The Weaver

A taperstry of flowers (photography by Joluise)

My Life is but a weaving
between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the under side.

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 hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.

He knows, He loves, He cares,
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives His very best to those
Who leave the choice with Him

~ author uncertain ~

Corrie used to speak to audiences about her experiences and she would often look down while she talked. It seemed like she was reading her notes, but she was actually working on a piece of needlepoint. After telling her story of the cruelty in the concentration camps and the death of her father and sister, Corrie would hold up the backside of the needlepoint. It was a jumble of colors and threads with no discernible pattern. And she would say “this is how we see our lives.” Then she would turn it over to reveal the pattern. And Corrie would conclude by saying: “This is how God views your life and someday we will have the privilege of seeing it from His point of view.”

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away . And he that sat upon the throne said , Behold , I make all things new. And he said unto me, Write : for these words are true and faithful.

Revelations 21:4-5 (KJV)