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Joseph
What
did I do to make them hate me so?
I’ve thought about it often all
these years.
And now they’re here, hungry and
begging grain,
And I’ve the power to spurn them,
jail them, kill them—
Do unto them as they have done to me.
But somehow I’ve no wish to seek
revenge.
I have two sons, and now I understand
How much a father’s favor means to
them,
How eagerly they count each smile, each
frown,
Each word of commendation, each caress,
As if collecting evidence to prove
Who’s loved the most. I see how hurt
could grow
First to resentment, then to bitter hate.
Was it my fault our father favored me?
No, but did I always have to be
So eager to accept, so arrogant?
That dream I had of bowing sheaves of
wheat,
Why did I have to tell it? And that coat,
I could have thanked him, folded it away
To wear on special days, not flaunted it,
A daily insult to their jealous eyes.
But I was young. I didn’t
understand.
I realize now how much my foolish pride
Inflamed their anger and their jealousy.
Now God has given us this blessed chance
To heal our wounds, be brothers once
again
And I forgive, for time has changed my
heart.
What they meant for evil, God has turned
to good. —Ann
M. Schultz, Rochester, Minnesota
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