Dear Joe (Can I call you Joe?)

Dear Joe,

I feel like I can call you Joe, is that ok?  I know most people refer to you in your full name, but after pouring over your story I feel like we're BFFs, y'know?  Hopefully you're not offended by my informality, but anyway, moving on...

Joe.... brother, your story has just overcome me lately.  It keeps popping up in my life and honestly, I think it's providence.  I am just so amazed at how your life and all of its injustices played out for you. I guess it's because I'm kind of a wrestling, tossing & turning, hot mess over my own injustices right now.  I keep thinking about life not being fair and I cannot help but think about what you went through...

I mean, just look at your story, Joe; it's INSANE.  First of all, your bothers hated you. All seventy jillion of them. (or eleven, whatever, eleven is a LOT for us nowadays.)  I mean they legit wanted you to die.  That's some true hate.  Don't get me wrong, if my little sister bragged about being Daddy's favorite and pranced around in a fancy outfit like you did, I might have some issues with her. But I'd never want to end her life! Sheesh. Sanity has left the building.

And then your brothers thought they had done such a noble thing by choosing not to kill you and instead, oh I dunno... just to SELL YOU INTO SLAVERY.  Um.... wow.  How noble of them.  You're hated by your own flesh and blood. You're sold into slavery to serve people you've been taught are God's rejects.  And to top it off, they stole your cool coat!

Then life just spiraled right down to crazy town for you. (As if it hadn't already.)  Everything from slavery to false sexual harassment charges to prison.  What a freakin' disaster, Joe.  Honestly, I have no idea how you functioned.  Did you function? Didn't you just freak out?!  I think if it were me, I'd keep going back to the fact that none of this poo would've happened to me had my own family not treated me like garbage.  I mean, that's the crux of the matter.  All this terribleness because your own brothers were selfish, pretentious jerks that saw you as a threat to their prosperity.  You weren't a brother to be loved.  You were a pebble in their shoe.  Seriously, that would have crushed me.

Did it crush you, Joe?  I mean, I know that eventually you got up.  You fought on.  You climbed the ladder, slowly and steadily winning the race, ending up as City Manager of Cairo... but did you lay awake at night, watch the stars through prison bars and think about the life you lost?  The life that was stolen from you... by those you most loved and trusted?  Did you secretly hope they were suffering in Canaan from a plague or a famine? Wow... if you did, how crazy was it that then they show up at your door begging for help?!  Talk about poetic justice!! That's what I would've thought! I'd have been like,"Karma sucks, don't it, boys!!!" (Cue mic drop)

I guess because, if I'm honest... that's where I am in my process of experiencing injustice.  I feel like you can handle my honesty, right Joe?  I'm in that place where I fight toddler tantrums about twenty times a day.  So many thoughts and conversations that make me so angry and hurt and jaded that I wanna throw myself on the floor, kicking so hard my shoes fly off, and scream "NOT FAIR! NOT FAIR! NOT FAAAIIRRRR!!!" until everyone in the super market feels sorry for my mother.  I know that eventually I'm going to have to process all of my feelings like a grownup. (Blerg) But right now I am giving myself permission to scream in my pillow until my husband tells me I'm scaring the children.

Is that why you waited so long to tell them when they came to you, begging for help, who you really were?  Before my own little brush with injustice I always thought it was so weird the way your resolution came about. Now I'm thankful it wasn't clean cut and quick.  I'm thankful you weirded out a little! It makes me feel more normal.  You probably needed some time to process.  Talk about experiencing all the feelings all at once!  Joy at the sight of long lost family.  Anger at the sight of the poop heads who threw you in a pit and lied about you to your father.  Fear of what this meant in the scheme of your life.  Grief over their situation.  Compassion and love and the desire to take care of them.  Temptation to seek vengeance.  Bitterness and contempt at their total ignorance that it was you, their brother.  I mean, I'm just spit balling here! I bet there were many more emotions.

But you finally gathered your gumption by the grace of God, and you uttered these words to your homies that absolutely blow my mind every time I read them:

"What you intended for evil, God intended for good."

Dude.

Just... Dude.

I want to be in that place. Eventually. I am striving toward the day I can look injustice square in the face and say, 

"... God is bigger than you. He can make beautiful things out of poo. So on we go." 

Or something.  Not as poetic as your version, but still.  That's my goal. 

Until then, I pour over your story.  I keep the pillow-screamings to a dull roar.  And I take solace in the fact that I threw five less tantrums today than I did yesterday.

Long story short, Joe, I want to say thank you.  Thank you for walking out the crappy hand that life dealt you in a perfectly imperfect way that helps me remember that our God is huge.  And nothing we screw up is beyond His creative, redeeming hand.

And my goodness- if He can redeem your hot mess...

Well, maybe there's hope for mine.

Thank you, Joe.





Sincerely,

Lyss