Joseph Day 7: Come closer to me – Full-of-Grace

Joseph Day 7: Come closer to me

The words catch in Joseph’s throat like stones, each one weighted with years of careful control. His right hand presses against his lips, trying to hold back the tide, but his body has already begun its revolution – trembling starting in his fingertips, spreading like dawn across desert hills. The throne room blurs through unsummoned tears.

“It’s…” The single syllable breaks like pottery against stone, scattering into silence. His audience shifts uncomfortably, their confusion a tangible thing, pressing against his skin like evening heat. But Joseph can’t stem this flood, can’t maintain the careful walls built from years of surviving. His chest heaves with the effort of containing oceans.

Tears fall like the first drops of rain on parched earth, each one carrying the salt of different wounds – the pit’s darkness, prison’s loneliness, the weight of interpreting God’s voice when his own heart felt mute. His body remembers every moment of holding steady, of saying no to bitterness, of choosing faith over fury. Now it remembers how to break.

Through the water-lens of weeping, he sees Judah’s face – older, carved by years, but still carrying echoes of that boy who chose silver over brotherhood. The sight sends fresh tremors through Joseph’s flesh. His arms rise of their own accord, reaching across decades of distance, across rivers of hurt and healing.

“Come closer to me,” he whispers, voice cracking like spring ice. The words emerge not from his throat but from that deeper place where longing has lived so long it’s become marrow. His brothers stare, baffled by this display from Egypt’s governor, this man wrapped in power’s robes now dissolving into child’s tears.

But Joseph’s body knows what his mind is still grasping – that all the dreams, all the trials, all the patient years of waiting were never about power. They were about this moment, when love could finally speak its native tongue. His tears taste of recognition, of homecoming, of wounds transformed into wells of blessing.

Everything – the pit, the chains, the false accusations, the forgotten promises – suddenly shimmers with new meaning, like light striking water at just the right angle to reveal depths. His heart thunders against his ribs with the wild rhythm of liberation. All he wanted was love’s simple mathematics, but God had written a greater equation – one that turned betrayal into blessing, exile into exodus, broken brotherhood into redemption’s bridge.

In the stunned silence of the chamber, Joseph’s tears write a new language on ancient stone. His body unlearns the grammar of guardedness, remembers instead how to speak in love’s mother tongue. Through the blur of weeping, he sees his brothers’ faces like mirrors of memory, each one reflecting a different shade of shared story.

Here, finally, is truth with all its edges softened – not by time’s erosion, but by love’s patient polishing. His tears fall like blessing, like baptism, like the first rain that turns desert into garden.