I feel like a piece of computer software written to run some kind of machine that is now obsolete.

had a purpose. If someone were to power on the computer and load the program:

I could run around and help you with your socks

carry you to the bathroom

feed you

kiss your lips

and tell you happy stories right before bed to help you sleep.

But my primary function, you, is no longer needing these services. My program is idle.

I remember after you were diagnosed, trying to read through the Book of Job.

It is so beautifully written, so easy to read. However I could not get through it.

Job is the victim of proof. Proof that God exists, yes, but is truly unknowable.

We are His children, we are His creation. Yet in creation there is no guarantee.

No guarantee to happiness or to certitude. No reprieve from loss or pain. Surely Job’s wife suffered just as dearly as him.

They lose everything. He is rebuked by God for even questioning his suffering.

God tells Job:

Can you fasten the chains of the Pleiades

or loosen the belt of Orion?

Can you bring out the constellations in their season

and lead the Bear and her cubs?

Do you know the laws of heaven?

Can you impose its authority on earth?

Job must have sat stuttering in shock – what can a man say to God? He apologizes for his insolence, for his bravado. How dare he.

But God rewards Job. Everything returned to him and more…

Yet Job’s wife still mourns her lost children. In her heart she grieves even as the whirlwind of He Who Is speaks of wheeling stars and vast leviathans.

Her programming hasn’t changed. New sons and daughters do not replace the first.

Even Job sometimes, sitting out alone at night under the dome of Heaven,

remembered his lost ones and wept.