My life is but a weaving, between my God and me;
I do not choose the colors, He works so steadily.
Often times He weaves in sorrow, and I, in foolish pride,
forget He sees the upper, and the underside.
Not till the loom is silent, and shuttles cease to fly,
will God unroll the canvas and explain the reasons why.
The dark threads are as needful in the skillful Weaver's hand,
as threads of gold and silver in the pattern he has planned.
This is so inciteful to me, the tapestry that we sometimes see is so dark and hard. The journey painful, but then as the entire picture becomes more visable we see how necessary the painful time was for us to enjoy the beauty of the complete picture.....
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