Everywhere

Everywhere

Everywhere 

When Joseph was taken to Egypt by the Ishmaelite traders, he was purchased by Potiphar, an Egyptian officer. Potiphar was captain of the guard for Pharaoh, the king of Egypt. The Lord was with Joseph, so he succeeded in everything he did as he served in the home of his Egyptian master. Potiphar noticed this and realized that the Lord was with Joseph, giving him success in everything he did. This pleased Potiphar, so he soon made Joseph his personal attendant. He put him in charge of his entire household and everything he owned. From the day Joseph was put in charge of his master’s household and property, the Lord began to bless Potiphar’s household for Joseph’s sake. All his household affairs ran smoothly, and his crops and livestock flourished. So Potiphar gave Joseph complete administrative responsibility over everything he owned. With Joseph there, he didn’t worry about a thing — except what kind of food to eat! (Genesis 39:1-6)

Melanie said her son, Cooper, was born with a smile on his face, and that the dimple never left his cheek. He won the hearts of everyone he knew: his three older sisters, parents, grandparents, teachers and friends. He loved to laugh and love. His father, J.J., an on-air personality on American Family Radio, confessed to his partiality – calling him practically a perfect child. And Cooper was born to the perfect family – farm-dwelling, fun-loving and God-seeking. J.J. and Melanie poured their hearts into their four children, and J.J. cherished every moment he had with his only son. That's why they were riding in the dune buggy. They intended to cut the grass together, but the lawn mower needed a spark plug. So, while Melanie drove to town to buy one, J.J. and five-year-old Cooper seized the opportunity for a quick ride. They’d done this a thousand times, zipping down a dirt road in their dune buggy. The ride was nothing new, but the flip was. On a completely level road in their Tupelo pasture, and with Cooper safely buckled in, J.J. pulled a donut and the buggy rolled over.

Cooper was unresponsive. J.J. called 911, then Melanie. "There’s been an accident," he told her. "I don't think Cooper’s going to make it." The next hours were every parent's worst nightmare: ambulance, ER, sobs and shock. And finally the news. Cooper had passed from this life into heaven. J.J. and Melanie found themselves doing the unthinkable: selecting a casket, planning a funeral, and envisioning life without their only son. In the coming days they fell into a mind-numbing rhythm. Each morning they held each other and sobbed uncontrollably. Then, after gathering enough courage to climb out of bed, they’d go downstairs to the family and friends who awaited them. They would soldier through the day until bedtime. Then they’d go to bed, hold each other, and cry themselves to sleep. J.J. would later say, "There’s no class or book on this planet that can prepare you to have your five-year-old son die in your arms . . . . We know what the bottom looks like."

The bottom. The truth is that most of us pass through much of life, if not most of life, at mid-altitude. Occasionally we summit a peak: our wedding, a promotion or the birth of a child. But most of life is lived at mid-level. Mondayish obligations of carpools, expense reports and recipes. But on occasion the world bottoms out. The pandemic hits, the test results come back positive, and before we know it, we discover what the bottom looks like.

In Joseph's case he discovered what the bottom of the auction block of Egypt looked like. The bidding began, and for the second time in his young life, he was on the market. The favored son of Jacob found himself prodded and pricked, examined for fleas, and pushed around like a donkey. Potiphar, an Egyptian officer, bought him. Joseph didn't speak the language or even know the culture. The food was strange, the work was grueling, and the odds were definitely stacked against him.

