Poem

My life it but a weaving between my God and me,

I cannot choose the colors He worketh steadily.

Ofttimes He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride,

Forget that He seeth the upper, and I the under side.

Not till 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 needfull in the Weaver's skillful hand,

As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

--"The Weaver," in Sourcebook of Poetry





Ok, so translation:

Those who have done needlepoint know it's important which side of the fabric to diplay. One side is full of crisscrossing threads and tiny knots that make the design difficult to recognize. But when it's turned over, the entire picture comes to view. This poem helps me trust God when I can't understand why things happen the way they do. The dark thread spoken of in the poem, are the hard and difficult times in life. The gold and silvers and light colors, make up the good or even great times. The finished product is our life, made up of hard times and good times. That's my opinion anyway.