Destiny

Destiny

They spotted him off in the distance. By the time he got to them they had cooked up a plot to kill him. The brothers were saying, “Here comes that dreamer. Let’s kill him and throw him into one of these old cisterns; we can say that a vicious animal ate him up. We’ll see what his dreams amount to….” ¶When Joseph reached his brothers, they ripped off the fancy coat he was wearing, grabbed him, and threw him into a cistern. The cistern was dry; there wasn’t any water in it.

Then they sat down to eat their supper. Looking up, they saw a caravan of Ishmaelites on their way from Gilead, their camels loaded with spices, ointments, and perfumes to sell in Egypt. Judah said, “Brothers, what are we going to get out of killing our brother and concealing the evidence? Let’s sell him to the Ishmaelites, but let’s not kill him—he is, after all, our brother, our own flesh and blood.” His brothers agreed.

By that time the Midianite traders were passing by. His brothers pulled Joseph out of the cistern and sold him for twenty pieces of silver to the Ishmaelites who took Joseph with them down to Egypt. (Genesis 37: 18-20; 23-28)

Joseph's troubles started when his mouth did. He came to breakfast one morning, blabbering in detail about the images he’d seen in his sleep the night before: sheaves of wheat lying in a circle, all bundled up, ready for harvest. Each one tagged with the name of a different brother – Reuben, Gad, Levi, etc. And in the center of the circle was Joseph's sheaf. In Joseph’s dream only his sheaf stood up. The implication? You’ll bow down to me. What was the boy thinking? Did he actually expect his brothers to be excited about his dream? To pat him on the back and proclaim, "We’ll gladly kneel before you, our dear baby brother"? Uh, no. They didn't. They kicked dust in his face and told him to get lost.

Apparently, Joseph didn't take the hint because he came back with another doozy. Instead of sheaves it was now stars, a sun and a moon. The stars represented the brothers. The sun and moon symbolized Joseph's father and deceased mother. All were bowing to Joseph – the kid with the elegant coat and soft skin. And there’s that bowing thing again, too. He should’ve kept his dreams to himself, and his big mouth shut. But no.

So, maybe that’s what Joseph was thinking as he sat in the bottom of the cistern. His calls for help hadn't done any good. His brothers had seized the chance to silence him once and for all; they weren’t listening. But from deep in the pit, Joseph detected a new sound – the sound of a wagon and a camel, but probably more. Then a new set of voices. Foreign. They spoke to the brothers with an accent. Joseph strained to understand the conversation – something about, "We'll sell him to you . . ." and "How much?" Joseph looked up to see a circle of faces staring down at him. Finally, one of the brothers was lowered into the pit on the end of a rope. He wrapped both arms around Joseph, and the others pulled them out.

The traders likely examined Joseph from head to toe. They probably stuck fingers in his mouth and counted his teeth. They pinched his arms for muscle. The brothers then made their pitch: "Not an ounce of fat on those bones. Strong as an ox, that kid. The boy can work all day." The merchants huddled, and when they came back with an offer, Joseph realized what was going on. "Hey! Stop! Stop it right now! I’m your brother! You can't sell me!" His brothers shoved him to the side and began to barter with the businessmen.

"What will you pay for him?" "We'll give you ten coins," the strangers said. "No less than thirty," the brothers countered. "Fifteen and no more," wagered the Bedouins. "Twenty-five," countered the boys. "Twenty and that’s our last offer," the merchants concluded. Pretty good pay for a day’s work, so the brothers took the coins, grabbed the fancy coat and walked away. Joseph, on the other hand, fell on his knees and wailed. The traders tied one end of a rope around his neck and the other to the wagon. Joseph, dirty and tearstained, had no choice but to follow. He fell in behind the creaking wagon and the rack-ribbed camels. He cast one final glance over his shoulder at the backs of his brothers, who disappeared over the horizon. "Help me!" No one turned around. "His brothers . . . sold him for twenty pieces of silver to the Ishmaelites who took Joseph with them down to Egypt." (Gen. 37:28)

Just a few hours ago Joseph's life had been looking up. He had a new coat and a pampered place in the house. He dreamed his brothers and parents would look up to him. But what goes up must come down, and Joseph's life came down – hard. Put down by his siblings. Thrown down into an empty well. Let down by his brothers, and sold down the river as a slave. Then led down the road to Egypt.

Down, down, down. Stripped of his name, status and position. Everything he had, everything he thought he'd ever have – gone. Vanished. Poof. Just like that. Has that ever happened to you? Have you ever been down in the mouth, down to your last dollar, down to the custody hearing, down to the bottom of the pecking order, down on your luck, down on your life . . . down . . . down . . . down to Egypt?

Life can pull us down. Joseph arrived in Egypt with absolutely nothing. Not a penny to his name, or a name worth a red cent. His family tree was meaningless, and his occupation was despised; the clean-shaven people of the pyramids avoided the woolly Bedouins of the desert. No credentials to stand on. No vocation to call upon. No family to lean on. He’d lost everything. Well, everything that is with one exception . . . his destiny.

