Joseph of the Coat-of-Many-Colors is famous in the Bible for rescuing his family from famine by moving them from Canaan into Egypt. This was a good thing, which eventually went bad. Although they entered Egypt as guests, they eventually became slaves. Joseph saw that coming, but he knew it was all part of the mysterious plan of God.

Just before he died, Joseph told his family, “I know God is going to help you someday. He is going to take you out of Egypt, back to the land He promised us. When that happens, take my bones with you.”

Take my bones with you.

Approximately four-hundred years later, they left. The twelve Hebrew families had become a large nation, and they left on short-notice in the midst of great chaos. The account of their leaving Egypt is epoch, and the logistics it required are mind-boggling.  But, even with all the frogs and boils and river-turned-to-blood, Moses managed to tell someone, “Don’t forget the bones.”

They remembered. After all those years, all that bondage, all those trials and temptations, the Hebrews remembered.  Because they had kept the promise alive long after the dreamer died.

Each generation had repeated the promise to the next. Mothers sang it in a lullaby. Fathers spoke of it while they worked. Slaves pounded it into bricks. And a shepherd named Moses examined it before a burning bush.  “We won’t be slaves forever,” the promise said. “God has a better place for us, and He will take us there someday.”

I don’t plan on asking my grandchildren to take my bones anywhere. Once I’m done with them, my bones will be perfectly fine in whatever spot I drop until Jesus comes back to get them someday. But I do hope I’m passing on some promises about a better place. About a better Way. And I hope our offspring pass the promises on from generation to generation to generation. No matter long it takes.