Job Chapter 7
Showing all 21 verses for Job Chapter 7.
The People's Bible is written by people, for the people. Each verse below shows:
"Is there not an appointed time to man upon earth? are not his days also like the days of an hireling? "
"Doesn't a person have a fixed term of hard service on earth? Aren't his days like those of a hired labourer?"
I don't pretend life is easy or without real toil — I lived it too. When you feel like you're just grinding through an appointed shift, that recognition alone is honest, and honesty is where real comfort can start.
"As a servant earnestly desireth the shadow, and as an hireling looketh for the reward of his work: "
"Like a servant longing for evening shade, or a hired worker waiting eagerly for his pay:"
Longing for relief after hard labour isn't weakness, it's basic humanity. I don't expect you to be tireless — rest is a legitimate need, not something to feel guilty wanting.
"So am I made to possess months of vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed to me. "
"So I've been given months of emptiness to endure, and exhausting nights have been assigned to me."
When your hard season stretches on without the relief that should be coming, I see the injustice of that too. You're not wrong to notice that the deal seems broken.
"When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be gone? and I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day. "
"When I lie down, I ask, 'When will I get up? Is the night over yet?' — and I toss and turn until dawn."
Sleepless nights of worry are something I understand completely — I know what it is to be restless and in anguish before dawn. You're not failing at faith by struggling to sleep through pain.
"My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust; my skin is broken, and become loathsome. "
"My body is covered with worms and crusted dirt; my skin cracks open and has become repulsive."
I don't look away from what disgusts others. A body ravaged by illness is still worth love and dignity, not distance or discomfort from those around it.
"My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, and are spent without hope. "
"My days fly by faster than a weaver's shuttle, and they're used up without any hope."
Time can feel like it's slipping away meaninglessly when you can't see any hope ahead. I want to be the reason hope re-enters that picture, even if it takes longer than you'd like.
"O remember that my life is wind: mine eye shall no more see good. "
"Remember that my life is just a passing breath — my eyes will never see anything good again."
Speak to me directly rather than only about me to others. I would rather hear your raw appeal, even one this bleak, than have you talk about your pain to everyone except me.
"The eye of him that hath seen me shall see me no more: thine eyes are upon me, and I am not. "
"Those who've seen me won't see me anymore; your eyes are on me, but soon I'll be gone."
Even when you feel like you're fading, I'm not looking away. My attention on you isn't surveillance to catch you failing — it's a father's eyes that don't leave his child, especially near the end.
"As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away: so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more. "
"Just as a cloud fades and disappears, so someone who goes down to the grave doesn't come back up."
I don't ask you to have all your theology settled before you're honest with me about your fear of death. Bring me your uncertainty too — I can hold it even when you can't resolve it yet.
"He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more. "
"He'll never return home again; the place where he lived won't recognise him anymore."
The fear of being forgotten, of leaving no trace, is real and human — I don't dismiss it. What you build in love and honesty leaves a mark that outlasts memory, even when you can't see how.
"Therefore I will not refrain my mouth; I will speak in the anguish of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness of my soul. "
"So I won't hold my tongue — I will speak from the anguish inside me, I will complain from the bitterness of my soul."
I never ask you to swallow your pain to make others comfortable. Speak it plainly — complaint honestly voiced to me is a form of trust, not a failure of faith.
"Am I a sea, or a whale, that thou settest a watch over me? "
"Am I the sea, or some sea monster, that you need to keep such a close guard over me?"
You're not a threat that needs to be contained or watched with suspicion. I don't relate to you as a danger to be managed — I relate to you as someone I love.
"When I say, My bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint; "
"When I think, 'My bed will bring me comfort, my couch will ease my suffering,'"
When even rest fails to bring relief, that's a particular kind of exhaustion I take seriously. I don't expect you to just sleep it off — some pain needs more than rest to heal.
"Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions: "
"But then you frighten me with dreams and terrify me through visions."
Nightmares and terror in the night are real suffering, not something to be brushed off in the morning light. I don't shame you for naming that fear, even if you aim it at me in the moment.
"So that my soul chooseth strangling, and death rather than my life. "
"So that I would rather be strangled and die than keep living like this."
If living feels unbearable, say so — to me, to someone who'll actually listen. I don't turn away from that admission; I want you to survive it, and I meet you exactly where you are, not where you think you should be.
"I loathe it; I would not live alway: let me alone; for my days are vanity. "
"I hate this life — I wouldn't want to live forever like this. Leave me alone; my days are empty."
Sometimes what someone in pain needs most is simply space, not more advice, not more attention, just room to breathe. I know when to draw close and when to give that space.
"What is man, that thou shouldest magnify him? and that thou shouldest set thine heart upon him? "
"What even is a human being, that you should think so much of him — that you should set your heart on him?"
The same truth, that I pay close attention to you, can feel like wonder or like unbearable pressure depending on what you're going through. I want my attention to feel like love, not surveillance, and I grieve when suffering distorts that feeling for you.
"And that thou shouldest visit him every morning, and try him every moment? "
"That you should check on him every morning and test him every moment?"
I don't want closeness to feel like constant testing to you. If it feels that way right now, that's the distortion suffering causes, not the truth of who I am towards you.
"How long wilt thou not depart from me, nor let me alone till I swallow down my spittle? "
"How much longer before you look away from me, or leave me alone even for the time it takes to swallow?"
Even a small moment of relief matters — I don't dismiss the plea for just a breath of space. Compassion notices the smallest asks, not just the big dramatic ones.
"I have sinned; what shall I do unto thee, O thou preserver of men? why hast thou set me as a mark against thee, so that I am a burden to myself? "
"Suppose I have sinned — what does that even do to you, keeper of humanity? Why have you made me your target, so that I've become a burden even to myself?"
If you ever feel like a burden to yourself, that feeling itself matters to me and deserves care, not silence. I'm not fixated on cataloguing your faults — I'm here for the whole of you, burdens included.
"And why dost thou not pardon my transgression, and take away mine iniquity? for now shall I sleep in the dust; and thou shalt seek me in the morning, but I shall not be. "
"And why don't you just forgive my wrongdoing and take away my guilt? Because soon I'll be lying dead in the dust, and when you come looking for me in the morning, I'll be gone."
Don't wait until you think it's too late to ask for what you need from me. I don't need you to have it all resolved first — bring me your fear of running out of time honestly, and let that urgency itself be part of your prayer.