So, at this juncture we turn the page in Genesis and brace for the worst, because the next chapter in his story will describe Joseph's plunge into addiction, anger and despair, right? Nope. "The Lord was with Joseph, so he succeeded in everything he did as he served in the home of his Egyptian master.” (Gen. 39:2) Joseph arrived in Egypt with nothing but the clothes on his back and the call of God on his heart. Yet by the end of four verses, he’s running the house of the man who ran security for the Pharaoh. How do you explain that kind of turnaround? Simple. God was with him. “The Lord was with Joseph, so he succeeded in everything he did.” (v. 2) “Potiphar noticed this and realized that the Lord was with Joseph.” (v. 3) “The Lord blessed Potiphar’s household for Joseph's sake.” (v. 5) “All his household affairs ran smoothly, and his crops and livestock flourished.” (v. 5) Joseph’s story has just parted company with the volumes of self-help books and all the secret-to-success formulas that direct the struggler to an inner power by digging deeper. Joseph's story points elsewhere by looking higher. He succeeded because God was present. Like stink on a monkey, God was all over him.

Any chance he'd be the same for you? Here you are in your version of Egypt. It feels foreign. You don't know the language. You’ve never studied the vocabulary of crisis before. You feel far from home and all alone. Money’s gone. Expectations dashed. Friends vanished. Who's left? God is. David asked, "Where can I go to get away from your Spirit? Where can I run from you?" (Ps. 139:7) He then listed the various places he found God: in "the heavens . . . the grave . . . If I rise with the sun in the east and settle in the west beyond the sea, even there you would guide me." (vv. 8-10) God - everywhere.

Joseph's account of those verses would have read, "Where can I go to get away from your Spirit? If I go to the bottom of the pit . . . to the auction block . . . to the home of a foreigner . . . even there you would guide me." Your adaptation of the verse might read, "Where can I go to get away from your Spirit? If I go to the rehab clinic . . . the ICU . . . quarantine . . . the shelter for battered women . . . the county jail . . . even there you would guide me." You will never go where God is not. "He is not far from each one of us." (Acts 17:27)

Everyone can enjoy God's presence. But many don't. They plod through life as if there were no God to love them. As if their only strength was their own. As if the only solution comes from within, not from above. They live God-less lives. But there are Josephs among us: people who sense, see and hear the presence of God. People who pursue God like Moses did. When suddenly tasked with the care of two million ex-slaves, the liberator began to wonder, “How am I going to provide for these people? How will we defend ourselves against enemies? How will we survive?” Moses needed supplies, managers, equipment and experience. But when Moses prayed for help, he declared, "If Your Presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here." (Ex. 33:15) In other words, Moses preferred to go nowhere with God, than anywhere without him.

As did David. The king ended up in an Egypt of his own making. He seduced the wife of a soldier and covered up his sin with murder and deceit. He hid from God for a year, but he could not hide forever. When he finally confessed his immorality, he made only one request of God: "Do not cast me away from Your presence, and do not take Your Holy Spirit from me." (Ps. 51:11) Note that David didn’t pray, "Don’t take my crown from me. Don’t take my kingdom from me. Don’t take my army from me." David knew what mattered most. The presence of God. And he begged God for it.

Make God's presence your passion. Be more like a sponge and less like a rock. Here’s what I mean. Place a rock in water and what happens? Its surface gets wet. The exterior may change color, but the interior remains untouched. But place a sponge in water and notice the change. It absorbs the water. The water penetrates every pore and alters the very essence of the sponge. God surrounds us in the same way the Pacific surrounds an ocean floor of pebbles. He’s everywhere – above, below, on all sides. But God leaves us the choice: rock or sponge? Resist or receive? Everything inside us says to harden our hearts. Run from God; resist God; blame God. But hard hearts never heal. Spongy ones do.

This kind of passion starts by acknowledging the nearness of God. "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." (Heb. 13:5) In the Greek, this passage actually has four negatives and could be translated, "I will not, not leave you; neither will I not, not forsake you." Hold onto that promise like the parachute that it is. Repeat it to yourself over and over until it trumps the voices of fear and anxiety. "The Lord your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing." (Zeph. 3:17)

Along the way, however, we can sometime lose that sense of God's presence. Job did. "But if I go to the east, he is not there; if I go to the west, I do not find him. When he is at work in the north, I do not see him; when he turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of him." (Job 23:8-9) Job felt far from God. Yet in spite of his inability to feel God, Job resolved, "But he knows the way that I take; when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold." (v. 10) Difficult days demand decisions of faith.

