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 underside. 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 needful    In the Weaver's skillful hand As the threads of gold and silver    In the pattern He has planned.                           –B.M. Franklin “When that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” 1 Corinthians 13:10-12 “Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God: therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew Him not. Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him; for we shall see Him as He is. And every man that hath this hope in Him purifieth himself, even as He is pure.” 1 John 3:1-3