My life is bur a weaving between my God and me.
I do not choose the colors, he worketh steadily.
Ofttime he weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride,
Forget he sees the upper, and I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent and shuttles cease to fly.
Will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful in the skillful weaver's hand,
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern he has planned.
1 comment:
I like it! I feel is says so much, I think I might print it out and keep it for myself. Thanks for sharing your true thoughts and feelings with us during this time.
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