God of the Endings and the Beginnings,
You are faithful in the famine,
present in the pit,
and sovereign in the silence.
Joseph wept when his father died.
He kissed him,
mourned him,
buried him with honor.
He grieved not as one without hope,
but as one shaped by it.
Lord, teach me to grieve like that.
To love deeply,
to mourn honestly,
to let sorrow soften me not harden me.
When the brothers trembled,
thinking Joseph would now repay them,
he answered not with revenge,
but with redemption.
“Do not fear”
How many times have You said that, Lord?
How often do I still cower
as if grace has an expiration date?
Joseph saw clearly
“You meant evil against me,
but God meant it for good
to bring it about that many people should be kept alive.”
That one sentence
carries a thousand heartaches
but also the weight of glory.
Because You are the God
who works through betrayal,
who bends suffering toward salvation,
who turns wounds into wellsprings.
Lord, help me see like Joseph.
To look at my life
not as a story of what others did to me,
but what You’ve done through me.
Let me forgive fully.
Let me speak comfort to those who fear me.
Let me feed those who once starved me.
Let me be kind
where I could have been cruel.
Joseph stayed in Egypt,
but he never lost sight of home.
Even in death,
he asked for his bones to be carried up.
Because he believed
the story wasn’t over.
Lord, may I die with that same hope
not with my eyes on a coffin,
but on a promise.
You are the God
who writes long stories,
who plants meaning in every chapter,
who brings beauty from ashes,
and resurrection from graves.
So I bless You for the whole journey
for every Genesis beginning,
for every brother who hurt me,
for every pit that held me,
for every hand that lifted me,
for every word that healed me.
You meant it all for good.
And You are still not done.
In the name of Jesus,
the greater Joseph,
who was betrayed, buried, raised,
and now lives to forgive.
Amen.