What if all our lives were like Joseph’s?
What if our parents loved us so completely, they created for us glorious handmade garments
even in our most vexing of adolescent years?
What if, every time our siblings saw us with hatred in their eyes,
when they sold us into slavery,
we landed at Potiphar’s house—
the perfect foster parent who saw holiness in us
and entrusted us with all that he owned?
What if, when Potiphar’s wife accused us of a crime
we did not commit,
we ended up in a prison with those who knew the king,
and where the guards also saw divinity in us and treated us
with compassion?
What if being captive there
ultimately led us to be put in charge of an entire nation?
What if every loss, every despair, every tripping, tumbling, crashing fall
made us stronger and wiser and bolder?
What if we looked back on every misery, if not with gratitude,
then with awe?
What if we recognized that who we are in this moment,
with these scars,
is a blessing
we are privileged to wear
like that audacious multi-colored coat?
