This month, my church is going through the book of Job. I’ve heard a lot about it, and not a lot have I actually been taught of it. So when (so far) four different pastors have been going through this book, I’ve been absolutely floored at the takeaways. The most glaring one is that Job’s friends do not respond gracefully, willfully wondering at Job, if he himself did something to anger God. His friends seem to be in opposition to him.

There’s another nuance of Job where Job calls out to God and knows that He is there for him, and will never forsake him. I often wonder how many of us turn to God and not violent, forceful oppressors with improper training in the face of fear.

When my neighbor, Connie, got her delight of throwing police in my face to harass me once and for all, I turned to God. I was scared and confused beyond measure. Imagine waking up in the middle of a traumatic nightmare, being chased around, and then having your neighbor drive across the complex in her red pickup truck to throw yet another fit that she dislikes that you have panic attacks every time she calls the police. Not very fun.

My only thought was, God, please help everyone understand just how dumb this whole situation is. I was willing to engage in weekly trauma therapy. I was willing to take medications or undergo more intense treatment. Mental health matters to me.

Connie was so convinced that PTSD wasn’t my diagnosis that she was happier to continuously call police at all odd hours of the day, asking them to turn on every single siren and flashing lights, all in a ruse to prove that I was violent. So yeah, she triggered my fear response. I thought I was in danger. And I hit someone I never wanted to hit.

And I felt so fucking awful.

But Connie had spent months making false allegations about me and although Argenta Apartments in Mesa, Arizona, knew about her, they refused to ever give me her name. They wanted to protect someone who was utilizing police to harass a mentally ill resident who was trying her hardest to cope with triggers she couldn’t control.

So the police didn’t really want to do anything.

But they also were so worried that my neighbor was going to throw such a large fit at me that was going to finally put her in trouble, that they didn’t know what to do. Yes, you can’t hit someone. Yes, they believed it was self-defense. But, no, they didn’t want to give credibility to my PTSD diagnosis, either. Not because they couldn’t. But because they were stuck worried that Connie was trying to terrorize me with them.

Job was this guy who had everything.

Then Satan took it all away. But he didn’t know that. He thought God did that.

But nevertheless, he persisted.

Sometimes I think I’m supposed to fight wrong doings or speak up for those who have been placed in harm’s way. But as my pastors have remarked, “Job teaches us how to suffer well,” a chaotic calmness, if you will. But I have learned such a skill.

Suffering well isn’t about standing up for yourself at every venture.

Sometimes, it’s about standing in the eye of the storm and meditating. Just being able to sit down and deep breathe, really. Calmness in chaos. (Or chaos in calm? – Doesn’t matter too much as long as you don’t just try and fight everything in your line of sight.)

Suffering well means being able to rely on faith, or something other than yourself.

If you suffer poorly, you abandon hope and trust in your God. If you suffer well, you may first have insurmountable questions and copious issues for God. But ultimately, your conclusion will be to rejoyce like the “Dayenu” prayer in the Passover Seder, a prayer of fifteen stanzas of blessings, each ending in Dayenu, or, it would have been enough.

Suffering is a part of life.

To suffer is to be human.

To suffer well is to understand there is more to life than this world.

XOXO,

Dorothy B.