What would you ask for at the end of your life? What would be your final words? I suppose that depends on your circumstances and where you are.
Jacob is a hundred and forty-seven years old, and he knows he is dying. Seventeen years in Egypt, years of plenty, of reunion, of rest, and still, when the end comes near, Jacob makes one request. Carry me out of Egypt. Bury me where my fathers are buried.
What a man asks for at the end tells you everything about where his heart has been all along.
“Jacob lived in Egypt seventeen years, and the years of his life were a hundred and forty-seven. 29 When the time drew near for Israel to die, he called for his son Joseph and said to him, “If I have found favour in your eyes, put your hand under my thigh and promise that you will show me kindness and faithfulness. Do not bury me in Egypt, 30 but when I rest with my fathers, carry me out of Egypt and bury me where they are buried.” “I will do as you say,” he said. 31 “Swear to me,” he said. Then Joseph swore to him, and Israel worshipped as he leaned on the top of his staff.” (Genesis 47 v 28-31)
Egypt had been the salvation for his family, but Jacob never confused rescue with home. He had been given a promise, a future that stretched beyond anything he would live to see. Egypt was a provision, not a destination.
So he calls Joseph. He asks for the ancient oath — hand under thigh, the most solemn of pledges. And he asks one thing: carry me out.
After Joseph agrees to his request to be taken out of Egypt, Jacob worships.
The writer of Hebrews holds this moment up as an example of faith: By faith, Jacob, when dying, blessed each of the sons of Joseph, worshipping as he leaned on the top of his staff (Hebrews 11:21). We will be reminded in the next chapter just who these sons really were. God’s choices rarely follow our logic.
If you were being perfectly honest, you wouldn’t have picked you. You know yourself too well. You know the detours, the failures, the long stretches of ordinariness. But He chose you when it didn’t make sense, when the odds were stacked against you, when others seemed more obvious candidates. He chose you, and He did it right on time.
This is the pattern all the way through. After Abraham came Isaac. After Isaac, Jacob. After Jacob, Joseph. After Joseph, Ephraim and Manasseh — grandsons elevated to sons, the younger raised above the elder. God keeps raising the next generation, and His criteria are not ours. It is grace from top to bottom. The only fitting response is gratitude.
So this is not the day to waste time wondering whether God will use you, or when, or how. You belong to a long line of people who didn’t deserve to be called but they were. Don’t give up on that. Ask for much. Expect much. Do much.
Jacob had spent most of his life grabbing birthright, blessing, wages, and wives. But here, at the end, there is no grabbing. Only trust. He cannot carry himself to Canaan. He cannot see what God is doing on the other side of his death. He can only ask, believe, and worship.
The staff matters; it’s the sign of a pilgrim, a wanderer, a man who never quite settled. And he is still leaning on it at the end.

