The Weaver

At this ugly side of eternity, we often miss the perfect plan of the Grand Architect of Life. We see the mess, whereas He sees the best. I don't have all the answers, but I do know who holds the thread & needle. I just have to let Him finish with me and let Him write the last chapter in and for my life. Here's one poem that I'll like to share (I don't have the author's name, sorry).

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,
But I, the underside

Not til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the fabric
And reveal the reason why

The dark threads were as needful
In the skillful Weaver’s hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned

So, until my time for leaving
On His promises I’ll stand
And trust the One Who’s weaving
With loving, skillful hand

And though this life may tempt me
To turn aside my way
I’ll fix my gaze upon Him
As He weaveth each new day.