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 under side.


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.


by Benjamine Malachi Franklin


                 

                          The Plan of the Master Weaver

                                      Author Unknown   


       

Our lives are but fine weavings that “God” and we prepare,
Each life becomes a fabric planned and fashioned in “His” care.
We may not always see just how the weavings intertwine,
But we must trust the Master's hand and follow “His” design,
For He can view the pattern upon the upper side,
While we must look from underneath and trust His hand to guide...

Sometimes a strand of sorrow is added to “His” plan,
And though it's difficult for us, we still must understand
That it's “He” who fills the shuttle, it's “He” who knows what's best,
So we must weave in patience and leave to “Him” the rest.

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 needed in the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern “He” has planned.

                                                          

                                                                                                                                                                                                             





                                                                                                                                                                     Many times life has been compared to a tapestry. We desire our life to be a tapestry that glorifies God through His power and grace.


       As life unfolds, it’s like viewing the backside of a tapestry. It appears to be nothing more than a jumble of thread- tangled, frayed, occasionally knotted, and seemingly random. Often things don’t seem to make sense.

       But things are not always as they seem. It’s only when a tapestry is turned over that you see the art: the rich colors, the textures and the patterns that can make a tapestry a thing of beauty.

        Likewise, occasionally God gives us a glimpse at what He is weaving into the fabric of our lives. That momentary peek can give us courage to soldier on, knowing that nothing happens by accident. No thread of experience-good or bad- is wasted. When it appears to be that way, we just have to remind ourselves that we are simply looking at the backside of a tapestry. The One weaving it together knows exactly what He is doing.

        Below are two similar poems that describe our lives as a weaving or tapestry. The following is a devotional from “Rest a While” :


   A human life is likened unto a tapestry that is to be woven. Day by day the shuttle moves back and forth, and the tapestry grows. As the thread is laid upon thread, the design begins to emerge. A thread is such a tiny thing. And yet the whole tapestry is made up of such threads. If some threads are improperly woven, the whole design will be marred.

   A day appears so small and insignificant. And yet, each day is a part of my whole life. If each single day is lived improperly and carelessly, what will this do to the design of my life?

When the tapestry is finished, it is rolled up, and the ends of the threads are cut off. Then it can be woven no more. It is put away until the day when it is placed on exhibition and judged.

    Dear God, grant that the tapestry of my life may be properly woven. I give Thee the shuttle. Do with me as Thou wilt, if only Thy image may some day be the design in my tapestry when the threads of my life are cut off, and the tapestry is judged.

                       Tapestry