It Wasn't You

"So now it was not you that sent me hither, but God: 
and He hath made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house, 
and a ruler throughout all the land of Egypt."
Genesis 45:8

We forget that God can and will use the sinful actions and animosity of rivals
to further His plan in our lives.
That the angry brother, driven by jealousy,
can still be subject to God's control.
It doesn't excuse the sin to acknowledge the sovereignty.
God moves even through conflict and unhappiness and dysfunctional families.
In every one of the families of the patriarchs, there are issues.
The extra women. Hagar. Zilpah. Bilhah.
There are brothers at war.
Ishmael against Isaac. Esau against Jacob.
The sons of the handmaids against Joseph.

There are favorites played, between wives and between sons.
Marital strife -- even between Isaac and Rebekah,
who had no extras in their marriage.
But the children caused conflict between them.
Years of unsettled wandering and infertility.

And a Promise that did not fail.
A future and a hope that is still working in their children.
Being named the friend of God.  
Governed by God.  
Laughter.  
The father of faith.
The one the nation is named for.

"It was not you who sent me here," Abraham's great-grandson said.
"It was God."

Perhaps he had taken to heart
how God had moved and worked in his great-grandfather's family.
His grandfather's family.
His father's family.
He had moved them through conflict and animosity --
sometimes earned, and sometimes unmerited.
But always directed.

The conniving father-in-law.
The disdainful household help.
The jealous step-brother.
The fighting wives.
The cheating employer.
The murderous brothers.
All of them had been ultimately fitted into the intended will of God
and the Promise He kept promising them.

"And we know that to them that love God 
all things work together for good, 
even to them that are called according to his purpose."
Romans 8:28

"Я дитя Бога"

My son was given a t-shirt by a dear friend's family who are missionaries to Ukraine. The shirt reads, "Я дитя Бога". A little over a week ago, we were shopping at Trader Joe's, which is a friendlier grocery store than we are accustomed to in these parts. It's delightful to be spoken to, helped cheerfully, and generally treated like we are valued customers.

An older man approached us while we shopped to see if we were finding everything we needed. He recommended a few items based on our likes. Then he spotted my son's shirt. "You have Ukrainian writing on your shirt!" he said. He seemed quite obviously excited to see it. He read it out loud. He said his family was Ukrainian. He struggled with the translation, although he could sound it out. He asked Isaiah if he knew what it meant.

"I am a child of God," Isaiah said.

Today I went back again, and as I walked with my four children and their two cousins I had charge of (so my sister could retrieve her husband from an airport), I heard a man say, "I recognize you! You had a shirt on with Ukrainian writing on it!"

I looked up and smiled and stopped to talk for a minute. He looked confused at the increase of children. I introduced my niece and nephew. I told him my nephew was born  in Ukraine. He spoke Ukrainian to him. My nephew looked back at him questioningly.

I explained, "He's been back in the states since he was very young. His dad's flying back from Ukraine today."

"Do you speak any Ukrainian?" he asked him.

"Yes," my nine-year-old nephew said, "just a little bit."

"Can I hear it?"

"Я дитя Бога," he answered. 

"Do you know what it means?" the man asked.

"It means, 'I am a child of God.'"

I did not plan that, but it's interesting to me that two Saturdays in a row this man has received the message "I am a child of God" from nine-year-old English-speaking American boys in the language of his family in a land far from their origins.  I'm going to add him to my prayer list. His name is Gary.