The Weaver
The Weaver
My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors;
He worketh steadily.
Oftentimes 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 Weavers 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.
ISAIAH 55:8
8 For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the LORD.
9 For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.
10 For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater:
11 So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.
Lord, I want to be a reflection of you. I am so glad that I can rest in the fact that you know the beginning from the end and that your Word will accomplish its purpose in my life.