Ballast

Ballast

Pharaoh sent for Joseph at once, and he was quickly brought from the prison. After he shaved and changed his clothes, he went in and stood before Pharaoh. Then Pharaoh said to Joseph, “I had a dream last night, and no one here can tell me what it means. But I have heard that when you hear about a dream you can interpret it.”

“It is beyond my power to do this,” Joseph replied. “But God can tell you what it means and set you at ease.” (Genesis 41:14-16)

Don't hold me to all the details of this particular memory, because I can't recall the name of the birthday boy, or the games we played, or the names of the other guests. I’m not even sure how old I was, but judging from the surroundings I was probably seven or eight years old. But I do remember that bounce-back clown. He was pear-shaped – narrower at the top than the bottom, inflated and looked a lot like Bozo. He was almost as tall as I was, and all his facial features were painted on. His ears didn't protrude. His nose didn't stick out. Even his arms lay flat – if he had arms; I don’t recall. He didn't make music, or recite some phrase when you pulled a string. He didn't do anything except that he always bounced back. If you knocked him down, he’d pop right back up. Clobber him with a bat, punch him in the nose, even give him a swift kick to the ribs and he’d fall down – but not for very long.

Trust me, we did our best to level that clown. One punch after the other, each more vicious than the one before. None of us succeeded. Bozo had more comeback than the '69 Mets. He wasn't strong – he was full of hot air. He couldn't duck or defend himself. He didn't charm us with his good looks, or silence attackers with his quick wit. C’mon, he was a clown. Red lips and yellow hair. Yet there was something about him, or within him, that kept him on his feet. We'd do well to learn his secret.

Life comes at us with a flurry of flying fists – the right-hook of rejection, or the left jab of loss. Enemies sucker-punch below the belt. Calamities stagger us to our corner. It's a slugfest out there, and some people, once knocked down, never get up. They stay on the mat – beaten, bitter and broken. They’re down for the count. Others, however, bounce back like Bozo. Joseph did. The guy was a walking piñata: the angry double cross of brothers that sold him into slavery, the below-the-belt deceit by Potiphar's wife that landed him in prison, and the uppercut of the butler's broken promise that kept him there. Joseph staggered, but recovered. He reminds me of the movie, Rocky. By God's strength, however, Joseph pulled himself to his feet and stood, stronger than ever; in Pharaoh's court, no less.

Pharaoh was the unrivaled ruler of the land. He was his own cabinet and congress. He spoke the word, and it was done. He issued a command, and it was law. He entered a room, and he was worshiped. But on this particular day, Pharaoh didn't feel very worship-worthy. Imagine the prototypical Pharaoh: bare chested and rock jawed, a little saggy in the pecs, but solid for a middle-aged monarch. He wears a cloth on his shoulders, and on his head is a leather cone encircled by a rearing cobra. His beard is false, and his eye makeup is almond shaped. He holds a staff in one hand but rests his chin in the other. Slaves fan the air about him. A bowl of figs and nuts sits within arm's reach on a table. But he isn't hungry. He just frowns. His attendants speak in anxious, subdued voices because when Pharaoh isn't happy, no one’s happy. Crazy dreams had kept him up half the night.

In dream number one, cows were grazing on the riverbank. Seven were fine and fat, just like the ones you see on a Chick-fil-A commercial. But while the healthy bovines weren't looking, seven skinny cows snuck up from behind and devoured them. Pharaoh sat up in bed and broke out into a cold sweat. But after a few minutes, he dismissed the dream as indigestion and fell back asleep. But dream number two was just as bothersome. A stalk of grain with seven healthy heads was consumed by a stalk of grain with seven withered heads. Two dreams with the same pattern: the seven bad devoured the seven good. Pharaoh woke up and was freaking out. He assembled his counselors and demanded an interpretation. Cows consuming cows, stalks gobbling stalks. What did these dreams mean? His advisors had no response; they didn’t have a clue. It was then that the butler remembered Joseph from their days together in prison. So, the butler told Pharaoh about the Hebrew’s skills at dream interpretation.

