“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” – Genesis 50:20 (NIV)
Joseph’s road to the throne ran through a pit and a prison, and neither of those stops was on the original itinerary.
He was seventeen years old when his brothers stripped him of his coat and threw him into a pit, and then sold him to traders heading to Egypt. He had done nothing wrong except be favoured and speak honestly about his dreams. And God allowed it. This is the part of the story that most retellings rush past in the eagerness to reach the reunion scene in Genesis 45, but it deserves to be sat with honestly. Joseph spent years in Potiphar’s house as a slave, and then years in prison for a crime he did not commit, and the text does not tell us that he understood why. It tells us that the Lord was with him. Not that the Lord explained Himself. Not that Joseph had a constant sense of the bigger picture. Just that God was present in the pit and in the prison.
Think about the career setback that felt like the end of the story. The betrayal by someone you trusted, someone who should have been on your side and wasn’t. The season of obscurity that has lasted far longer than you expected, where you are doing the right things and working faithfully and nothing visible is happening. The door that closed just when you thought you were finally about to walk through it. If any of those scenarios are familiar, you are living in Joseph’s middle chapters, the part between the dream and the fulfilment, and Joseph’s story is God’s answer to the question of whether He can be trusted in that gap.
God’s faithfulness to Joseph did not look like continuous visible blessing. It looked like the consistent, quiet presence of God in every environment Joseph was placed in, so that whatever Joseph put his hand to prospered even in prison, so that even his jailer trusted him, so that even in the worst circumstances the evidence of God’s favour kept surfacing. This is a specific form of divine faithfulness worth recognising: the kind that does not remove you from the hard season but makes you unmistakably fruitful within it, so that when the time comes for the promotion, you are already the person who has been shaped for it.
The revelation at the end is the key to reading everything that came before it: you intended to harm me, but God intended it for good. Joseph does not minimise what his brothers did. He calls it what it was: intended harm. But he has come to understand that above and behind and through their intention was another intention, sovereign and purposeful, that was shaping a route to a destination the harm could not have predicted. The detour was the route. The pit was the preparation. The prison was the waiting room for the palace.
Today, identify the detour in your story, the chapter that looks like the enemy winning, the season that has no visible redemptive arc yet. Write at the top of it: God intended it for good. You may not yet be able to fill in the specifics. That is fine. Joseph could not either, for most of the journey. But the Author who put him in the pit also got him out of it, and the Author of your story has not changed.
Father, I bring you the chapters of my story that have felt most like detours, the pit seasons, the prison seasons, the seasons where harm was intended and the destination was invisible. I choose to believe what Joseph knew at the end: that you intended it for good. Show me what you are building in this season that I cannot yet see. Make me fruitful even in the prison. In Jesus’ name, amen.
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