Who will hear Job's cry? No-one, according to his friends. Job's voice drops to a broken whisper in the face of the shadow of death. His body is wracked with weeping. Job's tears rise to heaven, to God who has formed him with bare hands, yet broken him with the same.
You give and take away. Blessed be Your name.
May these unwavering words of Job be on my lips at all times. May I shout them joyfully over the crashing of waves. May I whisper and cling to them in the storm. For my life is not for my own edification, but in every mountain and valley to bear witness to the glory of God.