MAKING SENSE OF THE LOOSE ENDS OF LIFE

Photo: Barbara G

Almost a week ago, as I was about to go to bed, my lips unconsciously opened and my heart chimed to the tune of a poem/song written/sung by an unknown author which I learned long ago. “My life is but a weaving” has many versions to it but the one that I’m most familiar with was taught to us by our young teacher who was also a good soloist.

More than a quarter of a century of my life has flowed into the tomb of time since that moment in time long ago but the message remains as fresh as that day when I first heard it.

My life is but a weaving

Between the Lord and me

I do not choose the colors

He worketh steadily.

Oftimes he weaveth sorrow

And I in foolish pride

Forget he sees the upper

And I the underside.

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.

Not till the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Will God unroll the canvas

And explain the reason why.

We may have lost hope in the middle of our life stories, and we don’t know the endings yet. But it will all make sense on the other side, someday. Is God weaving your life story?