What do you do?

When Shepherds are not their 'thing'

I’ve just wrapped up Genesis in my daily readings, and let me tell you, it’s a rollercoaster. Creation? Epic. Flood? Dramatic. Covenants, dreams, and family dysfunction? It's all in there. But as I came to the end of Genesis, something in Genesis 46:31–34 and 47:1–6 got my attention. It’s subtle, almost easy to miss, but it’s pure gold—and slightly funny.

The backdrop is Joseph—now ruling Egypt like a boss—arranging for his brothers to meet Pharaoh. He knows how things run and, thinking ahead as the strategist he has become, shares an essential plan. Joseph pulls the family aside and says, “When Pharaoh asks about your job, just say you’re keepers of livestock. Don’t mention the whole shepherd thing—it’s not exactly a career highlight here in Egypt. Shepherds? Not their thing.”

You can almost picture the brothers nodding, taking it in. Got it, Joseph—play it cool... Livestock keepers, not shepherds.

And then the big moment comes. They’re standing before Pharaoh, the ruler of the known world at that time, the ruler who literally holds their lives in his hands. And what do they say?

“Your servants are shepherds, as our fathers were” (Genesis 47:3, ESV).

They had one job—just say “livestock keepers!” But no, they go full disclosure. No spin. No marketing. Just, “We’re shepherds. It’s the family business.”

It’s at that moment I had to stop reading to get over my surprise—I’ve read it probably more than 40 times and missed it! Why throw Joseph’s PR strategy out—or more realistically, through the window? Why risk Pharaoh’s scorn?

Haven’t they read How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie?

All I can think of is maybe the brothers knew that pretending to be something they weren’t wasn’t worth it. Shepherds—that’s who they were. That was their story, "their truth," as some would say today. Their identity was bound up in their calling, and that calling was tied to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. They carried the weight of the covenant, the promise that God was building a nation through their family—shepherds, yes, but shepherds with a divine appointment.

There’s something profoundly human about this moment. We all know what it’s like to stand before our own Pharaohs—the bosses, the gatekeepers, colleagues and friends, the ones we desperately want to impress—and feel the pressure to present the polished, shiny, and slick version of ourselves.

Surprisingly, Pharaoh doesn’t reject them. He doesn’t say, “Shepherds? Gross! Out!” Instead, in a major twist to the narrative, he gives them the best land in Egypt, a safe haven in Goshen. The very thing they could have hidden—the thing Joseph wanted them to downplay—becomes the doorway to blessing and abundance.

What does that tell us? Maybe the parts of our story we’re most tempted to hide are the very things God wants to use.

The gospel does this. Jesus doesn’t ask for the Instagram-ready you; He wants the real you, the one with scars, quirks, and messy bits—no filters. The cross says, “You’re loved. All of you.”

So, what’s your “shepherd”—the thing you’re tempted to tweak, hide, or downplay? Maybe it’s time to own it. Be honest. Walk into the room, say, “This is who I am,” and trust that God is big enough to turn even the most unglamorous details of your life into something beautiful. And who knows? Goshen might be just around the corner.

God often has His best blessings waiting for us on the other side of obedience and authenticity. Even when we’re tempted to hide or downplay who we really are, God’s plan can bring provision and flourishing in ways we don’t expect—much like how the brothers, despite their honesty about being shepherds, were given the best Egypt had to offer.

It’s an invitation to trust that being faithful to who God has called you to be, even when it feels risky, opens the door to His goodness. Goshen, that place of divine abundance, might be closer than you think.