That’s what David did. “When I am afraid, I will trust in you.” (Ps. 56:3) “Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him.” (Ps. 42:5) Don't equate the presence of God with a good mood or pleasant demeanor. God is near whether you’re happy or not. Sometimes you just have to take your feelings outside and give them a good talking-to. And you can start that process by quarrying from your Bible a list of God’s qualities and press them into your heart.

My list reads something like this: "He’s still sovereign. Angels still respond to his call. The hearts of rulers still yield at his bidding. The death of Jesus still saves souls. The Spirit of God still indwells saints. Heaven is still only a heartbeat away. The grave is still temporary housing. God is still faithful. He’s not caught off guard. He uses everything for his glory and my ultimate good. He uses tragedy to accomplish his will, and his will is right, holy and perfect. “Sorrow may come with the night, but joy comes with the morning.” (Psalm 30:5) God bears fruit in the midst of affliction. (Gen. 41:52) In changing times lay hold of the unchanging character of God.

Then, in God’s presence, pray your pain out. Pound the table, if you have to. March up and down the lawn. Make it a tenacious, honest prayer. Are you angry at God? Disappointed with his strategy? Ticked off at his choices? Then, let him know it. Let him have it. Jeremiah did. This ancient prophet pastored Jerusalem during a time of economic and spiritual collapse, and its resultant political upheaval. Invasion. Disaster. Exile. Hunger. Death. Jeremiah saw it all. In fact, he filled his devotions with so many complaints that his prayer journal is called Lamentations. “I am the one who has seen the afflictions that come from the rod of the Lord’s anger. He has led me into darkness, shutting out all light. He has turned his hand against me again and again, all day long. He has made my skin and flesh grow old. He has broken my bones. He has besieged and surrounded me with anguish and distress. He has buried me in a dark place, like those long dead. He has walled me in, and I cannot escape. He has bound me in heavy chains. And though I cry and shout, he has shut out my prayers.” (Lam 3:2-8) Ever talked to God that way before? We’d be dodging lightning bolts, right? Not Jeremiah.

Jeremiah spent five chapters of the five chapters of Lamentations with that kind of fury. That’s the whole book. And you can pretty much summarize the bulk of his book with one line: life stinks. So, why then would God put Lamentations in the Bible? Maybe to encourage us to follow Jeremiah’s example. So, go ahead. File your grievance. "I pour out my complaint before him; I tell my trouble before him." (Ps. 142:2) God’s not going to get in a huff and turn away from your anger. Even Jesus offered up prayers with "loud cries and tears." (Heb. 5:7) It’s better to shake a fist at God than to turn your back on him. The words might seem hollow and empty at first. You may even mumble your sentences, and fumble your thoughts. But don't quit. And don't hide – God will spare you the lightning bolts.

And then lean on God's people. This is no time to be a hermit. Instead, be a barnacle on the boat of God's church. "For where two or three are gathered together in My name, I am there in the midst of them." (Matt. 18:20) Would the sick avoid the hospital, or the hungry avoid the food pantry? Would the discouraged abandon God's Hope Distribution Center? Only at their own peril they would.

Moses and the Israelites once battled the Amalekites, and the military strategy of Moses was a strange one. He commissioned Joshua to lead the fight in the valley below. Moses then ascended the hill to pray. But he didn’t go alone. He took his two lieutenants, Aaron and Hur. While Joshua led the physical combat, Moses engaged in a spiritual fight. Aaron and Hur stood on either side of their leader to hold up his arms in the battle of prayer. The Israelites prevailed because Moses prayed. And Moses prevailed because he had others to pray with him.

If Joseph's story is any precedent, God can use your Egypt to teach you that he’s with you. Your family may be gone. Your supporters may have left. Your counselor may be silent. But God hasn’t budged. His promise still stands: "I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go." (Gen. 28:15) You’re not alone. He’s everywhere. And everywhere includes you.

