Desert One: A complaining Job

Please, God, I beg You to treat me not as though dead. A corpse that cannot react to any stimulus. Though limited is my knowledge, I know I have had enough. "You have suffered long enough," You said, not once but thrice or more. And yet, I'm still suffering. Please do give me a lift -- if burdened is what You see in me. I am under a curse; in fact, piles of curses have afflicted me because of my ancestral sins. To the best I could, I have done whatever You say would release me from bondage. But I am still in bondage. Is this how great the curse is being handed down to me by my ancestors? I should have been freed by now, even from a curse or two! Or, is it You Who choose not to give me this freedom? Am I Your toy? Yes, You can do with me as You please. But -- please, God -- I ain't saintly as Therese of the Child was. She who gave herself entirely to You as Toy. I, too, am Your toy -- but a complaining toy as Job.