THE WEAVER

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My life is but a weaving

Between my Lord and me.

I cannot choose the colors

He worketh steadily.

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Oftimes he weaveth sorrow,

And I know foolish pride

Forget He sees the upper

And I, the underside.

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Not till the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Shall God unroll the canvas

And explain the reason why.

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The dark threads are as needful

In the Weaver’s skillfun hand

As the threads of gold and silver

In the pattern He has planned

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~ Author Unknown

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In cleaning out my dad’s room, I found this old poem in one of his books. It was like finding an old friend. This poem is one of my favorites, because it reminds me that I am not God, I am not the center of the universe, and I am not all-knowing, all-seeing, or all-powerful!  To seek to understand everything that happens in my life is a fool’s task.  God is the only one who sees His plan from beginning to end.  I do not.  I must trust that, when I do see the final tapestry, it will take my breath away in its beauty, its complexity, and its rightness.  If you’ve ever looked at the underside of a tapestry, you will know what I mean.

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 Today I challenge you to look at your beliefs, and see if you are looking (and critiqueing) by the underside of your tapestry (or anothers).

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