Show Don't Tell: Genesis 47:27-31

The sun dipped low over the dusty streets of ancient Egypt, casting long shadows that danced in the fading light. Inside a modest chamber, the air was thick with the scent of myrrh and the weight of unspoken goodbyes. Jacob, now 147 years old, lay on a simple bed of woven reeds, surrounded by the vibrant tapestry of his family's life—a life marked by joy, heartache, and the intricate threads of God's promise.

For seventeen years, he had embraced the richness of Egypt, a land that cradled his son Joseph, thought lost but now found. Yet as the final chapters of his life approached, a deep longing stirred within him, a calling that echoed louder than the bustling life outside his window. It was a yearning for the land that held the bones of his ancestors, a land steeped in covenant and destiny.

With great effort, he summoned Joseph to his side, the warmth of their reunion still a balm for weary hearts. "Put your hand under my thigh," he instructed, the ancient gesture an oath binding as the stars that twinkled above. “Do not bury me in Egypt. Take me home, to the land of my fathers.” His voice, though frail, rang with a surety that transcended the sorrow of separation. This was a man who understood that his body, even in death, would proclaim a truth far greater than the grave.

Joseph, tears glistening like morning dew, nodded fervently, promising with every fiber of his being. As Jacob bowed in worship at the head of his bed, the room filled with a holy reverence, a sacred space where earthly ties were loosened, and the promise of Canaan loomed large. Even in his last moments, Jacob’s spirit echoed a profound declaration: “This is not our home. The promise lies elsewhere.” And as the sun slipped beneath the horizon, a profound peace settled over him, a reminder that he was cradled in the hands of a faithful God who would never let go.