My life is but a weaving
between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colours
He worketh steadily.
Oft’times He weaveth sorrow,
and I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper
and I the underside.
Not ’til 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 hands,
as the threads of gold and silver
in the pattern He has planned.
Anonymous
- This poem has been inspirational my entire life. We don’t understand why God allows bad things to happen to good people, but only when we realise that it is all part of the beautiful tapestry that God is weaving with our lives, will we be able to accept why the difficult times of loss, pain and grief, were necessary to complete His perfect design.
