My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily,
Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I, the underside.
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
—Author Unknown
Between my Lord and me
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily,
Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I, the underside.
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
—Author Unknown
I think this poem is so true. When your sewing, weaving, etc. the underside is such a mess, but the top is beautiful. God takes all the trials and struggles in our lives and makes us complete and a beautiful work of art for Him, if we let Him!
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