The Weaver

My life is but a weaving,
between my God and me,
I let Him choose the colors,
He worketh steadily.

Ofttimes He weaveth sorrow,
and I, within my heart,
Forget He sees the pattern
while I see only part.

The dark threads are as needful,
in the skillful weaver's hand,
As threads of gold and silver
in the pattern He has planned.

Not till the loom is silent,
and the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas,
and explain the reason why.

(Anonymous)

I know I can't wait to see what my canvas looks like one day... I'm sure when I do it will have all been worth it. I hope it will be beautiful!