Those odd dreams had convinced Joseph that God had plans for him. The details were vague and ill defined, for sure. Joseph had no way of knowing the specifics of his future. But the dreams told him this much: he would have a place of prominence in the midst of his family. So, Joseph latched onto his dreams for the life jacket they were. He didn’t have anything else.

How else do we explain his survival? The Bible says nothing about his training, education, superior skills or talents. But the narrator made a lead story out of Joseph's destiny. The Hebrew boy lost his family, lost his dignity, and lost his home country, but he never lost his belief in God's belief in him. Trudging through the desert toward Egypt, he resolved, “It won't end this way. God has a purpose for my life.” While wearing the heavy chains of the slave owners, he remembered, “I've been called to something more than this.” Dragged into a city of strange tongues and shaved faces, he told himself, “God has bigger plans for me.”

To be sure, God had a destiny for Joseph. And the boy believed in it. Do you believe in God's destiny for you? I don’t know about you, but I've met a few Egypt-bound people in my life, and I've learned to ask a few questions. For instance, let’s say you and I were having this talk over a cup of coffee. At this point in the conversation, I’d lean across the table and likely ask, "What do you still have that you can’t lose? The difficulties have taken away a lot. I get that. But there’s one gift your troubles can’t touch: your destiny. So, let’s talk about that.”

You see, you are God's child. He saw you, picked you and placed you. "You did not choose me; I chose you," Jesus said. (John 15:16) Before you are a butcher, baker, or cabinetmaker, male or female, Asian or black, you are God's child. You’re his first choice, and that’s not always the case in life. Once, just minutes before jury selection, the Assistant District Attorney leaned over and whispered to me, "You weren't my first choice." Flummoxed, I said: "I wasn't?" "No, the attorney we really wanted is still in trial in another department." "Oh." "But thanks for filling in," my supervisor added. "Sure … uh, anytime." At that point, I gave serious thought to arguing the State’s case as “Mr. Substitute."

You'll never hear those words from God. He chose you. The choice wasn't obligatory, required, compulsory, forced or compelled. He selected you because he wanted to. You are his open, willful, voluntary choice. He walked onto the auction block where you stood, and he proclaimed, "That child’s mine." And he bought you with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot." (1 Peter 1:19) You are God's child. And you are his child forever.

Don't believe the tombstone. You are more than a dash between two dates. "When this tent we live in – our body here on earth – is torn down, God will have a house in heaven for us to live in, a home he himself has made, which will last forever." (2 Cor. 5:1) Don't get sucked into that short-term kind of thinking. Your struggles will not last forever, but you will. God will have his Eden. He is creating a garden in which Adams and Eves will share in his likeness and love, and at peace with each other, animals and nature. We will rule with him over lands, cities and nations. "If we endure, we shall also reign with Him." (2 Tim. 2:12) Believe that. Hang onto that. Tattoo it on the interior of your heart. It may seem as if calamity has sucked your life out to sea, but it hasn't. You still have your destiny.

Unfortunately, we forget this on the road to Egypt. Forgotten destinies litter the landscape like carcasses. We redefine ourselves according to our catastrophes: "I’m the divorcee, the addict, the bankrupt businessman, the kid with the disability, or the man with the scar." We settle for a small destiny: to make money, make friends, make a name or make muscles. Determine not to make that mistake. Because if you think you’ve lost it all, you haven't. "God's gifts and God's call are under full warranty — never canceled, never rescinded." (Rom. 11:29) Here's an example.

Let’s say your company is laying off employees. Your boss finally calls you into his office. As kind as he tries to be, a layoff is a layoff. All of a sudden you’re cleaning out your desk. Voices of doubt and fear raise their volume. “How will I pay the bills? Who’s going to hire me?” Dread dominates your thoughts. But then you remember your destiny: “What do I have that I cannot lose? Wait a second. I’m still God's child. My life is more than this life. These days are a vapor, a passing breeze. This will eventually pass. God will make something good out of this. I will work hard, stay faithful and trust him no matter what.” Bingo. You just trusted your destiny.

Or try this one. Your fiancé wants his engagement ring back. All those promises and the proposal melted the moment he met the new girl at work. The jerk. The bum. The no-good, pond scum. Like Joseph, you've been dumped into the pit. And, like Joseph, you choose to heed the call of God on your life. It's not easy. You're tempted to get even. But you choose instead to ponder your destiny: “I am God's child. My life is more than this life . . . more than this broken heart. This is God's promise, and unlike that sorry excuse for a guy I used to know, God won't break his promise to me.” Bam. Another victory.

Only God could have taken the events of Joseph’s life to make his dreams come true – some thirty years later. There was nothing Joseph could have done by his own might or works, other than to be patient and hold on to his faith. God’s history is redeemed in lifetimes, not necessarily in minutes. That’s God’s perspective, and he invites you to share it. Survival in Egypt begins with a yes to God's call on your life, and He’s calling you now.

How will you answer?

Grace,

Randy