Grace,

Randy

Destined

Destined

Destined 

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 37:25-28)

Joseph's troubles started when his mouth did. He came to breakfast one morning, blabbering in glowing 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. There’s that bowing thing again. 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! 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 that 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 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 be 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. “For God has not destined us to receive wrath but to obtain salvation through our Lord Jesus, the Messiah.” (1 Thess. 5:9) “He predestined and lovingly planned for us to be adopted to Himself as His own children through Jesus Christ, in accordance with the kind intention and good pleasure of His will.” (Eph. 1:5)

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

In the Pits

 

In the Pits

In the Pits - Audio/Visual 

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.” Reuben heard the brothers talking and intervened to save him, “We’re not going to kill him. No murder. Go ahead and throw him in this cistern out here in the wild, but don’t hurt him.” Reuben planned to go back later and get him out and take him back to his father. 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. (Genesis 37:18-25)

She was trembling – the kind of inner tremor you can just sense with even the slightest hand on a shoulder. She was in the grocery store. Her eyes were teary, and her chin quivered. He'd left her. After twenty years of marriage, three kids and a dozen moves, gone. Traded her in for a younger model. He'd just been fired, and the ouster was entirely his fault. He'd made stupid, inappropriate remarks at work. Crude, offensive statements, to be accurate. His boss canned him. Now, he's a fifty-seven-year-old unemployed manager in a struggling economy. He feels terrible, and sounds even worse. Wife’s angry. Kids are confused. She’s fresh out of high school, hoping to get into college next month. Her life hasn't been easy. When she was six years old, her parents divorced. When she was fifteen, they remarried, only to divorce two years later. Her parents told her to choose: live with Mom or live with Dad. What a mess. In the pits. Can God use such chaos for good? The answer comes from another pit.

A deep, dark pit. So steep, the boy couldn’t climb out. Had he been able to, his brothers would have just shoved him back down. They were the ones who’d thrown him in. “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.” (Gen. 37:23-25) An abandoned cistern. Jagged rocks and roots extended from its sides where the seventeen-year-old boy lay at the bottom. Spindly arms and scrawny legs. Eyes wide with fear. His voice hoarse from screaming. And it wasn't like his brothers didn't hear him. Twenty-two years later, when a famine had tamed their swagger and guilt had dampened their pride, they would confess: "We saw the anguish of his soul when he pleaded with us, and we would not hear." (Gen. 42:21)

These are the great-grandsons of Abraham. The sons of Jacob. Couriers of God's covenant to a galaxy of people. Tribes will carry their banners. The name of Jesus Christ will appear on their family tree. They’re the Scriptures' equivalent of royalty. But on this day they were the Bronze Age version of a dysfunctional family. They could have had their own reality show, or been guests on Jerry Springer. In the shadow of a sycamore, within earshot of Joseph's appeals, they chew on venison and pass the wineskin. Hearts as hard as the Canaanite desert they’re herding. Lunch mattered more than their brother. They despised Joseph: "They hated him and could not speak peaceably to him . . . they hated him even more . . . they hated him . . . his brothers envied him." (Gen. 37:4-5, 8, 11) Here's why.

The boys’ father pampered Joseph like a prized calf. Jacob had two wives, Leah and Rachel, but one love – Rachel. So when Rachel died, Jacob kept her memory alive by fawning all over their first son. The brothers worked all day; Joseph played all day. They wore clothes from a secondhand store; Jacob gave Joseph a hand-stitched, multicolored coat with embroidered sleeves. They slept in the bunkhouse; he had a queen-sized bed in his own room. While they ran the family herd, Joseph, Daddy's little darling, stayed home. Jacob treated the eleventh son like a firstborn. The brothers spat at the sight of Joseph.

