40
EGYPT, 1819 BC
Joseph kissed Asenath and each of his sons goodbye, ready to climb into his chariot and head to the largest granary, where he would preside over the distribution of food. “I may be late tonight, depending on how many people are waiting,” he said, looking fondly on each dear face.
“Can I come, Abba?” Manasseh asked, hopping up and down in childish anticipation.
Joseph knelt to his eye level and cupped his cheek. “Not this time, my son.” He kissed his cheek and caught the scent of his freshly washed skin. “We will play one of your games when I get home.” He stood and looked at Asenath. “Hopefully he will still be awake by then. I don’t know how long I will be.”
“We know you will do what is best,” Asenath said, her smile warming his heart. “God made you for this moment, Joseph.”
He nodded, returning her smile, and climbed into the chariot, and the driver took him to the granary. God made you for this moment, Joseph. She had often told him so, and by now he almost accepted her words. Yet he had lived with the pain of loss, of feeling abandoned, for so long. He still struggled even now, though he could not deny the gratitude he felt for the wife and sons God had given.
They arrived too soon, and Joseph hopped out of the chariot and climbed the steps to the seat made for him on a platform in front of a long line of Egyptians that had already formed.
“They went to Pharaoh first,” one of his guards told him. “Pharaoh told them to go to you and do what you tell them.”
Joseph nodded, and the people came forward one man or one household at a time. His servants measured out the amount of grain each family would need for a year, and it was poured into sacks the people had brought with them.
The day moved on, and Joseph’s mind drifted as he saw the line grow. Was this what God truly had planned for his life? To oversee the giving of food to people far and wide for the next six years?
Suddenly he did not find his place of importance quite so appealing or even satisfying. But he could not stay home and leave someone else in charge, lest Pharaoh decide he had chosen the wrong man for this position. Then what would happen to his family, to him?
No. He would do the work, mundane as it was, and thank God that he was at least free to come and go as he pleased and no longer a prisoner of his brothers or Potiphar. Though in some ways he felt like he was still a prisoner of his emotions.
HEBRON
Dinah sifted the grain and handed the flour to Bilhah to make into flatbread. Tamar, Zilpah, and the wives of her brothers all worked together, pooling their resources to feed the seventy people who now made up their camp. But the grain in the sacks was getting low.
“How many more days do you think we can make this last?” Tamar asked Dinah, her brow lined with concern. “If we had known the crops would fail, I’m sure Judah would have saved more than he sold.”
“I said as much to our father,” Dinah said. “We know this land experiences famine now and then, but I think we all grew too comfortable these past eight years, and now that this year has failed to produce, our supplies are not going to hold out.”
“Judah heard that there is food in Egypt,” Tamar said. She looked so innocent, so young to be mother to Judah’s sons. When Dinah had heard the story, she felt a twinge of jealousy. How was what Tamar did so very different from her own situation with Shechem so many years ago? She could have married him, borne his children. It wasn’t right, but neither did it seem right for Judah to sleep with his daughter-in-law.
A sigh escaped her, but she forced the thoughts aside. Tamar deserved some happiness with her sons after all she had lost.
“There is food in Egypt?” Bilhah asked. “Does Jacob know this?”
Dinah met her gaze. “I don’t know.” She glanced at Tamar, who worked the millstone. “Did Judah tell him?”
Tamar shrugged. She obviously did not know all Judah said or did. She was not his wife, after all.
Dinah set the sieve aside and stood, brushing the flour from her robe. “Then I will ask Judah to do so right now. We dare not wait for them to make such a long trip and get back here in time. We will run out of food before then.”
Later that evening Jacob finally got his sons to gather as one. The places to pasture the sheep had grown thin this year, and they were traveling farther each day to keep the animals alive.
“Judah tells me there is grain in Egypt, so why do you just keep looking at each other?” Jacob said as the women set before them a thinner stew and less bread than the previous night. He held up a piece of the flatbread. “If there is grain to be had, we must have it. Go down there and buy some for us, so that we may live and not die.” He saw looks of skepticism or perhaps fear pass between his sons but could not figure out why they seemed so hesitant to act. “Egypt is not so far that you could not be there and back again within a week. Do you want your little ones to starve?” He regarded Reuben and then Judah but could not read the expressions on their faces.
“Of course not,” Reuben said, looking from one brother to another. “We will leave first thing in the morning.”
“Good. And be quick about it,” Jacob said, forcing back his irritation. He should have saved the grain during the many years of a good harvest. If he had thought ahead, they wouldn’t be in this dilemma now. But he did not stop to think that God might not always bless as He had during much of Jacob’s lifetime. How long until He chose to show His favor to them again?
EGYPT
Joseph’s servants lifted palm fronds to cool the air on the platform where he sat governing the allotment of food to the people. The sun’s rays had made even sitting beneath an awning difficult in his Egyptian wig and heavy robe and many pieces of jewelry. The fanning helped but a little.
Hamid stepped close to him as another Egyptian family came forward with linen sacks in their hands. “If the sun is too warm, my lord, I would be happy to stay and allow you to return home.” He spoke softly lest anyone hear.
Joseph shook his head. “I am fine, Hamid, but thank you for noticing my discomfort. It is all of the added clothing that makes the sun feel warmer than it is. Would that I could strip to the waist as a common man.” He laughed at the thought, remembering when he did exactly that in Potiphar’s house when he first arrived in Egypt.
“You make a fine prince, my lord. Warm clothing and headdress or not.”
Hamid turned to watch the line of people snaking their way to the main granary where Joseph distributed the food. The line stretched far beyond what they could see, so for a time, Joseph focused on each family as they came.
Several hours later, Hamid stepped close to him again. “My lord, I see a group of men, bearded and wearing the robes of shepherds.”
Joseph trained his eyes on the next group coming forward and watched as they bowed before him with their faces to the ground. Their robes, each with its distinct color, would have given them away, but Joseph also recognized their aging faces. Reuben would be fifty-two now, and the others not far behind.
He straightened as he searched their faces, recognizing each one. Except Benjamin. Heart pounding, Joseph again felt like the betrayed younger brother, despite the twenty-two years that had passed since that day.