There’s an interesting story in Genesis 41 — a story about Joseph in the middle of a bigger story about Joseph, if you will.

In the bigger story, Joseph has been left for dead, sold into slavery, falsely accused of rape, and falsely imprisoned. It’s fair to say that he felt just a tad bit forgotten by God, or at the very least, that if the dreams he had were going to come true, he’d need to be the one to make it happen.

And yet, that was never Joseph’s response. In every situation that he found himself — from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows — his response was always the same: steadfast obedience to and unwavering trust in God.

All of this brings us to the story within the story. Two prisoners had dreams which Joseph interpreted for them, and they both came true. One was released, one executed.

Now, it’s two years later.

One hundred and four more weeks of being forgotten.

Seven hundred and thirty more days filled with stale prison air.

Seven hundred and thirty more nights filled with quiet questions.

Can you imagine all that Joseph could have been feeling in that moment? The grief of lost time and lost opportunity? The sting of betrayal and abandonment? The hopelessness of being stuck?

But then, the most powerful man in the nation had a dream, and the ex-con who had been set free two years earlier suddenly remembered Joseph. A quick shave and wardrobe change later, this betrayed and forgotten man stood before a king, and was given an opportunity by that king.

Pharaoh had heard that whenever Joseph heard a dream, he could interpret it. No mention of God, even though Joseph had clearly told his fellow prisoners that only God could interpret dreams. But this powerful man who was offering Jospeh a way out of the shadows had no need of a God, and I’m not sure that I’d blame Joseph for feeling the same way. After all, where was God in the pit, or the courtroom, or the prison?

Decades earlier, perhaps the teenage version of Joseph believed that he could make happen what God had promised? But now, the wiser Joseph recognized that God often brings us to the end of ourselves so that we can begin to see all of who He is.

“I cannot do it,” Joseph replied to Pharaoh, “but God will give Pharaoh the answer he desires.” (‭‭Genesis‬ ‭41:16‬ ‭NIV, emphasis mine)

“God will.” He will do what we cannot. His will is greater than my can’t, and Joseph understood that. No more relying on his wisdom or strength or ingenuity or insight. Nope. His chips were all in on God’s ability, not his.

“I can’t, but God will.”

God will heal.

God will save.

God will deliver.

God will rescue.

God will redeem.

God will restore.

God will.

There is a physical component to grief that makes me want to stay in bed or, at least, stay at home. It drains motivation and makes it hard to stay focused on even the simplest of tasks. It’s the side of grief that very few talk about because no one knows what to do with it, and yet it is so very real.

It’s one of the reasons that I love the Psalms so much because they speak to the real conditions of the heart and emotions, and they show a real God’s response. Consider this passage as a sample from the many that I could quote:

Have compassion on me, Lord, for I am weak. Heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony. I am sick at heart. How long, O Lord, until you restore me? Return, O Lord, and rescue me. Save me because of your unfailing love. I am worn out from sobbing. All night I flood my bed with weeping, drenching it with my tears. My vision is blurred by grief; my eyes are worn out because of all my enemies. Go away, all you who do evil, for the Lord has heard my weeping. The Lord has heard my plea; the Lord will answer my prayer. (Psalms‬ ‭6:2-4, 6-9‬ ‭NLT, emphasis mine)

David never felt that he couldn’t tell God (or those of us reading his prayer all these years later) what he was feeling and experiencing. He knew that His God was compassionate, a God who hears and heals (v. 2).

David knew that the only way to experience the realness of God was by being real with God. Look what happened when he did that: even in his weakened condition, his faith grew. He knew that God had heard him and that God would answer him.

Grief has a way of exhausting our strength, but it can’t exhaust God’s power. Our hearts can be shattered, and yet, when we bring ourselves to God honestly, our souls will be strengthened.

“Shadowlands” is a movie based on the life of C. S. Lewis that chronicles his marriage to his wife, Joy, and ultimately his grief when she died. It is a compelling and authentic film.

There is nothing enjoyable about the shadowlands, those places in our lives where it seems the light doesn’t shine. They are places of loss, grief, pain, suffering. Places where we can feel abandoned, rejected, alone. The familiar voice of disappointment can be heard in the shadows, and it is often accompanied by other voices, too. Bitterness, offense, anger.

All of those are very real, and it’s so easy to drown in that quicksand of reality. But there is something even more real that gets overlooked in the shadowlands when we’re so focused on our pain.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John‬ ‭1:5‬ ‭NIV, emphasis mine)

The beauty in the shadows is simply that shadows can’t exist without light. The shadowlands aren’t the darklands! There are dark nights of the soul, but they do not exist in places that the light of God cannot reach. We focus so much on the part where Jesus said the light overcomes the darkness that we skip right past the first thing Jesus said.

The light shines in the darkness.

If I am in a shadow, it is because something has gotten between me and the light. Sometimes that is of my own doing (ok, a lot of times), but sometimes it is simply a circumstance that is beyond my control. But it’s never beyond His light, and as we move through the shadowlands toward the light, we will eventually see the other side of that circumstance bathed in the light.

Shadowlands are dark, for sure, but we can only be swallowed by that darkness if we turn the shadowlands into our home. But this is not our home. We are, as the old gospel singers would belt, just passing through, and as we do, we’ll find ourselves once again stepping into the light.

Photo by Erik Witsoe on Unsplash