To say the family was in crisis would be like saying a grass hut might be unstable in a hurricane. The brothers caught Joseph far from home, sixty miles away from Daddy's protection, and went nuclear on him: "they ripped off the fancy coat he was wearing, grabbed him, and threw him into a cistern." (Gen. 37:23-24). Defiant verbs. They not only wanted to kill Joseph, but to hide the evidence, too. This was a premeditated murder plot from the beginning. "Say that a vicious animal ate him up." (v. 20).

Joseph never saw the assault coming. It’s not like he climbed out of bed that morning and thought, “I'd better get dressed in some padded clothing because today’s the day I get tossed into a hole.” The attack caught him completely off guard. And, probably, so did yours. Joseph's pit came in the form of a cistern; maybe yours came in the form of a diagnosis, a foster home, a traumatic injury – even a pandemic. Joseph was thrown in a hole and despised. And you? Thrown in an unemployment line and forgotten; thrown into a divorce and abandoned; thrown into bed and abused. The pit. A kind of death – waterless and austere. Some people never recover. For them, life is reduced to one quest: to get out and never be hurt again. But that’s easier said than done because pits have no easy exits.

And Joseph's story gets worse before it gets better. Abandonment led to enslavement, then entrapment, and finally imprisonment. He was sucker punched. Sold out. Mistreated. People made promises only to break them; offered gifts only to take them back. If hurt were a desert, then Joseph was sentenced to a life of hard labor in the Mojave. Yet he never gave up. Bitterness never staked its claim. Anger never metastasized into hatred. His heart never hardened; his resolve never vanished. He not only survived; he thrived. He ascended like a helium balloon: an Egyptian official promoted him to chief servant; the prison warden placed him over the inmates; and Pharaoh, the highest ruler on the planet, shoulder-tapped Joseph to serve as his prime minister. By the end of his life, Joseph was the second most powerful man of his generation, and it’s not hyperbole to say that he saved the world from starvation. But how?

How’d he flourish in the midst of tragedy? We don't have to speculate. Some twenty years later the roles were reversed – Joseph as the strong one and his brothers the weak ones. They came to him in dread. They feared he would settle the score and throw them into a pit of his own making. But Joseph didn't. And in his explanation we find his inspiration: “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good in order to bring about this present result, to preserve many people alive.” (Gen. 50:20) Intended evil becomes eventual good in God’s hands. So, Joseph tied himself to the pillar of that promise and held on for dear life. Nothing in his story glosses over the presence of evil. Quite the contrary; there’s bloodstains and tearstains everywhere. Joseph's heart was rubbed raw against the rocks of disloyalty and miscarried justice. Yet time and time again God redeemed the pain.

The torn robe became a royal one; the pit became a palace; the broken family grew old together. The very acts intended to destroy God's servant turned out to strengthen him. "You meant evil against me," Joseph told his brothers, using a Hebrew verb that traces its meaning to "weave." "You wove evil," he was saying to his brothers, "but God rewove it together for good." God, the Master Weaver. He stretches the yarn and intertwines the colors, the ragged twine with the velvet strings, and the pains with the pleasures. Nothing escapes his reach. Every king, every despot, every weather pattern, and every virus is at his command. He passes the shuttle back and forth across the generations, and as he does a design emerges. Satan weaves; God reweaves. That’s the meaning behind Joseph's words: "God meant it for good in order to bring about . . . many people alive." (Gen. 50:20)

The Hebrew word translated as “bring about” is actually a construction term. It describes a task, or building project similar to the one you’ve probably driven through on your way to work. Three lanes have been reduced to one, transforming your morning commute into a daily stew. The California interstate projects, like human history, have seemingly been in development since before time began. Cranes hover overhead; workers hold signs and lean on shovels, while several million people grumble: how much longer is this going to take? Highway engineers, on the other hand, have a much different attitude about “carmageddon.” They endure the same traffic jams and detours like the rest of us, but do it with a much better attitude. Why? Because they know how these projects develop, and they know they’ll eventually get finished. They know because they've seen the plans and know the builder.

