Monday, September 27, 2010


My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me

I let Him choose the colors
He worketh steadily.

Oft times He worketh sorrow
and I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside. 

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 were as needful
In the weaver's skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver,
In the pattern He had planned.

~Author Unknown

Today I walk in confidence knowing that one day I'll understand.

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