The king snapped his fingers, and a flourish of activity erupted. Joseph was cleaned up and called in. In a moment of high drama, Jacob's favored son was being escorted into Pharaoh's throne room. What a picture. Pharaoh, the king; Joseph, the ex-shepherd. Pharaoh, urban; Joseph, rural. Pharaoh from the palace; Joseph from the prison. Pharaoh wore gold chains; Joseph wore bruises. Pharaoh had his armies and pyramids; Joseph had a borrowed robe and a foreign accent. The prisoner, however, was unfazed. He heard the dreams and went straight to work. No need to consult seers, or tea leaves, or chicken bones. This was pretty simple stuff, really. Kind of like basic multiplication for a Harvard math professor. "Expect seven years of plenty and seven years of famine." No one, including Pharaoh, knew how to respond because famine was a foul word in the Egyptian dictionary.

The nation didn't manufacture Fords or export T-shirts. Their civilization was built on farming. Crops made Egypt the jewel of the Nile, and agriculture made Pharaoh the most powerful man in the world. A month-long drought would hurt the economy. A year-long famine would weaken the throne of Pharaoh, who owned the fields around the Nile. But a seven-year famine would turn the Nile into a creek and the crops into sticks. A famine to Pharaoh was the equivalent of electric cars to an Arab sheik. The silence in the throne room was so thick you could hear a cough drop. So, Joseph took advantage of the pause in conversation to offer a solution: "Create a department of agriculture, and commission a smart guy to gather grain in the good years and to distribute it during the lean years."

Officials gulped at Joseph's chutzpah. It was one thing to give bad news to Pharaoh, but an entirely different matter altogether to offer unsolicited advice. Yet the guy hadn't shown a hint of fear since he’d entered the palace. He paid no homage to the king. He didn't offer accolades to the magicians. He didn't kiss rings, or polish apples. Lesser men would have cowered, but Joseph didn't blink. And the most powerful person in the room, Pharaoh (ruler of the Nile, deity of the heavens, Grand Pooh-Bah of the pyramid people), was in dire need of a stiff scotch. The lowest person in the pecking order, Joseph (ex-slave, convict, accused sex offender), was cooler than the other side of a pillow. So, what made the difference? Ballast.

Bozo had it. That clown at the birthday party, I came to learn later, was braced by a lead weight – a three-pound plate, hidden at his base, which worked as a counterbalance against the punches. Joseph, as it turns out, had a similar ballast. Not a piece of iron but a deep-seated, stabilizing belief in God's sovereignty.

We sense it in his first sentence: "It is beyond my power to do this, . . . But God can tell you what it means . . . ." (Gen. 41:16) The second time Joseph spoke, he explained, "God has revealed to Pharaoh in advance what he is about to do." (v. 28) Joseph then proceeded to interpret the dreams and explain to Pharaoh that the dreams were "events decreed by God, and he will soon make them happen." (v. 32) Five times in three verses Joseph made reference to God. Sound familiar? It should.

When Potiphar's wife attempted to seduce him, Joseph refused, saying, "How could I do such a wicked thing? It would be a great sin against God." (Gen. 39:9) When fellow prisoners asked for an interpretation of their dreams, Joseph said, "Interpreting dreams is God’s business." (40:8) He rested the gravity of his ballast on the foundation of his immovable God. He lived with the awareness that God was active, able, and up to something significant. And Joseph was right because at that, Pharaoh commanded a stunning turnaround: "Can we find anyone else like this man so obviously filled with the spirit of God?” (41:38) He turned the kingdom over to Joseph. And by the end of the day, the boy from Canaan was riding in a royal chariot, second only to Pharaoh in authority. What a rebound.

In the chaos called "Joseph's life," there’s at least one broken promise, two betrayals, several bursts of hatred, two abductions, more than one attempted seduction, ten jealous brothers, and a textbook case of poor parenting. Then there’s abuse, unjust imprisonment, and 24 months of jail food. Mix it all together, let it simmer for thirteen years, and what do you get? The grandest bounce back in the Bible. Jacob's forgotten boy became the second most powerful man in the world's most powerful country. The path to the palace wasn't quick, and it wasn't painless, but wouldn't you say that God took Joseph’s mess and made it into something good? If so, then can’t he do the same with yours?

