials would ever end. Surprisingly, it was this much maligned woman who gave me hope.

We aren’t given details, but a close look at the rest of the story reveals she was more than one bad quote in one desperate moment.

No matter how bad it got, she stuck it out.

Stayed with him through his lowest days of rejection, loneliness, and frustration (Job 19).

She was faithfully by his side when others abandoned him. And God restored their lives, blessing them beyond what they could imagine (Job 42).

Distance gives perspective. I can sympathize with Job’s wife. She spoke those earlier words, it seems, not because she was wicked. Or rebellious. Or cruel. Because she was real, honest in a raw moment of her life. Someone who didn’t pretend everything would be okay. But was loyal and steadfast and didn’t quit.

My life is not marked with the suffering Job’s wife endured. But because of where God continues to walk with me, I get her. Perhaps you do, too.

Has your life been rocked and you aren’t sure how to respond? Trust God, Who will tenderly care for you through the process. And don’t worry ~ if you cry out in angry pain, He can handle it.  Trust me.

He will be faithful to remind you an action of ugliness does not make you a bad wife.

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It’s going the distance that counts.

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“Daddy, I’ve Met Someone”

“Daddy, I’ve Met Someone”


Posted By on Jun 21, 2015

I was not an easy daughter to raise, strong willed and challenging authority early on. Constantly questioning why this, why that. Couldn’t sit still during story time and never…ever…was quiet. While other little girls were taking dance lessons and sleeping in pink canopy beds, I was skinning knees and breaking stuff.

But somehow, I could talk my dad out of (most) discipline with “I’m sorry, Daddy. You know I love you the most in the world.” His heart would break wide open every time.

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As I grew up and began dating, Dad tried to be objective about the guys who came in and out of my life. Not that they were bad guys (well, most of them weren’t), but he always made me think.

“A guy who loves himself that much has no love left to give God or you.”
“You are in church more than him. Odds are that won’t change.”
“He’s a show off and trying to impress you. How does he treat you when he’s not buying you stuff?”
“If you settle for less in a husband, everything else in life will be less than it could have been.”

Nobody is perfect, I would argue, as that stubborn streak from childhood continued through the teenage years. There would be more than one fight and bad decision on my part.  But, as much as I hated being wrong, Dad always ended up being right.

I dated more through college, then career. Grown up and matured in my thinking, I knew what I wanted out of life. All those years of listening to Dad finally made a difference. I was strong, resolved to trust God to bring the right man into my life.

And God did. I just didn’t think I would gain one and lose the other.

Cancer. The diagnosis came out of nowhere for my dad, and for months he fought hard. Aggressive chemo and radiation were done, so one weekend I took a break from trips back home to care for him.

And it was that weekend, I met this guy. Tall, good looking, and wearing the coolest running shoes ever. He smiled. We talked. He asked me out. And somehow I knew he just might be “the one”.

Four days later Dad got the news. The cancer had spread to the liver and was quickly invading his lymphatic system. Three weeks to live.

Before I left to be with my family, I went on the first date with this new guy. And ugly cried the whole time. Most young men couldn’t have handled that much emotion. But at the end of the evening, he hugged me. Said he really liked me. And said when the time was right in weeks to come, we could do this again. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Life was soon a blur. Hospitals. Sleepless nights. Caregiving.  But Dad’s mind stayed sharp, allowing for one last gift of a conversation.

Just days before he died, I was sitting by his bedside. Holding his frail hand, I whispered, “Daddy, I’ve met someone. His name is Jim, and I think you would really like him.”

Dad looked up, tears in his tired, hollow eyes. He grinned and squeezed my hand.

“I know, Beth. I just know. It’s my last answered prayer on this earth. I have to go soon, but without ever meeting him, I know I am leaving you in good hands. God promised me that.”

And, so on a beautiful Easter Sunday morning, Dad’s eyes lit up as he lifted both arms toward heaven. One last deep breath and he was gone. And his little girl grieved hard. But in the months ahead, there was healing and hope and a future.

A future that guy in the cool running shoes walked into with me. Laughs some days. Tears on others. But that early grief strengthened, bonded us as a couple.

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And through good and bad times, he’s now walked by my side for twenty-five years of marriage.

And I just know Dad and Jim would have been the best of friends.

(Rose in the wedding picture above was in memory of my dad)
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