There's a poem that I love.
It reminds me that some of the truest beauty that the Lord weaves together in our lives, has touches of darkness. Moments of sorrow. And times of hurting.
The Weaver
by Corrie ten Boom
My life is but a weaving
between my God and me,
I do not choose the colors,
He works so steadily.
Oft times He weaves in sorrow, and I in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
and I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent, and the shuttle cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas,
and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful in the Weavers skillful hand,
As threads of gold and silver
in the pattern He has planned.
My heart longs for the day when God unrolls the tapestry He's been weaving.
The day I can see the way those dark threads were so necessary.
Necessary and beautiful.
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