Tally up the pain of your past. Betrayals plus anger plus tragedies. Poorly parented? Wrongly accused? Inappropriately touched? Life can be cruel. But consider this: Is the God of Joseph still in control? Can he do for you what he did for Joseph? Might the evil intended to harm you actually help you become the person God created you to be? Yes, he is; yes, he can; and yes, it will. Someday – perhaps in this life, and certainly in the next – you will tally up the crud of your life and write this sum: it’s all good. Captain Sam Brown did.

Two years out of West Point, he was on his first tour of duty in Kandahar, Afghanistan, when an improvised explosive device (“IED”) turned his Humvee into a Molotov cocktail. He doesn't remember how he got out of the truck. He does remember rolling in the sand, slapping dirt on his burning face, running in circles, and finally dropping to his knees. He lifted flaming arms to the air and cried, "Jesus, save me!" In Sam's case, the words were more than just a desperate scream. He is a devoted Christian, and was calling on his Savior to take him home because he assumed he would die. But death didn’t come. His gunnery mate did, instead.

With bullets flying all around them, Sam’s teammate helped them reach cover. Crouching behind a wall, Sam realized that bits of his clothing were fusing to his skin. He ordered the private to rip his gloves off the burning flesh. The soldier hesitated, then pulled. With the gloves came Sam’s index finger. Brown winced at what was the first of thousands of moments of pain. When vehicles from another platoon reached them, they loaded the wounded soldier into a truck.

Before Sam passed out in the medivac, he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. He didn't recognize himself. That was September 2008. Three years later, he’d undergone 15 painful surgeries. Although 30% of his body had actually been burned, 85% of his body had been affected because the doctors used skin from areas that hadn’t been burned. The pain chart didn't have a number high enough to register the agony he felt. But in the midst of his personal horror, beauty walked into the room.

Dietitian, Amy Larsen. Since Sam's mouth had been reduced to the size of a quarter, Amy monitored his nutrition intake. He remembers the first time he saw her. Dark hair, brown eyes. Nervous. Cute. Perhaps more importantly was the fact that she didn't flinch at the sight of him. After several weeks he gathered up the courage to ask her out. They went to a rodeo. The following weekend they went to a friend's wedding. During the three-hour drive, Amy told Sam how she had noticed him months earlier when he was in ICU, covered with bandages, sedated with morphine, and attached to a breathing machine. When he regained consciousness, she stepped into his room to meet him. But there was a circle of family and doctors, so she turned and left. Nonetheless, the two continued to see each other.

Early in their relationship Sam brought up the name of Jesus. Amy wasn’t a believer at the time. Sam's story, however, stirred her heart for God. Sam talked to her about God's mercy and led Amy to Christ. Soon thereafter they were married. They’re now the parents of two toddlers, Roman and Esther, and Sam directs a program to aid wounded soldiers. He even took a stab at politics, losing in the 2014 Republican primary for Texas House District 102. Amy is now a retired Captain, and a very happy mother to two really cute kids.

No one can minimize the horror of a man on fire in the Afghan desert. And who can imagine the torture of repeated surgeries and rehab? Yet, Sam and Amy have come to believe this: God's math works differently than ours. “War + near death + agonizing rehab = wonderful family and hope for a bright future.” In God's hand, intended evil is eventual good.

Who knows? Your rebound may even happen today. On the morning of his promotion, Joseph had no reason to think that that day would be any different from the 729 days before it. I doubt that he got up that morning and prayed, “God, please promote me to prime minister of Egypt before sunset.” But God exceeded Joseph’s wildest prayer. Joseph began his journey in a prison, and ended it in the palace.

So, where’s your ballast? If it’s resting on the God of Joseph, you can bounce back, too.

Grace,

Randy