Seven days come and go between Job and his friends. For what reason this time was observed I cannot tell, but for whatever reason it existed, it is now broken. Job begins with a lament; he laments that he was even brought forth from the womb, he laments that he is not given the reprieve of death. If there is ever a sentiment of R.I.P. it is in these words of Job.
Application. As you meditate on the words, the weight of the oppression is taking all life and energy from Job. He now sees no purpose to his having come forth from the womb. Whatever he may have seen before this, it was now seen no longer. This is the way life is; our current situation very often dictates how we think of our whole history. Whatever good Job may have done, he erased it from his mind. I can say that I never experienced anything close to what Job had, but for a brief moment or two, I felt the weight of some oppression weighing heavily on and against me. I wanted to do nothing but think about my misery. I knew it then, and I certainly know it now, that to live in that state of mind is, to whatever degree, a state of depression and a state of lost.
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