Between my God and me.
I do not choose the colors,
He worketh steadily.
Oft’ times 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
Will God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the skillful weaver's hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern God has planned.
--Author Unknown
That's beautiful. I wonder what your grandpa sees today??
ReplyDeleteI'm totally stealing that and putting it on my facebook... You rock!
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