Our Heavenly Weaver

My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me
I let Him choose the colors
He worketh steadily
Ofttimes He worketh sorrow
And I, within my heart,
Forget He sees the pattern
While I see only part
The dark threads were as needful
In the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He had planned
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why


I keep trying to remind myself that the "dark threads" I may be experiencing will make for a much more beautiful weaving.

1 comment:

  1. great thought. something to remember each and every day. I've always loved this poem and the imagery it gives me. I will strive to appreciate the dark threads more.