The dreamer!

As we have studied in last 2 weeks, dreams are a vital way God speaks to humanity. They reveal his plans, provide guidance, offer warnings, confirm his purposes, and strengthen faith. Through dreams, God communicates in ways beyond words or logic, often using symbols and experiences that touch the heart, mind, and spirit. For Joseph, it came as a vision of sheaves and stars bowing down (Genesis 37:5-11). But that divine seed, full of future purpose, had to fall into the dark, cold earth of experience. It felt less like a promise and more like a curse as it ignited his brothers’ jealousy, leading to betrayal, the pit, and the chains of a slave caravan bound for Egypt (Genesis 37:28). In that brutal descent, any visible evidence of God’s hand vanished. The dream seemed not just delayed, but dead. And yet, this is where the first quiet lesson of his life emerges: the most important work of God often happens in the unseen places. It happened in the character being forged in Joseph as a slave, in the administrative skills he learned in Potiphar’s house, and in the desperate faith that kept him company in a dungeon. God was not absent; He was architecting, using even the wickedness of men and the unfairness of life as materials for a foundation he could not yet see.

This is perhaps the hardest truth to hold onto when the night is long. We can accept that God works in the unseen, but can we trust that He works for our good? Joseph’s path was one of relentless injustice. Falsely accused after choosing integrity (Genesis 39:9-20), he was forgotten by those he helped (Genesis 40:23). If his story were a ledger, the debits of suffering wildly outweighed the credits of blessing for nearly two decades. He could not possibly have understood the why. Only from the pinnacle of the palace, looking back at the twisted path that led him there, could he finally see the breathtaking design. He told his brothers, “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. The very evils meant to destroy him became the instruments of salvation for his family and nations (Genesis 45:4-8). God’s idea of “good” was not Joseph’s comfort, but Joseph’s purpose; a purpose that required the refining fire of those years of confusion.

And so, in the daily grind of that refining, Joseph shows us how to live. His loyalty to God was not a fair-weather commitment. It was a daily choice made in a prison cell, in the details of managing a household, in resisting temptation not because it was easy, but because he believed, even there, that to sin was “to sin against God.” He loved God not for the blessings he could provide, but for who He was. His heart was anchored not in his changing circumstances, but in the unchanging character of his Lord. This is the practical outworking of faith: a stubborn integrity that believes God is with us and for us, even when every external signal suggests otherwise.

That is the final, unshakable promise that threads through his entire story: You are not alone. The scripture doesn’t say God kept Joseph out of trouble; it says “The Lord was with Joseph” (Genesis 39:2) in the trouble. In the slave market, in the prison, in the moments of deepest abandonment; God’s presence was the constant. It was the source of the favour he found with Potiphar and the jailer, the key to his ability to interpret dreams, and the wellspring of the wisdom that would save Egypt. The promise was not protection from the journey, but partnership through it.

In the end, the sheaves and stars did bow (Genesis 42:6; 43:26-28). The dream was fulfilled, but not in the way a seventeen-year-old shepherd could have ever imagined. It was fulfilled through a process that turned a boastful boy into a compassionate statesman, a process that wove his personal pain into a national salvation. His story tells us that the dreams God gives are often less about a destination and more about the person we become on the long road toward it. Our own seasons of waiting, of unseen struggle, are not evidence of His absence, but may very well be the crucible in which a future purpose, for our good and the good of others, is being slowly, faithfully, and perfectly formed.

Heavenly Father, we confess that we often measure your presence by our circumstances, and your love by our comfort. Today we choose to trust what we cannot see; to believe that you are working, that you are good, and that you are with us. When we don’t understand, help us to love you still. When the path is dark, be our light. Thank you that you will never leave us. In Jesus’ name, Amen

Moses Harford, Kay Alli