By giving us stories like Joseph's, God allows us to study his plans. And in Joseph’s case, those plans look pretty messy. Brothers dumping brother. Entitlements. Famines and family feuds scattered about like nails and cement bags on a freeway project. Satan's logic was sinister and simple: destroy the family of Abraham and thereby destroy his seed, Jesus Christ. All of hell, it seems, had set its target on Jacob's boys. But watch the Master Builder at work. He cleared the debris, stabilized the structure and bolted trusses until the chaos of Genesis 37:24 ("They . . . cast him into a pit") became the triumph of Genesis 50:20 ("life for many people.") God as Master Weaver; Master Builder. He redeemed the story of Joseph. And if He did it for Joseph, he can redeem your story as well.

You'll get out of the pits; it’s not forever. You fear you won't. We all do. We fear that the depression will never lift, the yelling will never stop, the pain will never leave and life will never be normal again. Here in the pits, surrounded by steep walls and angry brothers, we wonder, “Will this gray sky ever brighten; these loads ever lighten?” We feel stuck, trapped, locked in. Predestined for failure. Will I ever exit this pit? Yes, you will. Out of the lions' den for Daniel, the prison for Peter, the whale's belly for Jonah, Goliath's shadow for David, the storm for the disciples, disease for the lepers, doubt for Thomas, the grave for Lazarus, and the shackles for Paul. God gets us through stuff.

Through the Red Sea onto dry ground (Ex. 14:22), through the wilderness (Deut. 29:5), through the valley of the shadow of death (Ps. 23:4), and through the deep sea. (Ps. 77:19) “Through” seems to be a favorite word of God's: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you.” (Isa. 43:2)

It won't be painless. For instance, have you wept your final tear or received your last round of chemotherapy? Not necessarily. Will your unhappy marriage become happy in a heartbeat? Not likely. Will your pre-COVID life return to normal overnight? Probably not. Are you exempt from a trip to the cemetery? Does God guarantee the absence of struggle and the abundance of strength? Not in this life. But he does pledge to reweave your pain for a higher purpose.

And it may not be quick, either. Joseph was 17 years old when his brothers abandoned him. He was at least 37 when he saw them again. Another couple of years passed after that before he saw his father again – that’s 22 years. Sometimes God takes his time: 120 years to prepare Noah for the flood, 80 years to prepare Moses for his work. God called young David to be king, only to return him to the sheep pasture and then run for his life like Ben Gazzara for more than a decade from the crazy king he was anointed to replace. He called Paul to be an apostle and then isolated him in Arabia for three years. Jesus was on the earth for three decades before he built anything more than a kitchen table. How long will God take with you? I don’t know. You don’t know. He may take his time. His history is redeemed in lifetimes, not in minutes.

But God will use the pits in life for His good. We see a perfect mess; God sees a perfect chance to train, test and teach the future prime minister. We see a prison; God sees a kiln. We see famine; God sees the relocation of his chosen people. We call it Egypt; God calls it protective custody, where the sons of Jacob can escape Canaanite cruelty to multiply in peace abundantly. We see Satan's tricks and ploys; God sees Satan tripped and foiled. You’re a version of Joseph in your generation. You represent a challenge to Satan's plan. You carry something of God within you, something noble and holy, something the world needs – wisdom, kindness, mercy, skill. And if Satan can neutralize you, he can mute your influence; silence your voice.

I believe that the story of Joseph is in the Bible to teach us to trust God to trump evil. What Satan intends for evil, God, the Master Weaver and Master Builder, redeems for good. Joseph would be the first to tell you that life in the pits stinks. Yet for all its rottenness the pit does at least this much – it forces you to look up, i.e., someone from up there must come down here and give you a hand. God did that for Joseph – at the right time, and in the right way. He will do the same for you. He already has.

Grace,

Randy