Back in the Dark Again

Read

Genesis 46:4 "I will go down to Egypt with you, and I will surely bring you back again. And Joseph’s own hand will close your eyes.”

Think

Jacob has lived a long, complicated life. He has carried the weight of regrets and wrestled with God. He has seen dreams fall apart, families fracture, and favorite sons disappear. So, when he hears that Joseph is not only alive but ruling in Egypt, it feels like a miracle too good to believe. He packs up everything and begins the journey. But just before he leaves the land he has always known, God stops him in the middle of the night and says something deeply personal. I will go down to Egypt with you.

That one sentence changes everything. Egypt represented the unknown. It would be a place of discomfort, challenge, and change. Jacob had spent his entire life trying to survive in Canaan. Egypt was foreign. And yet, God did not promise comfort. He promised presence. He would not send Jacob into the dark alone. He would go with him.

Anyone who has faced a major transition knows the tension Jacob felt. There is hope in what could be, but also fear in what must change. Even when the outcome looks good, the process can be intimidating. And sometimes, even blessings come with baggage. But God knows how fragile our hearts can be. That is why he speaks reassurance in the dark. He does not always remove the uncertainty. He reminds us that we are not stepping into it alone.

And then God says something even more tender. Joseph’s own hand will close your eyes. This wasn’t just poetic language. This was a father hearing from the Father. For years, Jacob had grieved his son. He had likely imagined dying with a hole in his heart. Now God promises more than reunion. He promises closeness. The son he thought he lost would be with him in his final moments. Not only restoration, but peace.

This promise is not loud or dramatic. It comes in the quiet, just before the journey begins. That is often where God speaks. Not in the noise of success or the comfort of certainty, but in the stillness between what was and what will be. He had spoken to Jacob before in the night. At Bethel, when Jacob was running. At Jabbok, when Jacob was wrestling. And now again, as he was moving forward into the unknown.

Throughout Scripture, the night is not a barrier to God’s voice. It is often the backdrop. Samuel heard his call in the dark. Paul and Silas sang their way out of prison at midnight. Jesus rose before the sun. The absence of light never means the absence of God.

The French photographer Brassaï became known for capturing the beauty of Paris at night. While others focused on the daytime charm of the city, Brassaï roamed its foggy streets, alleyways, and lamplit corners. He said that the night distilled things down to their essence. The distractions faded, and what mattered most stood out. That’s what happens when we walk through spiritual darkness too. We see things we’d miss in the light. We feel God more closely, not because he has moved, but because we are finally paying attention.

Jacob’s journey to Egypt was not just about reuniting with Joseph. It was part of a larger story God was writing. What felt like a final chapter was actually a beginning. Egypt would eventually become a place of slavery, but also the setting for the greatest rescue in Israel’s history. God was not only being faithful to Jacob. He was preparing to be faithful to generations after him.

When God tells Jacob he will bring him back again, it is not just about a burial plot. It is a promise that Egypt is not the end. The story will continue. The same God who goes with him will also lead his people out.

Maybe you are facing a change that feels heavy. Maybe your future is filled with questions. Maybe, like Jacob, you are afraid to leave what is familiar even though you believe God is calling you forward. If so, do not wait for every detail to fall into place. Listen for the voice of God in the quiet. If he has said he will go with you, that is enough.

Apply

Take a short walk today or sit somewhere quiet. Name the thing in front of you that feels unknown. You do not have to solve it. Just name it. Then, imagine Jesus beside you—not ahead of you, not waiting at the finish line, but walking with you into whatever comes next. You might even say aloud, "God, I don’t know what this is going to look like, but I want to go with you, not without you." That small shift in mindset is how courage starts.

Pray

Father, thank you for being with me, even when I cannot see where things are going. I confess I sometimes hesitate in the face of the unknown. But your presence is my peace. Help me move forward not because I have every answer, but because I know you will never leave me. In Jesus’ name. Amen.