My Life is But a Weaving

A family member sent me this beautiful poem that brought me to tears, along with a note of sympathy for what we are going through.  I looked it up online, and there are some different versions – some giving credit to Corrie ten Boom, others simply saying “Anonymous.”

In any case, I wanted to share:

The Weaver
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,
And I the underside.

Not ’til 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 His very best to those
Who leave the choice with Him.

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