We never truly understand it this side of heaven.
Often, we strain against it.
Occasionally we give up, let go, and watch it happen.
That's probably when God does His best work.
I love the poem a the bottom of this post. I don't know for sure who wrote it; I found it attributed to two different people, but usually it had author unknown on it. I've also seen it, more often that not, without the last stanza. It does seem a little different than the rest, and may have been added by someone else later, but I like it, so I put it in. Although I've had a copy of this poem in one of my planners for years, I came across a copy of it on a blog written by someone who actually does weaving while I was trying to find out who wrote it. She told how she couldn't really appreciate this poem for all it was until she had started weaving. She explained how the underside of a tapestry, especially while you're working on it, often looks a mess. She described the process of developing the design, and how, though you may have already woven many feet of a tapestry, you can only see about 10 inches of it at a time. You cannot see the whole, beautiful work in it's entirety until the work is completely finished and you remove it from the loom. She had pictures of a tapestry she was working on posted on her site to help understand how different it looks during the weaving process. For me it looked very confusing, I could only make out a few small bits and pieces. But I'm sure for her, since she was the one designing and weaving it, it made much more sense. She had the whole, wonderful design all formed out in her mind. I don't really know much about weaving, but I'm sure there are many things that can come along and interfere with her original plan. Being skilled, she can make adjustments and still end up with a gorgeous design.
I think that's how God works in us. He had a wonderful plan, that we often interfere with, but He can still pull together a beautiful piece, especially if we eventually learn to allow Him to work. It may look like a mess to us and we can only see a very small bit at any give time, but to the master weaver it's all just a part of a wonderous work that He will one day pull off the loom.
My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot 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 shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the tapestry
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.
He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing the truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.
I'm am grateful for God's continued work in my life.
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