My Life Is But A Weaving....

I have loved this poem since the first time I heard it used in a lesson years ago by my friend Diane. Thank you, Diane. From the first time I heard it it spoke to my heart but I had no idea it would be even more meaningful with the passage of years.....

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.

~Anonymous~