My life is but a weaving Between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colours, He worketh steadily.
Oft-times He weaveth sorrow,
And I, in foolish pride
forget He sees 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 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 the very best to those
Who leave the choice with Him.
A friend is facing some testing tomorrow and she has been in my thoughts and prayers.
My hopes are that these tests are just the threads that binds her family closer, her friends nearer and her faith will grow and sustain her during this time of uncertainty.