“Goshen Awaits”

Run now, not from sorrow, but toward the arms that still wait.

Tell him, the father whose tears once soaked the edges of my robe:

“Your son lives.”The famine rages, but grace has made a garden in the land,

 Pharaoh’s plenty. Goshen, soft with promise,

Calls for sheep and song and the laughter of grandchildren,

Not yet silenced by hunger.

Bring them all. Not just grain and garments, but stories,

Lullabies, and broken dreams ready for mending.

I will nourish what remains. I will gather what was scattered.

I will hold you as heaven held me in the prison,

In the pit, in the moment I forgave and chose life for all of us.

© Inspired by Genesis 45:9–15

©Unknown Christian